I think that might be all, Dottore’ one of the men in the trench said and, to emphasize it, struck his shovel deep into the ground and rested his elbow on it. He took out a pack of cigarettes and lit one. The other man stopped as well, took out a handkerchief and wiped his face.
Bortot looked down at the patch of excavated earth, now about three metres square, then down at the bones and shrivelled organs spread out on the plastic sheeting.
Litfin suddenly asked, 'Why did you think it’s a young man?'
Before answering, Bortot bent down and picked up the skull. 'The teeth,' he said, handing it to the other man.
But instead of looking at the teeth, which were in good condition and with no sign of the wearing-away of age, Litfin, with a, small grunt of surprise, turned the skull to expose the back. In the centre, just above the indentation that would fit around the still-missing final vertebra, there was a small round hole. He had seen enough of skulls and of violent death that he was neither shocked nor disturbed.
'But why male?' he asked, handing the skull back to Bortot.
Before he answered, Bortot knelt and placed the skull back in its place at the top of the other bones. 'This: it was near the skull’ he said as he stood, taking something from his jacket pocket and handing it to Litfin. 'I don't think a woman would wear that.'
The ring he handed Litfin was a thick gold band that flared out into a round, flat surface. Litfin put the ring on to the palm of his left hand and turned
it over with the index finger of his right The design was so worn away that at first he could distinguish nothing, but then it slowly came into focus: carved in low relief was an intricate design of an eagle rampant holding a flag in its left claw, a sword in its right. ‘I forget the Italian word’ Litfin said as he looked at the ring. 'A family crest?'
'Stemma’ Bortot supplied.
'Si, stemma’ Litfin repeated and then asked, 'Do you recognize it?'
Bortot nodded.
'What is it?'
If s the crest of the Lorenzoni family.'
Litfin shook his head. He'd never heard of them. 'Are they from around here?'
This time Bortot shook his head.
As he handed back the ring, Litfin asked, 'Where are they from?'
'Venice.'
3
Not only Doctor Bortot, but just about anyone in the Veneto region, would recognize the name Lorenzoni. Students of history would recall the Count of that name who accompanied the blind Doge Dandolo at the sack of Constantinople in 1204; legend has it that it was Lorenzoni who handed the old man his sword as they scrambled over the wall of the city. Musicians would recall that the principal contributor to the building of the first opera theatre in Venice bore the name of Lorenzoni. Bibliophiles recognized the name as that of the man who had lent Aldus Manutius the money to set up his first printing press in the city in 1495. But these are the memories of specialists and historians, people who have reason to recall the glories of the city and of the family. Ordinary Venetians recall it as the name of the man who, in 1944, provided the SS with the chance to discover the names and addresses of the Jews living in the city.
Of the 256 Venetian Jews who had been living in the city, eight survived the war. But that is only one way of looking at the fact and at the numbers. More crudely put, it means that 248 people, citizens of Italy and residents of what had once been the Most Serene Republic of Venice, were taken forcibly from their homes and eventually murdered.
Italians are nothing if not pragmatic, so many people believed that, if it had not been Pietro Lorenzoni, the father of the present count, it would have been someone else who revealed the hiding place of the head of the Jewish community to the SS. Others suggested that he must have been threatened into doing it: after all, since the end of the war the members of the various branches of the family had certainly devoted themselves to the good of the city, not only by their many acts of charity and generosity to public and private institutions, but by their having filled various civic posts - once even that of mayor, though for only six months - and having served with distinction, as the phrase has it, in many public capacities. One Lorenzoni had been the Rector of the University; another organized the Biennale for a period of time in the Sixties; and yet another had, upon his death, left his collection of Islamic miniatures to the Correr Museum.
Even if they didn't remember any of these things, much of the population of the city recalled the name as that of the young man who had been kidnapped two years ago, taken by two masked men from beside his girlfriend while they were parked in front of the gates of the family villa outside Treviso. The girl had first called the police, not the family, and so the Lorenzonis' assets had been frozen immediately, even before the family learned of the crime. The first ransom note, when it came, demanded seven billion lire, and at the time there was much speculation about whether the Lorenzonis could find that much money. The next note, which came three days after the first, lowered the sum to five billion.
But by then the forces of order, though making no evident signs of progress in finding the men responsible, had responded as was standard in cases of kidnapping and had effectively blocked all attempts on the part of the family to borrow money or bring it in from foreign sources, and so the second demand also went unmet. Count Ludovico, the father of the kidnapped boy, went on national television and begged those responsible to free his son. He said he was willing to give himself up to them in his son's place, though he was too upset to explain how this could be done.
There was no response to his appeal; there was no third ransom demand.
That was two years ago, and since then there had been no sign of the boy, Roberto, and no further progress, at least not public progress, on the case. Though the family's assets had been unblocked after a period of six months, they remained for another year under the control of a government administrator, who had to consent to the withdrawal or liquidation of any sum in excess of a hundred million lire. Many such sums passed out of the Lorenzoni family businesses during that period, but all of them were legitimate, and so permission was given for them to be paid out. After the administrator's powers lapsed, a gentle governmental eye, as discreet as it was invisible, continued to observe the Lorenzoni business and spending, but no outlay was indicated beyond the normal course of business expenditure.
