Falling in Love by Donna Leon Page B

stairs,’ he said. ‘So either he was following her, or he was waiting near the bridge, which means he knew which way she would be going. Then, after he pushed her, he couldn’t resist the temptation to see what had happened.’ He thought it through again and said, ‘She didn’t move until those men found her.’
    ‘So he did think he’d killed her,’ Signorina Elettra finished for him. Then, voice tight with rage and disgust, she said, ‘God, it’s awful.’ Brunetti saw that she had closed her eyes and decided not to speak to her until she was calmer.
    He went over to the window and studied the vines in the garden of the palazzo where, for the last decade, he had seen no sign of life other than the yearly renewal of this ever-expanding plant. In a month, the wisteria would be in full bloom, but for now the vine would lurk menacingly on the wall, apparently unwilling to divulge its secret until that day when – zap! – the panicles were there, where they had not been the day before, and the perfume filled every room of the Questura.
    From behind him, he heard Signorina Elettra say in her normal voice, ‘It’s usually the husband or boyfriend or an ex or someone she’s trying to make become an ex.’
    Brunetti had reached the same conclusion and had decided he had no choice but to go back to the hospital to speak to the girl again.
    ‘Her name’s Francesca Santello,’ he said.
    ‘How old is she?’ Signorina Elettra asked.
    ‘Young,’ was all Brunetti could say, failing to remember what had been written on the hospital chart. ‘Looks about eighteen. Not much more than that.’ Then, ‘She’s studying in Paris.’
    ‘Would you like me to see if I can find out anything about her?’ she asked.
    Brunetti nodded. ‘She seemed a nice girl,’ he said.
    ‘Nice girls don’t always have nice boyfriends,’ Signorina Elettra answered.
    Brunetti gave a combination of nod and shrug to indicate agreement and resignation to the way of the world.
    ‘The way he stood on the bridge and looked at her is strange,’ she said in a sober voice. ‘A crank wouldn’t do that: he’d just push her for the fun of it and run away. But this guy wanted to see what he’d done.’ She looked thoughtful. ‘I’ll have a look,’ she said.
    Brunetti checked his watch and decided to go home for lunch and then to the hospital during the time when the wards were, at least theoretically, closed to visitors.
    ‘Where is she?’ Signorina Elettra asked.
    ‘ Cardiologia.’
    Signorina Elettra failed to hide her surprise. ‘What?’
    ‘They had nowhere else to put her.’
    When she finally responded, it was to ask, ‘You think she’s safe there?’
    ‘As safe as anyone is there.’
    He had thought of asking Vianello to go along with him after lunch, but the girl had still been so groggy she might not remember having spoken to him: better she wake up to see a woman standing near her bed. He phoned Claudia Griffoni and asked if she could meet him at the front door of the hospital at three, to serve as ‘a calming feminine presence’ when he questioned a young woman who had been assaulted.
    That done, he walked home, dawdling through the nearly empty streets while he still could. In Campo Santa Marina, he noticed that the small tables in front of Didovich were all full, most of the customers sitting, eyes closed, faces towards the sun. Seeing them, Brunetti remembered overhearing an American tourist say, ‘Sunscreen’s for sissies.’ He also remembered that his repeating it to Rizzardi had provoked one of the pathologist’s rare smiles.
    As he suspected, he found his family lined up in a row on the terrace much like the clients at Didovich: Paola, wearing gloves and with a woollen scarf wrapped around her neck, sat reading. Chiara wore a T-shirt the sight of which made goose bumps break out on Brunetti’s arms. She sat, chair tipped back, feet on the railing, eyes closed, with every evidence of having slipped into a deep