Transient Desires (Commissario Brunetti #30)(53)

‘It’s Guido Brunetti,’ he said, giving his last name as well as his first, as seemed proper.

‘Ah, I’m glad you called, Guido,’ she said with something that sounded like relief.

‘Why is that?’

‘We agreed to share anything we learned. I’ve heard something you might be interested in.’ Her uncertainty was audible as she paused, as if to reflect on her own choice of words.

‘Was it in a pencilled note from someone in your crew?’ he asked, showing that he remembered that detail from their conversation.

‘No, it’s something I was told by someone I spoke to, two days ago.’ After a moment, she added, ‘A prostitute. Nigerian.’ After a considerable pause, Nieddu added, ‘I know her.’

Brunetti considered that for some time, then asked, ‘Did you believe her?’

‘I’m not entirely sure. Sometimes what she says is . . . hard to understand.’ Her difficulty in finishing that sentence kept Brunetti from responding.

Nieddu said, ‘That’s why I didn’t call.’ She said nothing further for a while, then added, ‘She was in a bad state. She told me things.’

‘Is she in custody?’

‘No. You know how it is. We bring them in and then let them go.’

Brunetti resisted the temptation to comment and waited silently.

‘I thought of calling you yesterday,’ she said, ‘but things happened and I didn’t. I’m glad you called. Really.’

‘Can you talk, or can I come out there?’ he asked, only then realizing that what he heard in the background sounded like street noise, not the quiet of an office.

‘I’m in the city,’ she began and then laughed and added, ‘See what happens to people who live or work on the Giudecca? Venice becomes “the city.”’

‘Where are you?’

‘In the bio supermarket in Calle della Regina.’

‘Can we talk?’

‘No, not on the phone, not here. It’s long, and it’s sort of complicated.’

‘Do you know Caffè del Doge?’ he asked.

‘The one on this side of the bridge?’

‘Yes,’ Brunetti said and got slowly to his feet. ‘I’ll be there in ten minutes.’ He waited for her reply.

It was some time in coming. ‘All right.’

‘Good,’ he said and broke the connection.

She was there when he arrived, sitting in the booth at the far right corner of the caffè, usually reserved for regular patrons, who came to find that day’s Gazzettino. Although she sat facing the door, Brunetti almost didn’t recognize her, for she was not in uniform and had pulled back her hair. And was prettier for both reasons.

She half stood and raised her hand a bit as he came in, as if to prove to the two young women behind the bar that she really had been waiting for someone. Brunetti glanced around and saw that most tables were occupied, and at least four people stood at the bar. He walked quickly over to her and put out his hand.

After they shook hands, Nieddu surprised him by moving in front of him to take the chair opposite where she had been, putting her back to the entrance.

Her face was flushed, perhaps from the heat of the crowded room. She sat and smiled at him, repeating, ‘I’m glad you called.’ She shifted on the padded chair, moved back in it, then forward. ‘I think I needed to talk to someone, but I couldn’t think of anyone.’

‘Your commander?’ Brunetti suggested.

She shook her head without answering. ‘I’m still not sure she was telling me the truth. Maybe all I need to do is listen to myself telling someone else and see if it sounds believable.’ Her grimace showed how absurd this sounded, even to herself.

The waitress came and asked what they’d like. Nieddu asked for a Spritz with Aperol, and Brunetti decided to stay with red wine.

‘Did you arrest her?’ Brunetti asked when the waitress was gone. When she offered a shrug as an answer, Brunetti asked, ‘What happened?’

She sighed and shifted around again, then grew quiet. ‘It’s one of those territorial things. The municipal police refuse to patrol Parco San Giuliano, so we had to answer the complaint: a woman was taking her children for a walk and saw what was going on, so she called us. Her pimp – not the woman with the kids – I mean this prostitute’s pimp, thought he could put them in the park to work – there were four of them, and when they were all brought in, I got to question her because I know her.’

It took Brunetti a moment to sort all of this out, but soon he understood the plot.

‘How do you know her?’ he asked.

She lowered her head to hide her expression. ‘We go to the same church.’

‘I beg your pardon.’

‘She started coming to Mass about two months ago; in Mestre, where I live. Her behaviour was strange, and no one would sit next to her, so I did.’ She looked across at him and said, voice swooping into a higher range, ‘For the love of God, it’s a church and we’re all Catholics going to Mass together, and they won’t sit beside her. Or give her their hand when it’s time to do that.’ Then she added, not bothering to hide her disgust, ‘Peace be with you.’

The waitress brought them their drinks. Ignoring hers, Nieddu said, ‘So we started to talk, well, to the degree that we could understand one another; we were sort of friends after a few weeks, just by sitting together. And giving the sign of peace.’ Then she said, ‘Her name is Blessing.’ She picked up her Spritz and took a sip, then another. She set it down. ‘After a month or so, she told me what she did for a living. I suppose she thought I’d be shocked or not want to sit with her any more.’