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that this was already old news at the Questura.
    'How much have you heard?' Brunetti asked.
    'Just what was in the papers and on the radio this morning. Found on the train last night, shot. No trace of a weapon and no suspect'
    Brunetti realized that, although he had read the official police file, he knew no more than that himself. He nodded Vianello towards a chair. 'You know anything about him?'
    'Important,' Vianello began as he lowered himself into a chair, his size making it look immediately smaller. 'Used to be city councillor in charge of, if I remember correctly, sanitation. Married, a couple of children. Has a big office. Over by San Marco, I think.' 'Personal life?'
    Vianello shook his head. 'I've never heard anything. ’ 'Wife?'
    ‘I thi nk I've read about her. Wants to save the rain forest. Or is that the Mayor's wife?' 'I think it is.'
    'Then one of those things. Saving something. Africa, maybe.' Here Vianello snorted, whether at Signora Trevisan or at the likelihood of Africa's being saved, Brunetti wasn't sure.
    'Can you think of anyone who might know something about him?' Brunetti asked.
    'Family? Business partners? People who work in his office? ’ Vianello suggested. Seeing Brunetti's response, he added, 'Sorry I can't think of anything better. I don't remember anyone I know ever mentioning him. ’
    'I'll speak to his wife, but not before the afternoon. I'd like you to go to his office this morning and see what the general feeling is about his death. ’
    'You think they'll be there? The day after he's killed?'
    'It will be interesting to find out if they are, ’ Brunetti said. 'Signorina Elettra said she heard something about his being involved in a business deal in Poland, or perhaps Czechoslovakia. See if anyone there knows anything about that. She thinks there was something in the paper, but she can't remember what it was. And ask about the usual things.' They had worked together for so long that Brunetti didn't have to specify what the usual things were: a disaffected employee, an angry business associate, a jealous husband, his own jealous wife. Vianello had the knack of getting people to talk. Especially if they were Venetians, the people he interviewed invariably warmed to this large, sweet-tempered man who gave every appearance of speaking Italian reluctantly, who was only too glad to lapse into their common dialect, a linguistic change that often carried its speakers along to unconscious revelation. 'Anything eke, sir?'
    'Yes. I'm going to be busy this morning, and I’ll try to see the widow this afternoon, so I'd like you to send someone down to the station to talk to the conductor who found the body. Find out if the conductors on the train saw anything.' Before Vianello could protest, Brunetti said, 'I know, I know. If they bad, they would have said something by now. But I want them to be asked about it, anyway. ’
    'Yes, sir.'
    'And I'd like to see a list of the names and addresses of all the people who were on the train when it stopped, and transcripts of whatever they said when they were questioned.'
    'Why didn't they rob him, sir?'
    'If that was the reason, then someone could have come along the corridor and scared him away before he had time to search the body. Or else whoever did it wanted us to realize it wasn't a robbery.'
    That doesn't make much sense, does it?' Vianello asked. 'Wouldn't it be better for them to have us believe it was a robbery?'
    That depends on why they did it.'
    Vianello considered this for a moment and men answered, 'Yes, I suppose so,' but he said it in a tone that suggested he wasn't ver y convinced. Why would anyone want to give such an advantage to the police?
    Not willing to spend the time pondering his own question, Viane llo got to his feet, saying, 'I’ll go over to his office now, sir, and see what I can learn. Will you be back here this afternoon?'
    'Probably. It depends on what time I can see the widow. I ’ ll leave word. ’
    'Good. Then I’ll