his desk, one hand placed assertively on a stack of papers, as if to suggest he could resolve the cases they documented by sheer force of will, and then diligently ensure that the papers were disposed of in the proper recycling receptacle.
As Brunetti entered, Signorina Elettra was just emerging from her superior’s office. ‘Ah, good,’ she said, when she saw Brunetti at the door. ‘The Vice-Questore wants to see you.’
‘About?’ he asked, all thought of Cataldo and his wife forgotten for the moment.
‘There’s someone in with him. A Carabiniere. From Lombardia.’ The Most Serene Republic had ceased to exist more than two centuries before, but those who spoke its tongue could still, with a single word, express their suspicion of those bustling, upstart Lombards.
‘Just go in,’ she said, moving closer to her desk to allow him free passage to Patta’s door.
He thanked her, knocked, and entered at Patta’s shout.
Patta sat at his desk, to one side the same stack of papers that had served as props in the photographs in the news-papers: for Patta, any large pile of papers could be only decorative. Brunetti noticed a man seated in front of Patta’s desk; when he heard Brunetti come in, he started to get to his feet.
‘Ah, Brunetti,’ Patta enthused, ‘this is Maggior Guarino. He’s from the Carabinieri in Marghera.’ The man was tall, about a decade younger than Brunetti, and very thin. He had an easy, lived-in smile and thick hair already greying at the temples. His dark eyes were deep-set and gave him the look of a man who preferred to study what went on around him from some safe, half-hidden place.
They shook hands and exchanged pleasantries, then Guarino moved aside to allow Brunetti to slip past him to the other chair in front of Patta’s desk.
‘I wanted you to meet the Maggiore, Brunetti,’ Patta began. ‘He’s come to see if we can be of any help to him.’ Before Brunetti could ask, Patta sailed on. ‘For some time, there’s been growing evidence of the presence, especially in the North-east, of certain illegal organizations.’ He glanced at Brunetti, who had no need to ask for clarification: anyone who read a newspaper – anyone, in fact, who had ever had a conversation in a bar – knew about this. To content Patta, however, Brunetti raised his eyebrows in what he hoped was a semblance of interested interrogation, and Patta explained, ‘Worse – and this is why the Maggiore is here – there is increasing evidence that legitimate businesses are being taken over, specifically the transportation industry.’ What was that story by the American writer, about the man who fell asleep and woke up after decades? Had Patta perhaps been hibernating in a cave somewhere while the Camorra moved north, and had he awoken to discover it only this morning?
Brunetti kept his eyes on Patta and pretended to pay no attention to the reaction of the man next to him, who cleared his throat.
‘Maggior Guarino’s been involved with this problem for some time, and his investigations have led him to the Veneto. As you might realize, Brunetti, this concerns all of us now,’ Patta continued, voice filled with the shock of the new. As Patta spoke, Brunetti tried to figure out why he had been asked to join them. Transportation, at least the kind that moved on road or rail, had never been a concern of the police in Venice. He had little direct experience with land transport, criminal or otherwise, nor could he remember that any of the men in his squad had, either.
‘. . . and so I hoped that, by introducing you two, some synergy could be created,’ Patta concluded, using the foreign word and again giving evidence of his ability to be fatuous in any language he used.
Guarino started to answer, but, seeing Patta’s not very discreet glance at his watch, seemed to change his mind and said, ‘You’ve already been too generous with your time, Vice-Questore: I can’t in conscience ask you to give us any more of it.’ This was accompanied by a large smile, which Patta returned affably. ‘Perhaps the Commissario and I,’ Guarino said, with a nod in Brunetti’s direction, ‘should talk about this together, and then get back to you to ask for your input?’ When Guarino used the English word, it sounded as though he knew what it meant.
Brunetti was amazed at the speed with which Guarino had acquired the pitch-perfect manner for addressing Patta and at the subtlety of his