Read Online CB18 About Face (2009) by Donna Leon - Free Book Online

you we’d become, if not friends, then at least close. We talked about things.’
    ‘For instance?’
    ‘I told him how lucky he was to be married to someone he loved so much,’ Guarino said in a voice that was steady except for the word ‘loved’.
    ‘I see.’
    ‘I meant it, too,’ Guarino said with what Brunetti considered defensive self-revelation. ‘It wasn’t one of those things you tell them to get them to trust you.’ He waited to be sure that Brunetti understood the distinction, then went on, ‘Maybe that’s how things were at the beginning, but as time passed, well, they changed between us.’
    ‘Did you ever meet his wife? Or see her?’
    ‘No. But her photo was on his desk,’ Guarino said. ‘I’d like to talk to her, but we can’t contact her or give any sign that we were ever in touch with him.’
    ‘If they killed him, then they already know that you were, wouldn’t you say?’ Brunetti asked, unwilling to be merciful.
    ‘Perhaps,’ Guarino agreed with some reluctance, then changed it to ‘probably.’ His voice grew a bit stronger. ‘But those are the rules. We can’t do anything that might put her at risk.’
    ‘Of course,’ Brunetti said and stopped himself from observing that that had already been amply taken care of. He returned to his desk. ‘I don’t know how much we’ll be able to help you, but I’ll ask around and have a look at the files. I have to tell you now that no one comes to mind.’ It was implicit, in his use of the term ‘ask around’, that whatever was done beyond the usual search through the files would be done at the casual, private level: men talking to their informers, hinting, chatting in the bars. ‘However,’ Brunetti added, ‘Venice isn’t the best place to search for information about trucking.’
    Guarino glanced at him, seeking sarcasm but finding none. ‘I’ll be grateful for whatever information you can give me,’ he said. ‘We’re at a loss. It’s always this way when we try to work someplace where we don’t know . . .’ Guarino’s voice trailed off.
    It occurred to Brunetti that the other man could as easily have stopped himself from saying ‘who we can trust’ as anything else. ‘It’s strange that he never set it up so that you could have a look at this man,’ he said. ‘After all, you knew about him for a long time.’
    Guarino said nothing.
    There were countless questions to be asked, Brunetti realized. Had a truck even been stopped and the driver asked for papers? What if there was an accident?
    ‘You talked to the drivers?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘And?’
    ‘And they weren’t very helpful.’
    ‘What does that mean?’
    ‘It could mean that they drove where they were told to drive and didn’t give it a thought.’ Brunetti’s expression showed how believable he found this, so Guarino added, ‘Or that Ranzato’s murder helped to wipe out their memories.’
    ‘You think it’s worth trying to find out which?’
    ‘My guess is no. People up here don’t have a lot of direct experience with the Camorra, but they’ve already learned not to cause them trouble.’
    ‘If this is the way it is already, then there’s no hope of trying to stop them, is there?’ Brunetti asked.
    Guarino got to his feet and leaned across Brunetti’s desk to shake his hand, saying, ‘You can reach me at the Marghera station.’
    Brunetti shook his hand. ‘I’ll ask around.’
    ‘I’d be grateful.’ Guarino gave Brunetti a long look, nodded as if he believed him, and walked quickly to the door. He let himself out quietly.
    ‘Oh my, oh my, oh my,’ Brunetti muttered to himself. He sat at his desk for some time, thinking over what he had been told, then went down to Signorina Elettra’s office. She looked up from her computer screen as he came in. The winter sun streamed through the window of her office, illuminating the roses he had seen earlier, and her shirt, which managed to make the roses look dingy.
    ‘If you’ve got time,