‘And?’ Brunetti prompted.

‘And sometimes a fine is imposed.’

‘And?’

‘And sometimes the offending structure has to be demolished.’

‘What?’ Brunetti exploded, all pretence of calm abandoned.

‘Sometimes the offending structure has to be demolished.’ Rossi gave a weak smile, suggesting that he was in no way responsible for this possibility.

‘But this is my home,’ Brunetti said. ‘This is my house you’re talking about demolishing.’

‘It seldom comes to that, believe me,’ Rossi said, trying to sound reassuring.

Brunetti found himself incapable of speech. Seeing this, Rossi turned away and made towards the door of the apartment. Just as he reached it, a key turned in the lock, and the door was pushed open. Paola came into the apartment, her attention divided among two large plastic bags, her key, and the three newspapers just slipping out from under her left arm. She noticed Rossi only when he lunged forward instinctively to grab the papers before they fell. She gasped in surprise and dropped the bags, stepped violently back from him and hit the open door with her elbow. Her mouth fell open, either in alarm or pain, as she began to rub at her elbow.

Brunetti stepped quickly toward her, calling her name as he came, ‘Paola, it’s all right. He’s here with me.’ He walked around Rossi and placed a hand on Paola’s arm. ‘You surprised us,’ he said, hoping to calm her.

‘You surprised me, too,’ she said and managed to smile.

Behind them, Brunetti heard a sound and turned to see Rossi, his briefcase set against the wall, kneeling on one knee and stuffing oranges back into a plastic bag.

‘Signor Rossi,’ Brunetti said. The younger man looked up, finished with the oranges, got to his feet, and set the bag on the table beside the door.

‘This is my wife,’ Brunetti said unnecessarily. Paola released her elbow and offered her hand to Rossi. They shook hands and said the appropriate things, Rossi apologizing for having startled her, and Paola dismissing it.