The next two pages contained what appeared to be capsule histories of the restorations done to all of the apartments in the building since 1947, listing the dates when certain permissions were requested and given, the date work actually began, and the date when final approval was given of the completed work. No mention was made of his own apartment, which suggested to Brunetti that this information must be contained in the papers Rossi still held.

From what he could make out, Brunetti realized that the apartment directly below them had last been restored in 1977, when the current owners moved in. Last restored officially, that is. They’d had dinner with the Calistas more than a few times and had been pleased with the almost unimpeded view that spread out from the windows of their living room, yet the windows indicated on the plans looked quite small, and there seemed to be only four, not six. He saw that the small guest bathroom to the left of the Calistas’ entrance hall was nowhere indicated. He wondered how that could be, but Rossi was certainly not the man to ask. The less the Ufficio Catasto knew about what got added to or shifted around inside the building, the better it would be for everyone living there.

Glancing across at Rossi, he asked, ‘These records go back a long time. Have you any idea how old the building is?’

Rossi shook his head. ‘Not precisely. But from the location and the windows on the ground floor, I’d say the original structure dates from the late fifteenth century, not earlier.’ He paused and considered this for a moment, then added, ‘And I’d say the top floor was added in the early nineteenth century.’

Brunetti looked up from the plans, surprised. ‘No, it’s much later than that. From after the war.’ When Rossi didn’t respond, he added, ‘The Second World War.’

When Rossi still didn’t comment, Brunetti asked, ‘Wouldn’t you say that’s true?’