About Face

10
Brunetti studied his hand as he replaced the receiver to see if it trembled. Nope, steady as a rock. Besides, this cloak and dagger stuff from Guarino was more likely to cause him irritation than fear. What was next, leaving messages for one another in bottles and floating them down the Grand Canal? Guarino had seemed a sensible enough fellow, and he had accepted Brunetti’s scepticism with good grace, so why persist with all this James Bond nonsense?
He went to the doorway and asked Sergio, ‘You mind if I make a call?’
‘Commissario,’ he said with an open wave of his hands, ‘call whoever you want.’ Dark-complexioned, almost as wide as he was tall, Sergio always reminded Brunetti of the bear who was the hero of one of the first books he had ever read. Because the bear was in the habit of gorging himself on honey, Sergio’s substantial paunch only added to the resemblance. And, like that bear, Sergio was affable and generous, though equally prone to giving a growl now and again.
He dialled the first five digits of his home number but replaced the phone. He came out from the back room and returned to his place at the bar. But his glass was gone. ‘Someone drink my punch?’ he inquired.
‘No, Commissario. I thought it would be too cold to drink.’
‘Could you make me another?’
‘Nothing easier,’ the barman said and pulled down the bottle.
Ten minutes later, considerably warmed, Brunetti went back to his office. From there, he dialled his home number.
‘Sì,’ Paola answered. When had she stopped answering with her name, he wondered?
‘It’s me. You going to your office tomorrow?’
‘Yes.’
‘Can you print a photo from your computer there?’
‘Of course,’ she said, and he heard the barely restrained sigh.
‘Good. It should arrive for you by email. Could you print out a copy of it for me? And maybe enlarge it?’
‘Guido, I could just as easily access my email from here,’ she said, using the voice of studied patience she reserved for the explanation of the self-evident.
‘I know,’ he said, though he had not thought of that. ‘But I’d like to keep this . . .’
‘Out of the house?’ she suggested.
‘Yes.’
‘Thank you,’ she said and then laughed. ‘I don’t want to delve into what understanding you have of technology, Guido, but thank you at least for that.’
‘I don’t want the kids . . .’ he began.
‘You don’t have to explain,’ she cut him off. Her voice was softer still when she said, ‘I’ll see you later,’ and then she was gone.
He heard a noise at his door and looked towards it, surprised to see Officer Alvise. ‘Do you have a moment, Commissario?’ he asked, smiling, then serious, then smiling again. Short and weedy, Alvise was the least prepossessing man on the force: his intellect was in complete harmony with this lack of physical prowess. Affable and friendly, Alvise was usually eager to chat with anyone. Paola, the one time she met him, said he made her think of someone of whom an English poet had said, ‘Eternal smiles his emptiness betray.’
‘Of course, Alvise. Come in. Please.’ Alvise had only recently reappeared in the squad room after half a year spent working in symbiosis with Lieutenant Scarpa on some sort of European-Union-sponsored crime squad the precise nature of which had never been defined.
‘I’m back, sir,’ Alvise said as he sat down.
‘Yes,’ Brunetti said. ‘I know.’ Lambent thought and concise explanation were not attributes usually associated with Alvise’s name; thus, his declaration could refer to his return from his temporary assignment or, for all Brunetti knew, from the bar on the corner.
Alvise sat and looked around the room, as though seeing it for the first time. Brunetti wondered if the officer thought it necessary to reintroduce himself to his superior. The silence lengthened, but Brunetti decided to wait it out and see what Alvise had to say. The officer turned to look at the open door, then at Brunetti, then at the door again. After another minute’s silence, he leaned forward and asked, ‘Do you mind if I close the door, Commissario?’
‘Of course not, Alvise,’ Brunetti said, wondering if half a year spent closeted in a tiny office with the Lieutenant had perhaps rendered Alvise subject to draughts?
Alvise went to the door, stuck his head out and glanced both ways, closed the door quietly, and came back to his chair. The silence renewed itself, but Brunetti resisted the impulse to speak.
Finally Alvise said, ‘As I said, sir, I’m back.’
‘And as I said, Alvise, I know.’
Alvise stared at him, as if suddenly realizing that it fell to him to break free of the non-communication circle. He glanced at the door, turned to Brunetti, and said, ‘But it’s like I’m not, sir.’
Brunetti failed to prod at this, so the officer was forced to continue. ‘The other men, sir, it’s not like they’re glad I’m back.’ Perplexity was evident in his unlined face.
‘Why do you say that, Alvise?’
‘Well, no one said anything. About my being back.’ He managed to sound both surprised and pained.
‘What did you expect them to say, Alvise?’
Alvise tried on a smile, but it didn’t work. ‘You know, sir, something like, “Welcome back”, or “Good to have you here again.” Something like that.’
Where did Alvise think he had been, Patagonia? ‘It’s not as if you haven’t been here, Alvise. Had you thought of that?’
‘I know, sir. But I wasn’t part of the squad. I wasn’t a regular officer.’
‘For a time.’
‘Yes, I know sir, only for a time. But it was sort of a promotion, wasn’t it?’
Brunetti folded his hands and pressed his teeth against his knuckles. When he could, he took his mouth away and said, ‘I suppose you could see it that way, Alvise. But, as you say, you’re back now.’
‘Yes. But it would be good if they’d say hello or act like they’re glad to see me.’
‘Maybe they’re waiting to see how easy it is for you to adjust to the working rhythms of the squad again,’ Brunetti suggested, though he had no idea what that meant.
‘I’d thought of that, sir,’ Alvise said, and smiled.
‘Good. Then I’m sure that’s it,’ Brunetti said with gruff forcefulness. ‘Give them a little time to let them get used to you again. They’re probably curious to see what new ideas you’ve brought back with you.’ Ah, what the stage lost when I opted for the police, Brunetti thought.
Alvise’s smile widened and, for the first time since he came in, seemed real. ‘Oh, I wouldn’t want to do that to them, sir. After all, this is sleepy old Venice, isn’t it?’
Again, Brunetti’s lips consulted with his knuckles. ‘Yes. Good of you to keep that in mind, Alvise. Easy does it. Just try to go back to the old ways of doing things for now. It might take them a while to adjust, but I’m sure they’ll come round. Maybe if you were to invite Riverre out for a drink this afternoon, ask him what’s been going on, you could sort of reintroduce yourself. You were always good friends, weren’t you?’
‘Yes, sir. But that was before I was pro . . . before I was given the assignment.’
‘Well, ask him out, anyway. Take him down to Sergio’s and have a real talk. Take your time. Maybe if you went on patrol for a few days together, things would be easier for him,’ Brunetti said, making a mental note to ask Vianello to see that the two were united again, and to hell with the idea of efficient policing of the city.
‘Thank you, sir,’ Alvise said, getting to his feet. ‘I’ll go down and ask him now.’
‘Good,’ Brunetti said, smiling broadly and happy to see that Alvise was already beginning to look more like his old self.
Alvise pulled his feet under the chair prior to standing, and Brunetti gave in to the impulse to say, ‘Welcome back, Alvise.’
The officer stood to attention and snapped out a salute. ‘Thank you, sir. It’s good to be back.’