Quietly in Their Sleep by Donna Leon

Signorina Lerini began, ‘was a shining example of Christian virtue. Not only was his entire life an exemplary model of industry, but his loving concern for the spiritual welfare of everyone he came in touch with, either personally or professionally, set a standard which will be hard to exceed.’ She went on in this vein for another few minutes, but Brunetti tuned out, letting his attention wander around the room.
     
    The heavy furniture, relics from a previous era, was familiar to him, all of it built to endure through the ages and devil take the ideas of comfort or beauty. After a quick survey of the room, which showed him a number of paintings more concerned with piety than beauty, Brunetti confined his attention to a study of the bulbous, four-clawed feet that reached out from the legs of tables and chairs.
     
    He turned his attention back just as Signorina Lerini was coming to the peroration of this speech she must have delivered countless times before. So pat was her delivery that Brunetti wondered if she was any longer conscious of what she was saying and tended to suspect that she might not be.
     
    ‘I hope that satisfies your curiosity,’ she said, finally coming to an end.
     
    ‘It certainly is a very impressive catalogue of virtues, Signorina,’ Brunetti said. Signorina Lerini contented herself with the words and smiled in response, her father having received his due.
     
    Since he hadn’t heard her mention it, Brunetti asked, ‘Could you tell me if the casa di cura was a recipient of your father’s generosity?’
     
    Her smile disappeared. ‘What do you mean?’
     
    ‘Did he remember it in his will?’
     
    ‘No.’
     
    ‘Could he perhaps have given them something while he was still there?’
     
    ‘I don’t know,’ she said, speaking in a soft voice and, by that, meaning to suggest lack of interest in such worldly things but, by the sharp look she gave him at the mention of such a possibility, succeeding only in looking wary and displeased.
     
    ‘How much control did your father have over his finances while he was there?’ Brunetti asked.
     
    ‘I’m not sure I understand your question,’ she said.
     
    ‘Was he in contact with his bank, could he write cheques? If he was no longer capable of doing those things, did he ask you, or whoever was handling his affairs, to pay bills or make gifts?’ He doubted that he could make the question any clearer to her.
     
    That she didn’t like this was evident, but Brunetti was out of patience with her protestations and her virtue.
     
    ‘I thought you said this was an investigation of swindlers, Commissario,’ she said in a voice so sharp that Brunetti immediately regretted his own tone.
     
    ‘It is, Signorina, it certainly is. And I wanted to know if they could possibly have taken advantage of your father and of his generosity while he was in the casa di cura.’
     
    ‘How could that happen?’ Brunetti noticed that her right hand held the fingers of the left in a vicelike grip, bunching the skin together like the wattle of a chicken.
     
    ‘If these people had come to visit other patients, or found themselves there for any reason, they could have had contact with your father.’ When she said nothing, Brunetti asked, ‘Isn’t that possible?’
     
    ‘And he could have given them money?’ she asked.
     
    ‘It’s possible, but only theoretically. If there were no strange bequests in his will, and if he gave no unusual instructions about his finances, I don’t think there’s anything to worry about.’
     
    ‘You can rest assured, then, Commissario. I was in charge of my father’s finances during his last illness, and he never spoke of anything like that.’
     
    ‘And his will? Did he make any changes to it during the time he was there?’
     
    ‘None.’
     
    ‘And you were his heir?’
     
    ‘Yes. I am his only child.’
     
    Brunetti had come to the end of both his patience and his questions. ‘Thank you for your time