Through a Glass Darkly by Donna Leon Read Free Book Online Page B

conversation before. It is your duty to enforce the law, not to question it.’
    Nothing in his statement, or in his manner, Brunetti knew, had suggested any questioning or desire to question the law. Yet from force of habit, habit worn deep by years of exposure to his subordinate, Patta had but to hear Brunetti mention a regulation in order to hear some phantom voice rise up in criticism or doubt.
    Patta’s comment pressed Brunetti into the role of troublemaker. ‘Mine is more a procedural question, sir.’
    â€˜Yes? What?’ Patta asked with some surprise.
    â€˜It’s about these juveniles, as I said, sir. Each time we arrest them, we take their photos.’
    â€˜I know that,’ interrupted Patta. ‘It’s part of the orders in the directive.’
    â€˜Exactly,’ Brunetti said with a smile he realized more clearly resembled that of a shark than that of a dutiful subordinate.
    â€˜Then what is it?’ Patta said with a glance at his watch he made neither swift nor covert.
    â€˜We’re in some uncertainty about how to list them, sir.’
    â€˜I don’t follow you, Brunetti.’
    â€˜The directive says we’re to catalogue them according to age, sir.’
    â€˜I know that,’ said Patta, who probably did not.
    â€˜But each time they’re arrested and photographed, they give us a different name and a different age, and then a different parent comes to collect them and brings a different piece of identification.’ Patta started to speak, but Brunetti rolled right over him. ‘So what we wondered, sir, was whether we should list them under the age they give, or under the name, or perhaps according to their photo.’ He paused, watching Patta’s confusion, then said, ‘Perhaps we could institute some system of filing them by photo, sir.’
    He saw Patta draw himself up, but before the Vice-Questore could answer, Brunetti thought of one case his officers had complained about that morning, and said, ‘There’s one we’ve arrested six times in the last ten days, and each time we have the same photo, sir, but we’ve got . . .’ he looked down at the papers he had intended to give Signorina Elettra, which had nothing at all to do with the young man he wastalking about, and said, ‘six different names and four different ages.’ He looked up and gave his most subservient smile. ‘So we were hoping you could tell us where to file him.’
    If he had expected, or hoped, to goad Patta to anger, Brunetti failed. The closest he got was for the Vice-Questore to drop his chin into one hand, stare at Brunetti for almost a minute, and then say, ‘There are times when you try my patience, Commissario.’ He got to his feet. ‘I’ve got a meeting now,’ he said.
    Graceful and sleek as an otter, Patta never failed to impress Brunetti with his appearance of power and competence, and so it was now. He ran a hand through his still-thick silvering hair and went to the
armadio
against the wall, from which he removed a light topcoat. He drew a white silk scarf from one of the sleeves and wrapped it around his neck, then put the coat on. He went to the door of his office and turned back to Brunetti, who still sat in front of his superior’s desk. ‘As I said, the rules are spelled out in the directive from the Ministry, Commissario.’ And he was gone.
    Curiosity led Brunetti to lean forward and pick up Patta’s book; he flipped through the pages. He saw the usual photos of boy meeting girl, girl meeting boy, then noted how carefully they took turns asking where the other came from and how many people were in their families, before the boy asked the girl if she would like to go and have a cup of tea with him. Brunetti dropped the book back on Patta’s desk.
    Outside, Signorina Elettra sat at her desk. Sufficient time had passed for her to have returned to some semblance of serenity.