Two weeks ago, Brunetti reflected, observing the smile of satisfaction Rossi gave as he said this, Il Gazzettino had carried an article announcing that, because of lack of funds, the dredging of the canals in the city had stopped. ‘How many apartments are there?’ he asked.

‘Oh, we have no idea. That’s one of the reasons this survey is being done.’

‘How long ago was the survey begun?’ Brunetti asked.

‘Eleven months,’ Rossi answered at once, leaving Brunetti little doubt that, if asked, he could supply the exact date, as well.

‘And how many of these composite files have you compiled so far?’

‘Well, because some of us have volunteered to work on Saturdays, we’ve done more than a hundred,’ Rossi said, making no attempt to disguise his pride.

‘And how many of you are working on this project?’

Rossi looked down at his right hand and, beginning with his thumb, began to count out his fellow workers. ‘Eight, I think.’

‘Eight,’ Brunetti repeated. He turned his mind away from the calculations he had been making and asked, ‘What does all of this mean? For me, specifically?’

Rossi’s answer was immediate. ‘When we don’t have the papers for an apartment, the first thing we do is ask the owner to supply them, but there’s nothing suitable in this file.’ He indicated the slim folder. ‘All you have is the deed of transfer, so we have to assume you weren’t given any records the previous owners may have had concerning the original construction.’ Before Brunetti could interrupt, he continued, ‘And that means they are either lost, which is to suggest that they once existed, or else they never did. Exist, that is.’ He looked across at Brunetti, who said nothing. Rossi continued: ‘If they are lost, and if you say you never had them, then they must be lost in one of the city offices.’