Transient Desires (Commissario Brunetti #30)(47)

Duso nodded, then smiled and said, ‘That’s why we go to Santa Margherita, so people can see us picking up girls and maybe go and tell his uncle.’

Brunetti laughed. ‘That’s very clever of you.’

‘It was Marcello’s idea. His uncle didn’t believe him when he said we went out looking for girls, so then we’d go to Campo Santa Margherita on the weekends, and sometimes his cousin would see us there, with girls.’

‘What did you do?’

‘Excuse me, I don’t understand.’

‘With the girls.’

‘Oh, we’d have a drink with them and talk, and then Marcello would ask them if they’d like to go out into the laguna for a ride. He always left the boat on the other side of the bridge. So we’d go there with the girls, and the word got around about it, and lots of people thought we were picking them up – you know – but all we did was go out into the laguna. Sometimes we’d go out to Vignole and have the grilled chicken at that place there.’

‘And then?’ Brunetti asked.

‘Then we’d take the girls home. Marcello always took them to the riva nearest where they lived or where their hotel was.’

‘Nothing else?’

‘No, but the next day Marcello made sure to brag about it at work, without ever giving any details: he’d just boast about it and say how easy it was to pick up girls if you have a boat.’ Duso smiled and again grew handsome.

Brunetti remained quiet, aware that they’d arrived at the point in this conversation where Duso would have to reveal more, especially about why Marcello was so afraid.

Neither spoke for a long time, Brunetti determined to make that time grow longer by not speaking. He sat calmly, trying to imagine what it must be like for Vio to be trapped between his uncle and his friend.

Duso leaned forward and said, ‘His uncle’s been violent with him in the past.’

Brunetti nodded but said nothing.

‘Once he was making a delivery in one of the small boats – I think it was going to Caputo. It was electrical stuff: microwave ovens and blenders, and small things like that. While he was taking the first load to the shop – just down the calle by the Ponte delle Paste – someone must have jumped down into the boat and stolen a carton of telefonini: the little Nokia ones, before everyone got an iPhone. This was years ago, when people still used them.’

‘What happened?’

‘Marcello told me he called his uncle.’

‘Not the police?’ Brunetti asked.

Duso shook his head. ‘He said his uncle told him never – but NEVER – to call the police.’

Brunetti let that pass without comment.

‘So he called his uncle and told him what had happened.’

‘And the uncle?’

‘He told him to get back to the office.’

‘And?’

‘And that’s what Marcello did. He got the papers signed for the delivery and went back to the Giudecca, just the way his uncle told him to do.’ Duso’s voice staggered through the last words, stopped for a moment, and then went on. ‘When he got there, he tied up the boat and started up the ladder. His uncle was waiting for him at the top.’

Duso’s breath had tightened as he spoke. ‘He told me . . . he told me that, when he got near the top, his uncle stamped on his hand and then put his foot against his forehead and kicked him off the ladder, into the boat.’ Duso stopped here and looked at Brunetti, who remained silent.

After a few breaths Duso continued, speaking very quickly. ‘Two of the men who work there saw what happened.’

‘They didn’t try to stop him?’

Surprised, Duso said, ‘He’s their boss.’

‘I see,’ Brunetti said, then asked, ‘What happened?’

‘As soon as Pietro was gone, one of them climbed down the ladder and helped Marcello up to the dock. Two of his fingers were broken: he’d twisted around and broken his fall with his hands. But they had to take him to the hospital.’

‘What did he do?’ Brunetti asked.

‘What could he do? After he got back from the hospital – he lives with his uncle – he said he apologized to him for leaving the boat unguarded for so long.’

‘And?’

‘His uncle said the price of the telefonini would come out of his salary, and he was to be at work the next day.’

Brunetti was at a loss for what to say about this. Duso waited a bit, and when Brunetti still said nothing, added, ‘That was the end of it.’

‘And now?’

‘He told me he’s afraid to go back to his uncle’s place when he gets out of the hospital.’

‘Could he stay with you?’ Brunetti asked.

Duso froze. His hands fell into his lap. Brunetti had the feeling that, had Duso been able to do it, he would have got up and left the room, but he seemed incapable of motion.

‘He’d kill me,’ Duso said. Hearing himself, he raised his hand halfway to his lips in the hope of stuffing those three short words back into his mouth.

Ignoring what Duso said, Brunetti asked, ‘Then could he stay with some other friend? Or leave the city for a while?’

Duso shook his head. ‘It’s impossible. Where could he work? All he knows is boats.’