Free Death and Judgement by Donna Leon Page B

marriage, signora? ’ 'Yes, ’ she answered immediately, far faster than Brunetti would have answered the same question, though he would have given the same response. She did not however, elaborate.
    'Could you tell me if your husband had any particularly close friends or business associates?'
    She looked up at this question, then as quickly down again at her hands. 'Our closest friends are the Nogares, Mirto and Graziella. He's an architect who lives in Campo Sant' Angelo. They're Francesca's godparents. I don't know about his business associates: you'll have to ask Ubaldo.'
    'Other friends, signora?'
    'Why do you need to know all this ?' she said, voice rising sharply.
    'I'd like to learn more about your husband, signora.'
    'Why?' The question leaped from her, almost as if beyond her volition.
    'Until I understand what sort of man he was, I can't understand why this happened.' . 4 A robbery?' she asked, voice just short of sarcasm.
    'It wasn't robbery, signora. Whoever killed him intended to do it.'
    'No one could have a reason to want to kill Carlo, ’ she insisted - Brunetti, having heard this same thing more times than he cared to remember, said nothing.
    Suddenly Signora Trevisan got to her feet. 'Do you have any more questions? If not, I would like to be with my daughter.'
    Brunetti got up from the chair and put out his hand. 'Again, signora, I appreciate your having spoken to me. I realize what a painful time this must be for you and your family, and I hope you find the courage that will help you through it.' Even as he spoke the words, they sounded formulaic in his ears, the sort of thing that got said in the absence of perceived grief, which was the case here.
    'Thank you, commissario, ’ she said, giving his hand a quick shake and walking towards the door. She held it open for him, then walked along the corridor with him towards the front door of the apartment. There was no sign of the other members of the family.
    At the door, Brunetti nodded to the widow as he left the apartment and heard the door close softly behind him as he started down the steps. It seemed strange to him that a woman could be married to a man for almost twenty years and know nothing about his business dealings. Stranger still, when her own brother was his accountant. What did they discuss at family dinners - soccer? Everyone Brunetti knew hated lawyers. Brunetti hated lawyers. He could not, consequently, believe that a lawyer, let alone a famous and successful one, had no enemies. Tomorrow he could discuss this with Lotto and see if he proved to be any more forth coming than his sister.

10
    While Brunetti had been inside the Trevisan apartment, the sky had clouded over, and the shimmering warmth ' of the day had fled. He glanced at his watch and saw that it was not yet six, and so, if he chose, he could still go back to the Questura. Instead, he turned back towards the Accademia Bridge, crossed it, and headed up towards home. Halfway there, he stopped in a bar and asked for a small glass of white wine. He picked up one of the small pretzels on the bar, took a bite, but tossed the rest into an ashtray. The wine was as bad as the pretzel, so he left that, too, and continued towards home.
    He tried to recall th e expression on Francesca Trevi san's face when she had so suddenly appeared at the door, but he could remember no more than eyes flashing wide at the sight of him there. The eyes had been dry and had registered nothing more than surprise; she resembled her mother in absence of grief, as well as in feature. Had she been expecting someone else?
    How would Chiara respond if he were to be killed? And Paola, would she be so easily capable of answering questions, were a policeman to come to ask about their personal life? Surely, Paola would not be able to say, as had Signora Trevisan, that she knew nothing about her husband's, her late husband's, professional fife. It snagged in Brunetti's mind, this protestation of ignorance, and he