Friends in High Places Read Free

standard language in any deed of transfer,’ Brunetti said, summoning up a vague memory from one of his classes in civil law and hoping it was.
     
    ‘The part about physical state is, certainly, though that about legal is not. Nor is this following sentence,’ Rossi said, opening the folder again and searching until he found the passage. ‘ “In the absence of the condono edilizio, the buyer accepts full responsibility to obtain the same in a timely manner and hereby absolves the sellers of any responsibilities or consequences which might occur in regard to the legal state of the apartment and/or from the failure to obtain this condono.”‘ Rossi looked up, and Brunetti thought he saw a deep sadness in his eyes at the thought that someone might have signed such a thing.
     
    Brunetti had no memory of that particular sentence. Indeed, at the time, they had both been so intent on buying the apartment that he had done what the notary told him to do, signed what he told him to sign.
     
    Rossi turned back to the cover, where the name of the notary was listed. ‘Did you select this notary?’ he asked.
     
    Brunetti didn’t even remember the name and had to look at the cover. ‘No, the seller suggested we use him, and so we did. Why?’
     
    ‘No reason,’ Rossi said, too quickly.
     
    ‘Why? Do you know something about him?’
     
    ‘I believe he’s no longer practising as a notary,’ Rossi said in a soft voice.
     
    Finally out of patience at Rossi’s questions, Brunetti demanded, ‘I’d like to know what all this means, Signor Rossi. Is there some dispute about our ownership of this apartment?’
     
    Rossi gave his nervous smile again. ‘I’m afraid it’s a bit more complicated than that, Signor Brunetti.’
     
    Brunetti had no idea what could be more serious than that. ‘What is it, then?’
     
    ‘I’m afraid this apartment doesn’t exist.’
     
    * * * *
     
    2
     
     
    ‘What?’ Brunetti cried before he could stop himself. He could hear the outrage in his voice but made no attempt to modify it. ‘What do you mean, it doesn’t exist?’
     
    Rossi leaned back in his chair as if to remove himself from the immediate orbit of Brunetti’s anger. He looked as if he found it puzzling to have someone react strongly to his having called into question the very existence of a perceived reality. When he saw that Brunetti had no violent intention, he relaxed minimally, adjusted the papers on his lap, and said. ‘I mean that it doesn’t exist for us, Signor Brunetti.’
     
    ‘And what does that mean, not for you?’ Brunetti asked.
     
    ‘It means there are no records of it in our office. No requests for building permits, no plans, no final approval of the work that was done. In short, there exists no documentary evidence that this apartment was ever built.’ Before Brunetti could speak, Rossi added, placing his hand upon the file Brunetti had given him, ‘And, unfortunately, you can’t provide us with any.’
     
    Brunetti recalled a story Paola had once told about an English writer who, confronted with a philosopher who maintained that reality did not exist, had kicked a rock and told the philosopher to take that. He turned his mind to more immediate matters. His knowledge of the workings of other city offices was vague, but it was not his understanding that this sort of information would be kept at the Ufficio Catasto, where, as far as he knew, only documents regarding ownership were kept. ‘Is it normal for your office to interest itself in this?’
     
    ‘No, not in the past,’ Rossi answered with a timid smile, as if he approved of Brunetti’s being well informed enough to ask. ‘But as the result of a new directive, our office has been commissioned to assemble a comprehensive, computerized file of all of the apartments in the city that have been declared historical monuments by the Fine Arts Commission. This building is one of them. We’re in the process of assembling the papers and