Free Fatal Remedies by Donna Leon Page A

had but to think of a former politician, currently on trial for association with the Mafia, a man whose appearance had been the butt of cartoon humour for decades. One did not normally associate great power with a man who looked so thoroughly innocuous, yet Brunetti had no doubt that one wink of those pale-green eyes could bring about the destruction of anyone who opposed him in even the most insignificant way.
     
    There had been as much bravado as truth in Brunetti’s disclaimer that he could not make a decision for Paola, but on sober reflection he realized that he meant it.
     
    Mitri had appeared at Patta’s office with a lawyer, one known to Brunetti, at least by reputation. Brunetti had a vague memory that Zambino usually concerned himself with business law, normally for large companies out on the mainland. He thought he might live in the city, but so few companies remained here that Zambino, at least professionally, had been forced to follow the exodus to the mainland in search of work.
     
    Why bring a business lawyer to a meeting with the police? Why involve him in something that was or might become a criminal matter? Zambino had the reputation, he recalled, of being a forceful man, not without enemies, yet he hadn’t said a word during the entire time Brunetti was in Patta’s office.
     
    He called down and asked Vianello to come up. When the sergeant came in some minutes later, Brunetti waved him to a seat. ‘What do you know about a certain Dottor Paolo Mitri and Avvocato Giuliano Zambino?’
     
    Vianello must have learned their names in some other way, for his answer was immediate. ‘Zambino lives in Dorsoduro, not far from the Salute. Big place, must be three hundred metres. He specializes in corporate and business law. Most of his clients are out on the mainland: chemicals and petrochemicals, pharmaceuticals and one factory that manufactures heavy earth-moving equipment. One of the chemical companies he works for was caught dumping arsenic into the laguna three years ago: he got them off with a fine of three million lire and the promise not to do it again.’
     
    Brunetti listened until the sergeant had finished, wondering if Signorina Elettra had been the source of this information. ‘And Mitri?’
     
    Brunetti sensed that Vianello was fighting hard to disguise his pride in having so swiftly gathered all of this information. He continued eagerly, ‘He got his start in one of the pharmaceutical companies, began there when he got out of university. He’s a chemist, but he doesn’t work at that any more, not after he took over the first factory, then two more. He’s branched out in the last few years and as well as a number of factories, he owns that travel agency, two estate agencies and is rumoured to be the major shareholder in the string of fast-food restaurants that opened last year.’
     
    ‘Any trouble, either of them?’
     
    ‘No,’ Vianello said. ‘Neither of them.’
     
    ‘Could that be negligence?’
     
    ‘On whose part?’
     
    ‘Ours.’
     
    The sergeant considered this for a moment. ‘Possibly. There’s a lot of that around.’
     
    ‘We might take a look, eh?’
     
    ‘Signorina Elettra is already talking to their banks.’
     
    ‘Talking?’
     
    Instead of answering, Vianello spread his hands flat on Brunetti’s desk and aped typing into a computer.
     
    ‘How long has he owned this travel agency?’ Brunetti asked.
     
    ‘Five or six years, I think.’
     
    ‘I wonder how long they’ve been arranging these tours.’ Brunetti said.
     
    ‘I can remember seeing the posters for them a few years ago, in the agency we use down in Castello,’ Vianello said. ‘I wondered how a week in Thailand could cost so little. I asked Nadia and she explained what it meant. So I’ve sort of kept an eye on the windows in travel agencies since then.’ Vianello did not explain the motive for his curiosity and Brunetti did not ask.
     
    ‘Where else do they go?’
     
    ‘The