Read CB14 Blood From A Stone (2005) for Free Online

his walk home. ‘Seems to me that it’s either because of something he did after he got here or something he did before,’ Brunetti said, though he knew this was merely to state the obvious.
    ‘That doesn’t help much, does it?’ Paola asked, but it was an observation, not a criticism.
    ‘No, but it’s a place to begin to divide the things we might be looking for.’
    Paola, always comfortable when presented with an exercise in logic, said, ‘Begin by examining what you know about him. Which is?’
    ‘Absolutely nothing,’ Brunetti answered.
    ‘That’s not true.’
    ‘What?’
    ‘You know he was a black African, and you know he was working as a vu cumprà , or whatever we’re supposed to call them now.’
    ‘ Venditore ambulante or extracomunitario ,’ Brunetti supplied.
    ‘That’s about as helpful as “ Operatore ecologico” ,’ she answered.
    ‘Huh?’
    ‘Garbage man,’ Paola translated. She got to her feet and left the room. When she came back, she had a bottle of grappa and two small glasses. As she poured, she said, ‘So let’s just call him a vu cumprà to save time and confusion, all right?’
    Brunetti thanked her for the grappa with anod, took a sip, and asked, ‘What else do you think we know?’
    ‘You know that none of the others stayed to try to help him or to help the police in any way.’
    ‘I’d guess they saw he was dead when he fell.’
    ‘Would it have been that obvious?’
    ‘I think so, yes.’
    ‘And so you know it was an execution,’ Paola went on, ‘not the result of a fight or an argument that provoked it suddenly. Someone wanted him dead and either sent people to do it or came and did it himself.’
    ‘I’d say he sent people,’ Brunetti offered.
    ‘How can you tell?’
    ‘It has that feel about it, the work of professionals. They appeared out of nowhere, executed him, and disappeared.’
    ‘So what does that tell you about them?’
    ‘That they’re familiar with the city.’
    She gave him a questioning glance, and he elaborated, ‘To know which way to leave. Also to know where he was.’
    ‘Does that mean Venetian?’
    Brunetti shook his head. ‘I’ve never heard of a Venetian who works as a killer.’
    Paola considered this and then said, ‘It wouldn’t take all that long to learn at least that much about the city. Some of the Africans are pretty much always there, in Santo Stefano, so all they’d have to do is walk around for a day or so to find them. Or ask someone.’ She closed her eyes and considered the geography of the area and finally said, ‘Afterwards, getting awaywould be easy. All they’d have to do is go back towards Rialto, or up towards San Marco, or over the Accademia.’
    When she stopped, Brunetti continued, ‘Or they could go into San Vidal and then cut back towards San Samuele.’
    ‘How many places could they get a vaporetto?’ she asked.
    ‘Three. Four. And then they could have gone either way.’
    ‘What would you do?’ she asked.
    ‘I don’t know. But if I wanted to leave the city, I’d probably go up towards San Marco and cut in towards the Fenice and then to Rialto.’
    ‘Did anyone see them?’
    ‘An American tourist. She saw one of them, said he was a man about my age and size, wearing an overcoat, a scarf, and a hat.’
    ‘Half the city,’ Paola said. ‘Anything else?’
    ‘That there were other people from her group there and they might have seen something. I’m going to talk to them tomorrow morning.’
    ‘How early?’
    ‘Early. I have to leave here before eight.’
    She leaned forward and poured him another small glass of grappa. ‘American tourists at eight in the morning. Here, take this: it’s the least you deserve.’

5
    The morning dawned unpleasantly. A thick mist hung suspended in the air, eager to cling to anything that passed through it. By the time Brunetti got to the imbarcadero of the Numero Uno, the shoulders of his overcoat were covered by a thin film of droplets, and he pulled