By Its Cover Read Online Free

he imagined her opening them and seeing the stubs where once pages had been. ‘I had them brought down after I saw the first one. Three more. One of them is missing nine pages.’ He assumed she had done this without putting on gloves. Perhaps a librarian, in the face of books that might have been vandalized, was as incapable of leaving them untouched as a doctor at the sight of a bleeding limb.
    ‘How serious is the loss?’ he asked, hoping by her answer to get some idea of what was at stake in a crime such as this. People stole things because they had value, but that was an entirely relative term, Brunetti knew, unless a thief took money. The value of an object could be sentimental or it could be based on the market price. In this case, rarity, condition, and desirability would determine that. How put a price on beauty? How much was historical importance worth? He stole a look at the books on the rack against the wall but glanced away quickly.
    She looked at him directly, and he saw, not the eyes of a wading bird, but the eyes of a very intelligent person who understood the complexity of any answer she might give to his question.
    She took a few sheets of paper from the table next to her. ‘We’ve started to assemble a list of the books he’s consulted since he’s been here, including the ones I saw today,’ she said by way of answer, ignoring the books onthe rack behind her. ‘As soon as we know all the titles and examine them, we’ll have an idea of what else he’s taken.’
    ‘How long has he been coming here?’
    ‘Three weeks.’
    ‘May I see the books you’ve already found?’ Brunetti asked.
    ‘Of course, of course,’ she said. She turned to the guard and said, ‘Piero, put a sign on the door saying we’re closed. Technical problems.’ She turned to Brunetti and with a bitter smile said, ‘I suppose that’s true enough.’ Brunetti thought it expedient not to reply.
    While Piero was writing the sign, Dottoressa Fabbiani asked the guard, ‘Is there anyone still in the reading room?’
    ‘No. The only other person who checked in today was Tertullian, and he’s left.’ He took paper and a roll of tape from a drawer behind the counter and stepped over to the front door.
    ‘ Oddio ,’ Dottoressa Fabbiani said under her breath. ‘I forgot all about him. It’s almost as if he’s part of the staff or a piece of the furniture.’ She shook her head in exasperation at her own forgetfulness.
    ‘Who’s that?’ Brunetti asked, curious to see if her explanation would match that of the guard.
    ‘He comes here to read. It’s been years,’ she answered. ‘He reads religious tracts and is very polite to everyone.’
    ‘I see,’ Brunetti said, deciding to ignore this information, at least for now. ‘Would you tell me how a person gets to use your collection?’
    She nodded. ‘It’s very straightforward. Residents have to provide their carta d’identità and proof of a current address. If they’re not resident in the city and they want access to certain books, they have to give us a written explanation of their research project, a letter of recommendation from an academic institution or another library, and some form of identification.’

    ‘How do they know that they can do their research here?’ Seeing her confusion, he realized he had phrased his question badly. ‘I mean, how do they know what’s in your collection?’
    Her surprise was too strong for her to disguise. ‘Everything’s online. All they have to do is search for what they want.’
    ‘Of course, of course,’ Brunetti said, embarrassed that he had asked such a stupid question. ‘The system was different when I was a student.’ He looked around and said, ‘Everything was different.’
    ‘You came here?’ she asked, curious.
    ‘A few times, when I was in liceo .’
    ‘To read what?’
    ‘History, mostly. The Romans; sometimes the Greeks.’ Then, feeling it proper to confess, he added, ‘But always in