longer delay would demonstrate Patta's irritation without revealing its
cause. The complete absence of the word, as on this occasion, was
indicative of either fear or rage: experience had taught Brunetti that
the first of these was the more dangerous, for fear drove Patta to the
reckless endangerment of other people's careers in his attempt to
protect his own. This evaluation was complete long before Brunetti
turned to approach his superior, and so the sight of a glowering Patta
did not intimidate him.
'Yes, sir?' he asked with a serious face, having learned that
neutrality of expression and tone was expected of him in
these moments. He waited for Patta to wave him to a chair, consciously
imitating the behaviour of a non-Alpha male dog.
'What are you waiting for?' Patta demanded, still without looking at
him. 'Sit down.'
Brunetti did so silently and placed his arms in neat horizontals on the
arms of the chair. He waited, wondering what scene Patta was going to
play and how he was going to play it. A minute passed silently. Patta
continued to read through the file that lay open before him,
occasionally turning a page.
Like most Italians, Brunetti respected and approved of beauty. When he
could, he chose to surround himself with beauty: his wife, the clothes
he wore, the paintings in his home, even the beauty of thought in the
books he read: all of these things gave him great pleasure. How, he
wondered, as he did whenever he encountered Patta after a gap of a week
or so, how could a man so very handsome be so utterly devoid of the
qualities usually attributed to beauty? The erect posture was solely
physical, for the ethical Patta was an eel; the firm jaw bespoke a
strength of character that was manifested only in stubbornness; and the
clear dark eyes saw only what they chose to see.
Caught in this reflection, Brunetti didn't notice when Patta finally
turned his attention to him, nor did he hear the Vice Questore's first
words, tuning in only toward the end '... your mistreatment of his
students'.
Like a scholar piecing together a coherent meaning from a fragment of
text, Brunetti realized that the students must be those at the San
Martino Academy, and the only person capable of using the possessive
pronoun when speaking of them the Comandante.
'I chanced into the room of one of them, and we discussed his class
work. I don't think this can be construed in any way as mistreatment,
sir.'
'Not only you Patta said, overriding Brunetti and giving no indication
that he had bothered to listen to his explanation. 'One of your
officers. I was at a dinner last night, and the father of one of the
boys said your officer was very rough when he questioned his son.'
Patta allowed the full horror of this to sink in before adding, The
father was at school with General D'Ambrosio.'
'I'm sorry, sir Brunetti said, wondering if the boy would go on to
complain to his father should he experience rough treatment from the
enemy in battle, 'I'm sure if he had known that, he would have shown
him more courtesy
'Don't try being smart with me, Brunetti/ Patta shot back, displaying a
quicker sensitivity to Brunetti's tone than usual. 'I don't want your
men in there, strong-arming these boys and causing trouble. These are
the sons of some of the best people in the country and I won't have
them treated like this.'
Brunetti had always been fascinated by the way the police shuttlecocked
back and forth between Patta and all the others who might be seen as
responsible for them: when they solved a case or behaved bravely, they
were Patta's police, but all cases of mis behaviour incompetence or
negligence were clearly attributable to their behaving like the police
of someone else, in this case, Brunetti.
'I'm not sure there's any question of their being mistreated, sir
Brunetti said mildly. 'I asked an officer to speak to the other
students and try to find out if the Moro boy had been behaving
strangely or if he had said anything that would indicate he had been
thinking about suicide.' Before Patta could interrupt, he went on, 'I
thought this would help make it even clearer that the boy had committed
suicide.'
'Clearer than what?' Patta asked.
Than the physical evidence, sir Brunetti answered.
For a moment, he thought that Patta was about to say, 'Good.' Surely
his face grew less tense and he, too, let out a deep breath. But all
he said was, 'Very well. Then let's file it
as suicide and let the school begin to get back to normal.'
'Good idea, sir said Brunetti, then, as if the idea had just occurred
to him, 'But what do we do if the boy's parents aren't satisfied?'
'What do you mean, 'aren't satisfied?'
'Well, the father has a history of causing trouble,' Brunetti began,
shaking his head as if thinking of the shocking scepticism towards
