‘He did you a favour, then,’ Vianello said with a smile. ‘It’s much better than that old plastic thing with the crack on the side.’

‘Sergio thought people didn’t notice it,’ Bambola said, his normal voice restored.

‘Hah!’ Vianello said. ‘This one makes you want to open it and eat.’ Fitting the deed to the word, he opened the case and, careful to take a napkin first, grabbed a crème-filled brioche from the top shelf. He took a bite, covering his chin and the front of his shirt with powdered sugar. ‘Don’t change these, Bambola,’ he said as he licked away his sugar moustache.

The barman put the two coffees on the counter, setting a small ceramic plate beside Vianello’s.

‘No paper plates,’ Vianello observed. ‘Good.’ He rested the remaining half of the brioche on the plate.

‘It doesn’t make sense, Ispettore,’ Bambola said. ‘Ecological sense, that is. Use all that paper, just to make a plate that gets used once and thrown away.’

‘And recycled,’ Brunetti offered.

Bambola shrugged the suggestion away, a response Brunetti was accustomed to. Like everyone else in the city, he had no idea what happened to the garbage they so carefully separated: he could only hope.

‘You interested in that?’ Vianello asked. Then, to avoid confusion, added, ‘Recycling?’

‘Yes,’ Bambola said.

‘Why?’ Vianello asked. Before the barman could answer, two men came in and ordered coffee and mineral water. They took their places at the other end of the bar.

When they were served and Bambola came back, Vianello returned to his question. ‘You interested because it will save Sergio money? Not using paper plates.’

Bambola removed their cups and saucers and placed them in the sink. He rinsed them quickly and set them inside the dishwasher.