Transient Desires (Commissario Brunetti #30)(66)

Griffoni agreed with Brunetti that they needed to connect the murder of the Nigerian women – of which there was no evidence, no date, no location, no information save the wandering talk of an African prostitute who was probably mad – with Vio’s desperate night-time visit to his friend. Once that was done, they would have a witness who was not mad. Nor dead.

‘Alaimo will know if women are being brought in this way,’ Griffoni said. ‘Up here, I mean. It’s common enough in the South.’

Brunetti found no adequate response and got to his feet to start down to Foa and the launch.

Twenty minutes later, Foa glided them to a stop in front of the Capitaneria; a young man in a white uniform came out of the front door and walked across the riva on time to catch the mooring rope Foa tossed him. Some sort of nautical sign must have passed between them because he made no attempt to moor the boat, simply hauled on it, keeping the boat close to the riva while the two passengers disembarked.

He passed the rope back to Foa and saluted the two commissari, then led them back to the building and opened the door to let them enter.

They were quickly at Alaimo’s office, where he got to his feet as they were ushered in and came around his desk towards them. His smile was warmer, if anything, than last time. Alaimo went first to Griffoni and shook her hand, saying, ‘Ah, Claudia, if only I’d known when you came the first time. Think of the time we could have saved.’

‘Ignazio,’ she answered, ‘caution’s a habit it’s hard to lose.’

‘Especially when one is dealing with a Neapolitan,’ he said and released her hand.

She laughed at that and, turning to Brunetti said, ‘Guido, this is Ignazio, who, as it turns out – at least when he’s in Naples – plays tennis with my cousin’s husband.’

Brunetti was amazed: was this, in Naples, the basis upon which friendships were formed and trust given? He permitted himself a tiny, faintly inquisitive, ‘Ah.’

‘And who was stationed here . . .’ she went on.

Alaimo raised a monitory hand at this point and said, ‘That’s not important, Claudia.’

She turned to Alaimo and asked, ‘May I say anything?’

Alaimo ignored her question, stepped forward and took Brunetti’s hand. They moved automatically to the places they had taken the last time they were in the room.

When they were seated, Alaimo took the initiative of host and began, ‘I was equally . . . hesitant the other day.’ He turned to Brunetti and smiled. ‘I knew your name, Guido, and your reputation, but Claudia had never worked on anything that involved us, so all I knew of her was what she showed me that day.’ He let them consider that for a moment and then went on. ‘The very convincing portrait she painted of a person – once I mentioned my sainted aunt, that is, and raised her suspicions – whom I would not, in my wildest dreams, think of trusting.’

Brunetti, sitting opposite Griffoni, saw the blush that crept across her cheeks. Having always believed her beyond shame and capable of anything, Brunetti was surprised to see it there. And relieved.

Alaimo must have seen it, too, for he turned to her and put up a hand in a calming gesture. ‘If you thought I was lying to encourage your trust, Claudia, you were wise to be cautious.’

He paused, smiled, hesitated a bit longer and then said, ‘I behaved the same way and for the same reason. Your mention of Vio and Duso, and then so casually of Vio’s uncle, sounded like a fishing expedition to me.’

‘Was I that obvious?’ Griffoni asked.

The question seemed to embarrass the Captain. ‘Only when it became obvious that I’d said something to alarm you: I had no idea what or how. The more you talked, the more you were a person I didn’t want to be involved with.’ Another pause. Another smile. ‘You set off loud alarms by naming Vio and his uncle.’

Alaimo suddenly tossed both hands in the air. He looked at Brunetti, then at Griffoni, and then went on, speaking in an entirely different voice: no more playfulness, no more jokes, flirtatiousness dismissed. ‘I’ve been paying attention to them for a long time. That’s why when Claudia behaved as she did, I sent you away promising to ask around. I didn’t want the police to alarm them by showing interest in them.’

It seemed that Alaimo had finished, but he added, his voice a bit warmer, ‘It’s a good thing I’d heard about you, Guido, because it was enough to make me call a few friends in Naples and ask about . . .’ he turned to Griffoni, smiling, ‘you.’

‘I passed the test, I hope.’

‘It was decided when I spoke to Enrico.’

Griffoni raised an inquisitive eyebrow, and Alaimo nodded and smiled. ‘Enrico Luliano,’ he said.

Griffoni froze. She started to speak but failed to produce any sound. Brunetti asked, sounding as casual and uninterested as he could, ‘Who’s he? The name sounds faintly familiar to me.’

Alaimo removed his glance from Griffoni and looked at Brunetti. ‘A magistrate. A very good one.’

Griffoni suddenly shifted around, crossed her legs the other way, and said, her voice sounding perhaps a bit too steady to Brunetti, ‘With two bodyguards and three different apartments where to choose to sleep, at random.’

‘Doesn’t sound like a very attractive life,’ Brunetti said, trying to make it sound ironic but failing.