The boy, though another three years would have to pass before he could be declared legally dead, was believed by his family to be so in the real sense. His parents mourned in their fashion: Count Ludovico redoubled the energy he devoted to his business concerns, while the Contessa withdrew into private devotion and acts of piety and charity. Roberto was an only child, so the family was now perceived as having no heir, and thus a nephew, the son of Ludovico's younger brother, was brought into the business and groomed to take over the direction of the Lorenzoni affairs, which included vast and diverse holdings in Italy and abroad.
The news that the skeleton of a young man wearing a ring with the Lorenzoni family crest had been found was telephoned to the Venice police from the phone in one of the Carabinieri vehicles and received by Sergeant Lorenzo Vianello, who took careful notes of the location, the name of the owner of the property, and of the man who had discovered the body.
After replacing the phone, Vianello went upstairs and knocked on the door of his immediate superior, Comrnissario Guido Brunetti. When he heard the shouted 'Avanti', Vianello pushed open the door and went into Brunetti's office.
'Buon di, Comrnissario’ he said and, not having to be invited, took his usual place in the chair opposite Brunetti, who sat behind his desk, a thick folder opened in front of him. Vianello noticed that his superior was wearing glasses; he didn't remember ever seeing them before.
'Since when do you wear glasses, sir?' he asked.
Brunetti looked up then, his eyes strangely magnified by the lenses. 'Just for reading,' he said, taking them off and tossing them down on to the papers in front of him. I don't really need them. It’s just tha
t it makes the fine print on these papers from Brussels easier to read’ With thumb and forefinger, he grabbed at the bridge of his nose and rubbed it, as if to remove the impression of the glasses as well as that left by what he had been reading.
He looked up at the sergeant. 'What is it?'
'We've had a call from the Carabinieri in a place called...' he began, then looked down at the piece of paper in his hand. 'Col di Cugnan.' Vianello paused but Brunetti said nothing. 'It's in the province of Belluno,' as if giving Brunetti a clear idea of the geography would be helpful. When Brunetti still said nothing, Vianello continued. 'A farmer up there has dug up a body in a field. It appears to be a young man in his early twenties’
'According to whom?' Brunetti interrupted.
'I think it was the medico legale, sir’
'When did this happen?' Brunetti asked.
'Yesterday’
'Why did they call us?'
'A ring with the Lorenzoni crest was found with the body’
Brunetti again put his fingers to the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes. 'Ah, the poor boy,' Brunetti sighed. He took his hand away and looked across at Vianello. 'Are they sure?'
'I don't know, sir’ Vianello said, answering the unspoken part of Brunetti's question. "The man I spoke to said only that they had identified the ring’
"That doesn't mean that it was his, doesn't even mean that the ring belonged to . . ‘ here Brunetti paused and tried to recall the boy's name. 'Roberto.'
'Would someone not in the family wear a ring like that, sir?'
'I don't know, Vianello. But if whoever put the body there didn't want it to be identified, they certainly would have taken the ring. It was on his hand, wasn't it?'
'I don't know, sir. All he said was that the ring was found with him.'
'Who's in charge up there?'
'The man I spoke to said he was told to call us by the medico legale. I've got his name here somewhere.' He consulted the paper in his hand and said, 'Bortot. That's all he gave me, didn't tell me his first name’
Brunetti shook his head. 'Tell me the name of the place again’
'Col di Cugnan.' Seeing Brunetti's inquisitive look, Vianello shrugged to show that he had never heard of it, either. 'It's up near Belluno. You know how strange the names of places are up there: Roncan, Nevegal, Polpet.'
'And a lot of the family names, too, if I remember it right’
Vianello waved the paper. 'like the medico legale’ 'Did the Carabinieri say anything else?' Brunetti asked.
'No, but I thought you should know about it, sir’
'Yes, good’ Brunetti said, only half attentive. 'Has anyone contacted the family?'
'I don't know. The man I spoke to didn't say anything about it’
Brunetti reached for the phone. When the operator responded, he asked to be connected with the Carabinieri station in Belluno. When they answered, he identified himself and said he wanted to speak to the person in charge of the investigation of the body they had found the day before. Within moments, he was speaking to Maresciallo Bernardi, who said he was in charge of the investigation there. No, he didn't know whether the ring had been on the hand of the man in the trench or not. If the commissario had been there, he would have seen how difficult that would be to determine. Perhaps the medico legale would be better able to answer his question. In fact, the Maresciallo couldn't provide much information at all, save what was already contained on the piece of paper in Vianello's hand. The body had been taken to the civil hospital in Belluno, where it was being held until the autopsy could be performed. Yes, he did have Doctor Bortot's number, which he gave to Brunetti, who had nothing else to ask.
He depressed the receiver, then immediately dialled the number the Carabiniere had given him.
'Bortot’ the doctor answered.
'Good morning, Doctor, this is Commissario Guido Brunetti of the Venice police.' He paused there, accustomed as he was to having people interrupt to ask him why he was calling. Bortot said nothing, so Brunetti continued. ‘I’m calling about the body of the young man that was found yesterday. And about the ring that was found with him’
‘Yes, Commissario?'
