Transient Desires (Commissario Brunetti #30)(69)

Alaimo smiled at her and nodded. ‘But the old geezers don’t live in fear, and I’m afraid Borgato’s nephew does: and I think many of his neighbours, as well.’

‘What else have you heard?’ Brunetti asked.

From the speed with which Alaimo answered, it was evident that he had been waiting for the question. ‘Borgato’s boats go out at night – not his transport boats, but the passenger boats – those two Mira 37’s he’s got, with the big engines. Stripped down, they could run rings around his transport boats and carry tons of contraband.’ Then, more soberly, he added, ‘Tons of anything.’

He looked at Griffoni and said, ‘You keep telling me not to talk about the Giudecca, but everyone knows everyone there. And people know his boats are going out, but if we were foolish enough to ask about it, they’d tell us they don’t know anything. The best they might say is that he’s probably going fishing.’ His voice was tight with disgust he proved incapable of disguising.

‘No one would mention the two motors with at least 250 horsepower: I can’t even calculate how many more times stronger that is than a motor on a boat that transports mineral water or boxes of detergent to the supermarkets. He could move . . .’ he went on, growing more outraged as he spoke, ‘ . . . this building, for God’s sake, if someone put it on a big enough raft.’

He looked directly at Brunetti, aiming the next remark at him. ‘And he’s managed over the years to persuade every one of his neighbours to sell him their docking places along the riva where he has his warehouse.’

‘That’s impossible,’ Brunetti shot back before he thought about it. ‘No one ever sells their docking place. They’ve been in fam-ilies for generations.’

Alaimo held up his empty hands, as though he were trying to show his ignorance of this reality. ‘It took him three years to persuade them all.’

‘How many were there?’ Brunetti asked.

‘Six.’

‘That’s impossible,’ Brunetti repeated.

This time Alaimo smiled as he continued. ‘That’s what every Venetian I’ve told about it says. It’s impossible. But still it’s true.’

‘Didn’t anyone complain?’

‘If they did, they probably would have complained to you, not to us. We deal with problems at sea; you’re supposed to take care of problems on land.’

‘So he’s got the whole canal?’ Brunetti asked.

‘Almost.’

‘Who held out?’

‘No one,’ Alaimo said. ‘There’s another space, but it’s part of a contested estate.’

‘On the Giudecca?’ Griffoni asked, then put her hand over her mouth, looked at Brunetti, and said, ‘Excuse me, Guido.’ She paused; Brunetti saw her scuttle around for a way to explain her casual assumption that no one on the Giudecca could have an estate worth enough to contest. In the end, she didn’t bother, and he decided to act as though he found that a reasonable opinion for her to have and let it pass.

‘All right,’ Brunetti said. ‘We agree he’s a bad guy and,’ he paused for a moment before inserting the next word, ‘probably mixed up in human trafficking.’ He folded his hands together and stuck them between his knees, leaned forward and continued, ‘But we don’t have anything tangible: no evidence, no credible witnesses, no one who can give us specific information about where he does it.’ He sat up and pulled his hands apart.

‘The money?’ Griffoni surprised them both by asking.

‘What?’ Alaimo asked.

‘He must sell these women.’ Her voice was harsh, brittle. ‘Girls. Who buys them, and how do they pay him? And if it’s not cash, how does he explain its arrival?’

‘It could go to another country,’ Alaimo suggested.

She nodded. ‘Fair enough. But it’s no use to him there.’ She considered her own words for a moment and then said, ‘It doesn’t matter where it goes, does it?’ Before either of them could speak, she went on. ‘He can’t put it in the bank. He can’t buy more boats or property because, if he continues to spend more than he earns, sooner or later the Guardia di Finanza will see the red flags and take a closer look at him.’

‘Then what does he do with it?’ Alaimo asked.

Griffoni held her hands up protectively in front of herself and said, ‘I have no idea.’ Then, with a smile, added, ‘What to do with too much money is not a problem I anticipate having, so I’ve never given it much thought.’

‘Why don’t we?’ Brunetti asked.

‘What?’ Alaimo asked.

‘Give it some thought,’ Brunetti answered.

‘I think we can be sure he’s not spending it to take care of -widows and orphans,’ Griffoni said coldly.

‘He’s divorced,’ Alaimo added. ‘And he doesn’t seem to have a companion.’

‘Of which sex?’ Griffoni asked.

Brunetti turned to her suddenly. ‘That’s a strange thing to say.’

‘I suppose it is,’ she conceded, ‘but he sounds like a very strange man.’

‘Why?’ Alaimo asked.

‘Because he’s a homophobe, for one thing,’ she said, turning to Brunetti. ‘You told me what Duso said.’ Then she added, ‘Imagine what he thinks of Duso’s friendship with his nephew.’