‘And recognized her?’ Brunetti asked innocently.
There followed another pause, this one longer than the last. ‘She’s been pointed out to me in the past.’
‘I see,’ Brunetti said calmly. ‘Would it be convenient for you to come and have a few words with me, Signor Vittori?’ he asked.
‘Where?’
‘At the Questura. It’s where I work,’ Brunetti said in his mildest tone.
‘When?’
‘Perhaps tomorrow morning,’ Brunetti suggested amiably.
‘What time?’
‘Any time that’s convenient for you,’ Brunetti replied.
‘Er,’ he began and Brunetti realized he was dealing with a man who, however clever he might be, was not very brave: he could easily have refused Brunetti’s request but did not. ‘Eleven?’
‘Perfect, I’ll expect you then,’ Brunetti said in his friendliest voice and replaced the phone.
Immediately he called Griffoni, whom he thought should be present at the interview. ‘Vittori-Ricciardi’s coming in tomorrow morning at eleven,’ he said in place of a greeting. ‘I’d like you to be here when I talk to him.’
‘In what capacity?’ she asked, forcing Brunetti to laugh.
‘As the attractive woman he can try to impress with his charm and grace.’
‘A woman not as intelligent as he is, who will have eyes only for him and think everything he says is wonderful?’ she asked.
‘Exactly.’
‘And whose interest in him will keep him distracted from what he’s saying when you question him because he’ll be so busy trying to impress this woman?’
‘Yes,’ Brunetti said.
‘And should this woman dress in a particular way?’ she asked.
‘I leave that entirely to you, Claudia,’ he said and told her he’d see her the next morning.
27
Brunetti went to Griffoni’s office shortly after ten the next morning and could not suppress a smile when he saw her. Her hair was a mass of golden ringlets pulled back by a black ribbon so undisciplined as to allow several curls to escape its care. Her sweater was beige, just tight enough to entice the connoisseur’s eye to discern the lace on the top of her brassiere. Her skirt, dark brown wool and just short enough, fell above her knees, allowing those perfect calves to show to great advantage.
Her makeup was restrained: pale pink lipstick and only a touch of eyeliner. She might well have been a serious police officer, but there was a strong suggestion of the possibility of something else.
‘Complimenti,’ Brunetti said with open admiration.
‘Thank you, Commissario,’ she said and batted her eyelids at him. ‘It’s so encouraging to a woman to know she has male approval.’
‘That’s enough now, Claudia,’ he said and took his place on the simple wooden chair that guests used in her tiny office.
‘He recognized Manuela,’ he continued, ‘and told me I couldn’t believe anything she said because there was something wrong with her.’
All expression fled Griffoni’s face when she heard this. After a moment, she asked, ‘Did he say anything else?’
‘No, not really. He said he’d never met her, only that she’d been “pointed out” to him. I asked him to come in to talk to me, and he agreed.’
‘Is he that stupid?’ Griffoni asked.
‘If he shows up without a lawyer, then yes, he is.’
‘Why is he coming?’ she asked.
‘I think it’s because it hasn’t occurred to him that we might have made a connection to Cavanis,’ Brunetti explained.
Griffoni considered this and said, ‘You’re probably right. We saw him entirely by chance; you’d naturally be interested in a reaction that strong, regardless of the woman it came from. But there’s no reason we should connect him to Cavanis.’
Brunetti tried to put himself into the mind of the younger man, cocky and sure of himself. ‘Clever devil: he must know she couldn’t testify.’
‘Because of the way she is?’ Griffoni asked.
‘That, yes,’ Brunetti agreed. ‘And because no decent person would ask her to.’
This time Griffoni nodded. She stared at the wall above his head so intently that he dared not interrupt her. Finally she said, ‘None of this makes sense unless he raped her, does it?’
‘No. If Cavanis did remember what he saw and told him that he did, then Vittori would have had to commit another crime to cover up the first.’ Brunetti balked at hearing himself say ‘would have had to’ until he thought of the Macbeth he and Paola had once seen in London. Macbeth too had convinced himself he’d had no choice.
With a glance at her watch, she asked, ‘Should I delay my arrival a few minutes? That would allow me to be surprised and charmed at the same time, wouldn’t it?’
‘You sound pretty familiar with the scenario,’ Brunetti said.
‘Customs linger longer in Napoli, Guido. These ideas are still around.’
He got up from the chair and eased himself around it and to the door. ‘I’ll tell them downstairs to let you know when he arrives.’