Griffoni closed her notebook and sat back in her chair. ‘If you will allow me to say this, I can never trust a Sicilian.’
Brunetti’s first response was amusement, thinking she was joking. But when he realized she was not, he managed to disguise his startled reaction by raising his hand to his mouth and then moving his fingers to rub against his jaw in a manner he sought to make seem contemplative. Is this, he wondered, what it sounds like when I say how little I can trust Neapolitans? Why are other people’s prejudices so strange, while our own are so thought-out and reasonable?
To get away from this subject as quickly as possible, Brunetti asked, ‘Do you have time to help with this?’
‘Yes, of course,’ she said. ‘Otherwise, I might be tempted to take another look at the baggage handlers.’
‘Claudia, my dear,’ he said in his most patient and philosophical voice, ‘you and I will become grandparents many times over and the baggage handlers will still be opening suitcases and helping themselves to whatever it is they please, and the videos of their doing so will by then fill a warehouse. But it’s our grandchildren who will be handling the investigation, not us, and the investigation will continue into the fourth generation.’
Griffoni steered away from the topic, saying as quickly as she could, ‘What is it you’d like me to do?’
By way of an answer, Brunetti asked, ‘Do you know anything about horses?’
‘Who told you?’ she asked, raising her eyebrows.
‘Told me what?’
‘About the horses,’ she answered.
Raising his hands in feigned surrender, Brunetti said, ‘No one told me anything about horses, or about you and horses. It was a simple question.’ She remained silent, and so he asked, ‘Why did it surprise you?’
‘I haven’t mentioned it to anyone here.’
He shook his head, more confused with every remark.
‘I ride,’ Griffoni said. ‘Dressage.’
‘Is that the one where the horses sort of dance?’ Brunetti asked, as ignorant of horse riding as he was of pigeon racing. ‘I see it on television sometimes. The riders wear tall hats, don’t they?’
‘Yes.’
‘Do you ride here?’
‘No,’ she said, her disappointment audible.
‘Why not?’
‘Guido,’ she said, voice tight, ‘could you tell me what you want to know and let this other stuff go?’
‘Of course,’ he said apologetically, seeing how troubled this conversation – he realized it was really more like an inquisition – had made her.
‘Her granddaughter had a horse and kept it near Treviso. I want to talk to them, and I’d like to take someone with me who knows about riding.’ Then, as if he thought she might not follow his explanation, he added, ‘That’s why I asked you.’
‘You just told me all this happened fifteen years ago,’ Griffoni said. ‘And you think the same people will still be there?’
‘Perhaps. Perhaps not. Whoever’s there, I want to understand whatever answers I get.’
‘You make it sound like they’re going to make you take a test ride on a horse and not answer your questions unless you do.’
‘It’s not the questions I’m concerned with,’ Brunetti said. ‘It’s the answers. If they talk about her and riding or her and horses, I need to understand what it is they’re telling me.’
She appeared utterly confused. ‘It sounds as if you think they’re foreigners.’
Brunetti smiled at this and said, ‘No, I’m the foreigner. I don’t know enough about what goes on between the rider and the horse, especially if it’s a young girl.’ When she said nothing, Brunetti was forced to add, sounding defensive, ‘Please don’t tell me I’m crazy. Or that it’s all pop psychology.’
Before he could continue, she interrupted. ‘If anything was troubling her, the horse would have known about it, that’s for sure.’ Then, grinning, she added, ‘Unfortunately, they’re hard to interview.’
The idea made Brunetti smile. ‘What I’m hoping,’ he said, ‘is that someone there will remember her. At the time, it was reported as an accident, so I’m sure no one bothered to question these people.’
‘Have you seen the report?’
‘Signorina Elettra should have found it by now.’
‘Shall we go and find out?’ Griffoni asked and got to her feet.
Signorina Elettra appeared to have given herself a promotion, for today she wore a double-breasted blue jacket with epaulettes and gold braid at the cuffs. Griffoni’s glance was a mixture of envy and appreciation, which she did nothing to disguise.
Brunetti stepped forward since he had made the request. ‘Did you find the report of her accident?’ he asked.