The Death of Faith Read Free

that she was, in a sense, just out of the egg, about to begin her own vita nuova, and so this sort of question, no doubt unthinkable in the past, must be current and vital to her. ‘Perhaps it’s true,’ he conceded.
     
    Her response was instant and fiery. ‘You don’t have to condescend to me, Commissario. I left my vocation behind me, not my wits.’
     
    He chose neither to apologize nor to continue this accidental discussion of theology. He shifted a letter from one side of his desk to the other, pushed his chair back, and crossed his legs. ‘Shall we talk about that, instead?’ he asked.
     
    ‘About what?’
     
    ‘About the place where you left your vocation?’
     
    ‘The nursing home?’ she asked unnecessarily.
     
    Brunetti nodded. ‘Which one are you talking about?’
     
    ‘San Leonardo. It’s over near the Giustiniani Hospital. The order helps to staff it.’
     
    He noticed that she was sitting with her feet placed one beside the other, both flat on the floor, knees pressed together. She opened the bag with some difficulty and took from it a sheet of paper, unfolded it, and looked down at whatever was written there. ‘In the last year,’ she began nervously, ‘five people have died at San Leonardo.’ She turned the paper around and leaned forward to place it in front of him. Brunetti glanced down at the list.
     
    ‘These people?’ he asked.
     
    She nodded. ‘I’ve given their names, their ages, and what they died of.’
     
    He looked down at the list again and saw it gave exactly that information. There were the names of three women and two men. Brunetti recalled reading some sort of statistic that said women were supposed to live longer than men, but these had not. One of the women was in her sixties, the others in their early seventies. Both of the men were older. Two had died of heart attacks, two of strokes, and one of pneumonia.
     
    ‘Why have you given me this list?’ he asked, looking up at her.
     
    Even though she must have been prepared for the question, she took some time to answer it. ‘Because you’re the only one who might be able to do something about it.’
     
    Brunetti waited a moment for her to explain that remark, and when she didn’t, he said, ‘I’m not sure what “it” is.’
     
    ‘Can you find out what they died of?’
     
    He waved the list in the air between them. ‘Other than what’s written here?’ he asked.
     
    She nodded. ‘Yes. If what’s there isn’t true, is there any way that you can find out what they actually died of?’
     
    There was no need for Brunetti to think before he answered: the law about exhumation was clear. ‘Not without an order from a judge or a request from the family, no.’
     
    ‘Oh,’ she said. ‘I had no idea. I’ve been — I don’t know how to say this — I’ve been away from the world for so long that I don’t know how things work anymore, how things are done.’ She paused for a moment and added, ‘Perhaps I never knew.’
     
    ‘How long were you in the order?’ he asked.
     
    ‘Twelve years, ever since I was fifteen.’ If she saw his surprise, she ignored it. ‘That’s a long time, I know.’
     
    ‘But you weren’t really away from the world, were you?’ Brunetti asked. ‘After all, you trained as a nurse.’
     
    ‘No,’ she answered quickly. ‘I’m not a nurse. Well, not a trained or professional one, at any rate. The order saw that I had a . . .’ she stopped dead, and Brunetti realized she had found herself in the unaccustomed position of acknowledging a talent or giving herself a compliment and had no choice but to stop talking. After a pause that allowed her to remove any praise from her remarks, she continued, ‘They decided that it would be good for me to try to help old people, and so I was sent to work in the nursing homes.’
     
    ‘How long were you there?’
     
    ‘Seven years. Six out in Dolo, and then one at San Leonardo,’ she answered. That would have made