Anonymous Venetian Read Online Free Page B

pink, no longer white. ‘How long have
you been out here, Officer Scarpa?’ Brunetti asked when he approached the man.
     
    ‘Since the lab people left, sir.’
     
    ‘When was that?’
     
    ‘About three, sir.’
     
    ‘Why are you still here?’
     
    ‘The sergeant in charge told me
to stay here until a team came out to talk to the workers.’
     
    ‘What are you doing out here in
the sun?’
     
    The man made no attempt to avoid
the question or to embellish his answer. ‘I couldn’t stand it inside, sir. The
smell. I came out here and was sick, and then I knew I couldn’t go back inside.
I tried standing for the first hour, but there’s only this little place where
there’s any shade, so I went back and got a chair.’
     
    Instinctively, Brunetti and the
driver had crowded into that small patch of shade while the other man spoke. ‘Do
you know if the team has come out to question them?’ Brunetti asked.
     
    ‘Yes, sir. They got here about an
hour ago.’
     
    ‘Then what are you still doing
out here?’ Brunetti asked.
     
    The officer gave Brunetti a stony
look. ‘I asked the sergeant if I could go back to town, but he wanted me to
help with the questioning. I told him I couldn’t, not unless the workers came
outside to talk to me. He didn’t like that, but I couldn’t go back inside.’
     
    A playful breeze reminded
Brunetti of the truth of that.
     
    ‘So what are you doing out here?
Why aren’t you in the car?’
     
    ‘He told me to wait here, sir.’
The man’s face didn’t change when he spoke. ‘I asked if I could sit in the car
- it’s got air-conditioning - but he told me to stay out here if I wouldn’t
help with the questioning.’ As if anticipating Brunetti’s next question, he
said, ‘The next bus isn’t until quarter to eight, to take people back into the
city after work.’
     
    Brunetti considered this and then
asked, ‘Where was he found?’
     
    The policeman turned and pointed
to a long clump of grass on the other side of the fence. ‘He was under that,
sir.’
     
    ‘Who found him?’
     
    ‘One of the workers inside. He’d
come outside to have a cigarette, and he saw one of the guy’s shoes lying on
the ground - red, I think - so he went to have a closer look.’
     
    ‘Were you here when the lab team
was?’
     
    ‘Yes, sir. They went over it,
taking photos and picking up anything that was on the ground for about a
hundred metres around the bush.’
     
    ‘Footprints?’
     
    ‘I think so, sir, but I’m not
sure. The man who found him left some, but I think they found others.’ He
paused a moment, wiped some sweat from his forehead, and added, ‘And the first
police who were on the scene left some.’
     
    ‘Your sergeant?’
     
    ‘Yes, sir.’
     
    Brunetti glanced off at the clump
of grass then back at the policeman’s sweat-soaked shirt. ‘Go on back to our
car, Officer Scarpa. It’s air-conditioned.’ Then to the driver, ‘Go with him.
You can both wait for me there.’
     
    ‘Thank you, sir,’ the policeman
said gratefully and reached down to pull his jacket from the back of the chair.
     
    ‘Don’t bother,’ Brunetti said
when he saw the man start to put one arm in a sleeve.
     
    ‘Thank you, sir,’ he repeated and
bent to pick up the chair. The two men walked back towards the building. The
policeman set the chair down on the cement outside the back door of the
building then joined the other man. They disappeared round the side of the
building, and Brunetti went towards the hole in the fence.
     
    Ducking low, he passed through it
and walked over towards the bush. The signs left by the lab team were all
around: holes in the earth where they had driven rods into the earth to measure
distance, dirt scuffed into small piles by pivoting footsteps, and, nearer to
the clump, a small pile of clipped grass placed neatly to the side: apparently,
they’d had to cut down the grass to get to the body and remove it without
scratching it on the