Inspector Lynley 18 - Just One Evil Act

it.
    “No?” he said to Bruno. “So we proceed for now. It is only information we need from you, signore. There is, as I told you, a small matter of murder.”
    “
Non ho fatto niente
,” Daniele Bruno said.
    “
Certo
,” Salvatore assured him. No one, after all, was accusing him of doing anything. His answers to their questions were all that was sought. Certainly, he could answer questions about DARBA Italia, no?
    Daniele didn’t ask why he—of all the brothers Bruno—had been brought to the
questura
to answer questions. It was always the small mistakes like these, Salvatore thought, that ultimately gave away the game.
    “Let us suppose a bacteria is used to test the worth of an incubator. This is a possibility, no?” And when Bruno nodded, Salvatore said, “So this bacteria would be right there in Alessandro’s quality control department.” Bruno nodded. He glanced at Barbara. “I see,” Salvatore said. He made a great show of thinking about this. He got up, walked from one side of the room to the other. Then he opened the door and called out for Ottavia Schwartz. Could she bring him, he asked, all of the materials from his desktop,
per favore
, as he seemed to have left them behind. He closed the door and returned to the table. He sat, thought, nodded as if reaching a profound conclusion, and said, “A family business, no? This DARBA Italia.”
    Sì
, he had already confirmed this. It was a family business. His great-grandfather Antonio Bruno had started it in the day when medical equipment was confined to centrifuges and microscopes. His grandfather Alessandro Bruno had expanded it. His father Roberto had made it the jewel in his paternal crown, the inheritance of the brothers Bruno.
    “Providing employment for all of you,” Salvatore said. “
Va bene
,
Daniele
. How nice this must be. To work among the members of your family. To see them daily. To stop by with an invitation to dinner. To chat about the nieces and nephews. This must be a very welcome kind of work.”
    Daniele said this was so. Family, after all, was everything.
    “I have two sisters. I know what you mean,” Salvatore told him. “
La famiglia
è tutto
. You talk often with these brothers of yours? At home, at work, over
caffè
, over
vino
.” When Daniele said again this was so, Salvatore said, “At work and at play, eh? The brothers Bruno, everyone knows you at DARBA Italia. Everyone sees you and calls you by name.”
    Daniele said that this was the case, but he pointed out that the company was not large and that most employees knew everyone there.
    “
Certo, certo
,” Salvatore said. “You come, you go, they call out, ‘
Ciao, Daniele. Come stanno Sua moglie e i Suoi figli?
’ And you do the same. They are used to you. You are used to them. You are . . . Let us say you are a fixture there, like a piece of medical equipment yourself. You pop in to talk to Antonio one day, to Bernardo another, to Alessandro a third. On some days you pop in to talk to every one of your brothers.”
    He loved his brothers, Daniele asserted. He did not think there was a crime in this.
    “No, no,” Salvatore told him. “Love for one’s brothers . . . this is a gift.”
    The door opened. All of them turned as Ottavia Schwartz came into the room. She passed the requested manila folders to Salvatore. She nodded, shot a glance at Daniele Bruno and another at Barbara Havers—particularly at her shoes—and left them. With much ceremony Salvatore set the folders on the table, but he did not open them. Bruno’s gaze flicked to them and then away.
    “
Allora
,” Salvatore said expansively, “another question if you please. Back to this testing we were speaking of. I would assume that dangerous substances—of the sort that cause illness, death, disease?—are kept under close watch at DARBA Italia. Under lock and key perhaps? But safely away from anyone who might use them for mischief. Would that be true, my friend?” Bruno nodded. “And in order to test these equipments you make, I would assume more than one dangerous substance is used, eh? Because incubators . . . they differ, no? Some are used for this, some are used for that, and you at DARBA Italia make them all.”
    Bruno’s gaze went to the folders again. He couldn’t control it, nerves not allowing him this small amount of discipline. He was, after all, not a bad man, Salvatore reasoned. He’d done something stupid, but stupidity was not a crime.
    “Alessandro knows all