‘In here, please,’ Brunetti said, leading him back toward the room where he had been reading. Brunetti went over to the sofa, slipped the old vaporetto ticket he used as a marker inside his book, and placed it on the table. He gestured to Rossi to take a seat opposite him and himself sat on the sofa.

Rossi sat on the edge of the chair and pulled the briefcase up on to his knees. ‘I realize it’s Saturday, Signor Brunetti, so I’ll try not to take too much of your time.’ He looked across at Brunetti and smiled. ‘You received our letter, didn’t you? I hope you’ve had time to consider it, Signore,’ he said with another small smile, then lowered his head and opened his briefcase. He pulled a thick blue folder from it. He centred it carefully on top of the briefcase and tapped at an errant paper that tried to slip from the bottom until it was safely back inside.

‘As a matter of fact,’ Brunetti said, taking the letter from his pocket, where he’d stuffed it when he answered the door, ‘I was just rereading it, and I must say I find the language a bit impenetrable.’

Rossi looked up, and Brunetti saw a flash of genuine surprise pass across his face. ‘Really? I thought it was very clear.’

With an easy smile, Brunetti said, ‘I’m sure it is to those of you who deal with these matters every day. But to those of us who aren’t familiar with your office’s particular language or terminology, well, it’s a bit difficult to understand.’ When Rossi said nothing, Brunetti added, ‘I’m sure all of us know the language of our own bureaucracy; perhaps it’s only when we pass into that of another that we find it difficult.’ He smiled again.

‘What bureaucracy are you familiar with, Signor Brunetti?’ Rossi asked.

Because he was not in the habit of broadcasting the fact that he was a policeman, Brunetti answered only, ‘I studied law.’

‘I see,’ replied Rossi. ‘I shouldn’t think our terminology would be very different from yours.’