Free Friends in High Places by Donna Leon Page B

actions and had given the same attention to both buildings and to the garden. He came and stood next to Brunetti. ‘It’s possible, isn’t it, sir?’
     
    Brunetti nodded in acknowledgement, and thanks. ‘No one would notice a thing. There’s no one in the building that looks across at the scaffolding, and there’s no sign that anyone is taking care of the garden. So there was no one to see him fall,’ he said.
     
    ‘If he fell,’ Vianello added.
     
    There was a long pause, and then Brunetti asked, ‘Do we have anything on it?’
     
    ‘Not that I know of. It was reported as an accident, I think, so the Vigili Urbani from San Polo would have come over to have a look. And if they decided that it was, an accident, I mean, that would have been the end of it.’
     
    ‘I think we’d better go and talk to them,’ Brunetti pushed himself away from the wall and turned to the door of the house. A padlock and chain were attached to a circle of iron set into the lintel to hold the door to the marble frame.
     
    ‘How did he get inside to get up on the scaffolding?’ Brunetti asked.
     
    ‘Maybe the Vigili can tell us that,’ Vianello said.
     
    * * * *
     
    They couldn’t. Bonsuan took them over in the boat, up the Rio di San Agostino to the police station near Campo San Stin. The policeman at the door recognized them both and took them at once to Lieutenant Turcati, the officer in charge. He was a dark-haired man whose uniform seemed to have been made for him by a tailor. This was enough for Brunetti to treat him with formality and address him by rank.
     
    When they were seated and after listening to what Brunetti had to say, Turcati had the file on Rossi brought up. The man who called about Rossi had also called for an ambulance after phoning the police. Because the much-nearer Giustiniani had no ambulances available, Rossi had been taken to the Ospedale Civile.
     
    ‘Is he here? Officer Franchi?’ Brunetti asked, reading the name at the bottom of the report.
     
    ‘Why?’ the lieutenant asked.
     
    ‘I’d like him to describe a few things to me,’ Brunetti answered.
     
    ‘Like what?’
     
    ‘Why he thought it was an accident. Whether Rossi had keys to the building in his pocket. Whether there was blood on the scaffolding.’
     
    ‘I see,’ the lieutenant said, and reached for his phone.
     
    While they waited for Franchi, Turcati asked if they would like coffee, but both men refused.
     
    After a few minutes of idle talk, a young policeman came in. He had blond hair cut so short as almost not to be there and looked barely old enough to need to shave. He saluted the lieutenant and stood to attention, not looking at either Brunetti or Vianello. Ah, that’s the way Lieutenant Turcati runs his shop, Brunetti thought.
     
    ‘These men have some questions for you, Franchi,’ Turcati said.
     
    The policeman stood a bit more easily, but Brunetti saw little evidence that he had relaxed.
     
    ‘Yes, sir,’ he said but still did not look towards them.
     
    ‘Officer Franchi,’ Brunetti began, ‘your report on the finding of the man over near Angelo Raffaele is very clear, but I have a few questions I’d like to ask you about it.’
     
    Still facing the lieutenant, Franchi said, ‘Yes, sir?’
     
    ‘Did you search the man’s pockets?’
     
    ‘No, sir. I got there just as the men from the ambulance did. They picked him up and put him on a stretcher and were taking him toward the boat.’ Brunetti did not ask the policeman why it had taken him the same time to travel the short distance from the police station as for the ambulance to cross the entire city.
     
    ‘You wrote in your report that he had fallen from the scaffolding. I wondered if you examined the scaffolding to see if there were signs of that. Perhaps a broken board or a piece of fabric from his clothing. Or perhaps a bloodstain.’
     
    ‘No, sir.’
     
    Brunetti waited for an explanation, and when it didn’t come, he asked,