By its Cover: A Commissario Guido Brunetti Mystery (Commissario Guido Brunetti Mysteries) by Donna Leon

Author:Donna Leon [Leon, Donna]
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: Grove/Atlantic, Inc.
Published: 2014-03-31T18:30:00+00:00

‘He told me something when I spoke to him, and I want him to tell me more.’

‘What?’

‘I’d rather you heard it from him.’

Vianello turned to face him as they walked and asked, ‘You suspect him?’

‘No, I don’t think I do. He seems an honest man.’

‘But you never know?’ the Inspector asked.

‘Exactly.’

When they got to the library, Brunetti went to the desk on the first floor and told the same young man that he would like to have a word with Signor Sartor. He watched the emotions cross the younger man’s face: curiosity, concern, fear.

‘I’ll go and find him,’ he said, getting up from his chair.

A few minutes later, the two men emerged from the door that led to the collection of modern books. Recognizing Brunetti, Sartor came towards him, extending his hand, but when he saw the man standing next to Brunetti, his hand dropped to his side. ‘Good afternoon, Commissario,’ he managed to say, his eyes moving between the two men.

‘Signor Sartor,’ Brunetti said, ‘this is my colleague, Ispettore Vianello.’ Sartor shook hands with both men but said nothing.

‘I’d like a few minutes of your time,’ Brunetti told him. Then, looking around them, he addressed both Sartor and the young man. ‘Is there some place where we can talk?’

Sartor looked at his colleague but said nothing.

‘You could use the staffroom, Piero,’ the young man suggested.

‘Ah, yes,’ Sartor said after a moment. ‘Of course.’ He turned towards the door to the staircase, leaving it to Brunetti and Vianello to follow him. This time he went downstairs. When they reached the courtyard, Sartor led them along the pavement on one side and turned left, heading for a door at the end. Brunetti did not understand why he didn’t simply cut diagonally across the courtyard, but perhaps there was some prohibition about walking on the new grass. Nor did he understand why Sartor made sudden, awkward movements as they walked, as though he’d developed cramp in one leg, but then he realized he was avoiding stepping on the cracks between the paving stones. They passed under a large lilac bush that Brunetti noticed was in bud and stopped in front of steps leading to the wooden door with a double-glazed window.

Sartor reached into the pocket of his jacket; when he took out his key ring, it pulled with it a number of brightly coloured cardboard rectangles, which fluttered to the ground. Vianello bent quickly and picked up three or four, saying, as he saw them, ‘Ah, Gratta e Vinci.’ He smiled and said, ‘My wife buys them: one a week. The best she’s ever won is fifty Euros, and I don’t want to think of what it’s cost her to win that.’

Sartor hurried to pick up the rest of the cards and took the ones Vianello held out for him, then stared down at them as if they were a hand at poker and he had to decide what to bet on them. Finally he said, ‘I get them for mine, too. But she’s never won anything.

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