Free Death and Judgement by Donna Leon

I'll see the widow in,' he began, looking at his watch, 'a half-hour. If she tells me anything that we can use, I’ll come back here; otherwise, I'll see you tomorrow morning.'
    Taking this as leave to go, Vianello put his notebook back in his pocket, got to his feet, and went back down to the second floor.
    Brunetti left the Questura five minutes later and started up towards Riva degli Schiavoni, where he got on to the No. 1 vaporetto. He got off at Santa Maria del Giglio, made a left at the Hotel Ala, crossed two bridges, cut to his left, down a small cal le that led to the Grand Canal, and stopped at the last door on the left. He rang the bell marked Trevisan', and when the door clicked open, walked up to the third floor.
    At the top of the stairs, a door stood open, and in it stood a grey-haired man with a substantial stomach expertly disguised by the expensive cut of his suit As Brune tti reached the top of the stairs, the man asked, without extending his hand, 'Commissario Brunetti?' ‘ Yes. Signor Lotto?'
    The man nodded but still did not extend his hand. 'Come in, then. My sister is waiting for you.' Though Brunetti was three minutes early, the man managed to make it sound like Brunetti had kept the widow waiting.
    The entrance hall was lined on both sides with mirrors and gave the illusion that the small area was crowded with many duplicates of Brunetti and Signora Trevisan's brother. The floor was patterned with gleaming squares of alternating black and white marble, inducing in Brunetti the feeling that he and his reflection were moving about on a chess board and thus forcing him to view the other man as an opponent.
    'I appreciate Signora Trevisan's agreeing to see me,' Brunetti said.
    'I told her not to,' her brother said brusquely. 'She shouldn't see anyone. This is terrible.' The look he gave Brunetti made him wonder if the man was referring to Trevisan's murder or Brunetti's presence in the house of mourning.
    Cutting in front of Brunetti, the other man led him down another corridor and into a small room off to the left. It was difficult to tell what purpose the room was meant to serve: there were no books, no television, and the only chairs in the room were straight-backed and stood in the four corners. Two windows on one wall were covered with dark green drapes. In the centre stood a round table and on it a vase of dried flowers. Nothing more and no clue as to purpose or function.
    'You can wait here,' Lotto said and left the room. Brunetti stood still for a moment, then walked over to one of the windows and pulled back the drape. Beyond him lay the Grand Canal, sunlight playing on its surface, and off to the left Palazzo Dario, the golden tiles of the mosaic that covered its facade catching the light that shot up from the water below, only to shatter it into fragments and sprinkle it back on the waters of the canal. Boats floated by; minutes went with them.
    He heard the door behind him open, and he turned to greet the widow Trevisan. Instead, a young girl with dark hair that fell to her shoulders came into the room, saw Brunetti standing by the window, pulled back, and left as quickly as she had entered, pulling the door closed behind her. A few minutes after this, the door was opened again, but this time it was a woman in her early forties who came into the room. She wore a simple black woollen dress and shoes with heels that raised her almost to Brunetti's height. Her face was the same shape as the girl's, her hair also shoulder length and the same dark brown, though the woman's colour showed signs of assistance. Her eyes, wide-spaced like her brother's, were bright with intelligence and what Brunetti thought was curiosity rather than unshed tears.
    She came across the room to Brunett i and extended her hand. 'Comm issario Brunetti?'
    'Yes, signora. I'm sorry we have to meet in circumstances such as these. I'm very grateful you consented to speak to me.'
    ‘ I want to do anything that will help you