Friends in High Places Read Free Page B

haven’t the authority to answer that, Signore,’ Rossi said, handing the file back to Brunetti. He leaned down and picked up his briefcase. Holding it, he got to his feet. ‘My responsibility is only to visit home-owners and see if the missing papers are in their possession.’ His face sobered, and Brunetti thought he saw real disappointment there. ‘I’m sorry to learn that you don’t have them.’
     
    Brunetti stood. ‘What happens now?’
     
    ‘That depends upon the Commission of the Ufficio Catasto,’ Rossi said and took a step toward the door.
     
    Brunetti moved to the left, not quite blocking Rossi’s exit, but certainly creating an obstacle between Rossi and the door. ‘You said you think the floor below was added in the nineteenth century. But if it was added later, at the same time as this one was, would that change things?’ Try as he might, Brunetti could not disguise the raw hope in his voice.
     
    Rossi considered this for a long time and eventually said, his voice a study in caution and reserve, ‘Perhaps. I know that floor has all the permits and approvals, so if this floor could be shown to have been added at the same time, that could be used to argue that permits must once have been granted.’ He thought about this, a bureaucrat presented with a novel problem. ‘Yes, that might change things, though I’m certainly not in a position to judge.’
     
    Momentarily buoyed by the possibility of a reprieve, Brunetti stepped over to the door to the terrace and opened it. ‘Let me show you something,’ he said, turning to Rossi and waving his hand through the open door. ‘I’ve always thought the windows on the floor below were the same as ours.’ Without looking back toward Rossi, he went on, ‘If you just have a look, down here on the left, you can see what I mean.’ With the ease of long familiarity, Brunetti leaned out over the waist-high wall, bracing himself on broad-spread palms, to look at the windows of the apartment below. Now that he studied them, however, he could see that they were not at all the same: those below had carved lintels of white Istrian marble; his own windows were nothing more than rectangles cut in the brick of the wall.
     
    He pulled himself back upright and turned toward Rossi. The young man stood like one transfixed, his left arm raised in Brunetti’s direction, his palm exposed, as if trying to ward off evil spirits. He stared at Brunetti, his mouth agape.
     
    Brunetti took a step toward him, but Rossi stepped quickly back, his hand still raised.
     
    ‘Are you all right?’ Brunetti asked, stopping at the door.
     
    The younger man tried to speak, but no sound came. He lowered his arm and said something, but his voice was so soft Brunetti couldn’t hear what it was.
     
    In an attempt to cover the awkwardness of the moment, Brunetti said, ‘Well, I’m afraid I might not have been right about the windows. There’s nothing to see at all.’
     
    Rossi’s face relaxed and he tried to smile, but his nervousness remained and was contagious.
     
    Trying to move away from all thoughts of the terrace, Brunetti asked, ‘Can you give me some idea of what the consequences of all of this will be?’
     
    ‘Excuse me?’ Rossi said.
     
    ‘What’s likely to happen?’
     
    Rossi moved back a step and began to answer, his voice taking on the curiously incantatory rhythms of someone who has heard himself say the same thing countless times, ‘In the case that permits were applied for at the time of construction but final approval was never granted, a fine is imposed, depending on the seriousness of the violation of the building codes in force at the time.’ Brunetti remained immobile and the young man continued. ‘In the event that neither application was made nor approval granted, the case is passed to the Sovraintendenza dei Beni Culturali and they make judgement in accordance with how much damage the illegal structure does to the fabric of the