‘I’d like to know where the ring was’
It wasn't on the bones of the hand if that’s what you mean. But I'm not sure that means it wasn't on the hand to begin with’
'Could you explain, Doctor?'
If s difficult to say just what's happened here, Commissario. There is some evidence that the body has been disturbed. By animals. That's, normal enough if it's been in the ground for any length of time. Some of the bones and organs are missing, and it seems that the others have been shifted around a good deal. And so ifs difficult to say where the ring might have been when he was put into the ground’
'Put?' Brunetti asked.
'There's reason to believe he was shot’
'What reason?'
There is a small hole, about two centimetres in diameter, at the base of his skull’ 'Only one hole?' 'Yes.'
'And the bullet?'
'My men were using an ordinary mesh screen when they searched the site for bones, so if it was there, something as small as bullet fragments might have fallen through’
'Are the Carabinieri continuing the search?'
‘I can't answer that, Commissario’
'Will you do the autopsy?' ‘Yes. This evening.' 'And the results?'
'I'm not sure what sort of results you're looking for, Commissario’
' Age, sex, cause of death.'
'I can give you the age already: in his early twenties, and I don't think anything I find during the autopsy will either contradict that or give a closer idea of the exact age. Sex is almost certainly male, given the length of the bones in the arms and legs. And I'd guess the cause of death was the bullet.'
'Will you be able to confirm that?'
'It depends on what I find.'
'What condition was the body in?'
'Does that mean how much of it was left?'
'Yes.'
'Enough to get tissue and blood samples. Much of the body tissue was gone - animals, I told you -but some of the larger ligaments and muscles, especially those on the thigh and leg, are in good condition.'
'When will you have the results, Dottore?'
'Is there need for haste, Commissario? After all, he's been in the ground for more than a year.'
'I'm thinking of his family, Dottore, not of police business.'
'You mean the ring?'
'Yes. If it's the missing Lorenzoni boy, I think they should be told as soon as possible.'
'Commissario, I'm not in possession of enough information to be able to identify him as anyone in particular, beyond what I've already told you. Until " I have the dental and medical records of the
Lorenzoni boy, I can't be sure of anything except age and sex and perhaps cause of death. And how long ago it happened.'
'Do you have an estimate of that?'
'How long ago did the boy disappear?'
'About two years.'
There was a long pause. ‘It’s possible, then. From what I saw. But I'll still need those records to make any sort of positive identification.'
‘I’ll contact the family, then, and ask for them. As soon as I get them, I’ll fax them to you.'
'Thank you, Commissario. For both things. I don't like having to speak to the families.'
Brunetti couldn't conceive of a person who would like it, but he said nothing to the doctor more than that he would call that evening to see if the autopsy had indeed confirmed the doctor's speculations.
When he replaced the phone, Brunetti turned to Vianello. 'You heard?'
'Enough. If you want to call the family, I'll call Belluno and see if the Carabinieri have found the bullet. If not, I'll tell them to get back to the field where they found him and look until they do.'
Brunetti's nod served as both assent and thanks. When Vianello was gone, Brunetti pulled out the phone book from his low
er drawer and flipped it open to the L’s. He found three listings for Lorenzoni, all at the same San Marco address: 'Ludovico, avoocato', 'Maurizio, ingeniere', and 'Cornelia', no profession listed.
His hand reached out for the phone, but instead of lifting it, he got up from his desk and went down to speak to Signorina Elettra.
When he went into the small antechamber outside the office of his superior, Vice-Questore Giuseppe Patta, the secretary was talking on the phone. Seeing him, she smiled and held up one magenta-nailed finger. He approached her desk and, while she finished her conversation, he both listened to what she said and glanced down at that day's headlines, reading them upside down, a skill that had often proven most useful. L'Esule di Hammamet, the headline declared, and Brunetti wondered why it was that former politicians who fled the country to avoid arrest were always 'exiles' and never 'fugitives'.
‘I’ll see you then at eight,' Signorina Elettra said, and added, 'Ciao, caro,' before putting down the phone.
What young man had summoned that final, provocative laugh, and who would tonight sit across from those dark eyes? 'A new flame?' Brunetti asked before he could consider how bold a question it was.
However forward the question might have been, Signorina Elettra seemed not to mind at all. 'Magari,' she said with tired resignation. 'If only it were. No, it’s my insurance agent. I meet him once a year: he buys me a drink, and I give him a month's salary.'
Accustomed as he was to the frequent excesses of her rhetoric, Brunetti still found this surprising. 'A month's?'
'Well,' she temporized, 'very close to’
'And what is it, if you'll permit me to ask, that you insure?'
'Not my life, certainly,' she said with a laugh, and Brunetti, when he realized how deeply he meant it, bit back the gallantry of saying that no compensation could possibly be made for such a loss. 'My apartment and the things in it, my car, and since three years ago, a private health insurance’
'Does your sister know about that?' he asked, wondering what a doctor who worked for the national health system would think of a sister who paid not to have to use that system.