Free Fatal Remedies by Donna Leon

asked.
     
    ‘I thought you and I might come to an agreement about this.’
     
    ‘I’m afraid I don’t understand,’ Brunetti said, wondering how far he could push this man and what would happen when he overdid it.
     
    ‘What is it you don’t understand, Commissario?’
     
    ‘What it is you called me in here to talk about.’
     
    Mitri’s voice tightened, but it remained light. ‘I want to resolve this matter. Between gentlemen.’ He nodded in the direction of Patta. ‘I have the honour of being a friend of the Vice-Questore, and I would prefer not to cause the police any embarrassment in this matter.’
     
    That, Brunetti thought, could explain the silence of the press.
     
    ‘And so I thought we might settle this matter quietly, without causing unnecessary complications.’
     
    Brunetti turned to Scarpa. ‘Last night, did my wife say anything to Landi about why she did it?’
     
    Scarpa was caught off guard by the question and glanced quickly at Mitri, who spoke before the lieutenant did. ‘I’m sure that’s of no consequence now. What’s important is that she admitted the crime.’ He turned his attention to Patta. ‘I think it is in the best interests of us all that we settle this while we can. I’m sure you agree, Pippo.’
     
    Patta permitted himself a sharp ‘Of course’.
     
    Mitri returned his attention to Brunetti. ‘If you agree with me, then we can proceed. If not, then I’m afraid I’m wasting my time.’
     
    ‘I’m still not sure what it is you want me to agree to, Dottor Mitri.’
     
    ‘I want you to agree that your wife will pay me for the damage to my window and for the business lost by the agency while it’s being repaired.’
     
    ‘I can’t do that,’ Brunetti said.
     
    ‘And why not?’ Mitri demanded, not much patience left.
     
    ‘It’s none of my business. If you’d like to discuss the matter with my wife, you are certainly free to do so. But I can’t make any decision, much less one like this, for her.’ Brunetti thought his voice sounded as reasonable as what he had to say.
     
    ‘What sort of man are you?’ Mitri asked angrily.
     
    Brunetti turned his attention to Patta. ‘Is there any other way I can be helpful to you, Vice-Questore?’ Patta seemed too surprised, or too angry, to answer, so Brunetti got to his feet and let himself quickly out of the office.
     
    * * * *
     
    8
     
     
    In response to Signorina Elettra’s raised eyebrows and pursed mouth, Brunetti gave nothing more than a quick, inconclusive shake of his head signalling to her that he’d explain later. He went back up the stairs to his office, considering the real meaning of what had just happened.
     
    Mitri, who boasted of his friendship with Patta, no doubt had sufficient influence to keep a story as potentially explosive as this out of the papers. It was a natural, had everything a reporter could want: sex, violence, police involvement. And if they managed to discover the way in which Paola’s first attack had been covered up, that would provide their readers with even headier delights - police corruption and the abuse of power.
     
    What editor would renounce a possibility like this? What newspaper could deny itself the pleasure of printing such an item? Paola, as well, was the daughter of Conte Orazio Falier, one of the most famous and certainly one of the wealthiest men in the city. It was all such remarkably good press that the newspaper which would deny itself such a coup did not exist.
     
    That meant there had to be some greater recompense to the editor or editors who did not use it. Or, he added after a moment’s reflection, to the authorities who managed to prevent the story from getting to the papers. There also existed the possibility that the story had been put off limits, dressed up in reasons of state and thus prohibited to the press. Mitri had not seemed a man to possess that much power, but that kind, Brunetti had to remind himself, was often invisible. He