Friends in High Places by Donna Leon

had run for more than a decade. ‘No, I’m afraid I have to disappoint you again, Luca. Much as you know how I long to come and dance till dawn among people as young as my own children, Paola refuses to allow it.’
     
    ‘The smoke?’ Luca asked. ‘Thinks it’s bad for your health?’
     
    ‘No, the music, I think, but for the same reason.’
     
    There was a brief pause, after which Luca said, ‘She’s probably right.’ When Brunetti said nothing more he asked, ‘Then why are you calling? About the boy who was arrested?’
     
    ‘Yes,’ Brunetti said, not even pretending to be surprised that Luca knew about it already.
     
    ‘He’s your boss’s son, isn’t he?’
     
    ‘You seem to know everything.’
     
    ‘A man who runs five discos, three hotels, and six bars has to know everything, especially about the people who get themselves arrested in any of those places.’
     
    ‘What do you know about the boy?’
     
    ‘Only what the police tell me.’
     
    ‘Which police? The ones who arrested him or the ones who work for you?’
     
    The silence that followed his question reminded Brunetti, not only that he had gone too far, but also that, however much Luca was a friend, he would always view Brunetti as a policeman.
     
    ‘I’m not sure how to answer that, Guido,’ Luca finally said. His voice was interrupted by the explosive bark of a heavy smoker.
     
    The coughing went on for a long time. Brunetti waited for it to stop, and when it did, he said, ‘I’m sorry, Luca. It was a bad joke.’
     
    ‘It’s nothing, Guido. Believe me, anyone who’s involved with the public as much as I am needs all the help they can get from the police. And they’re glad to get all the help they can from me.’
     
    Brunetti, thinking of small envelopes changing hands discreetly in city offices, asked, ‘What sort of help?’
     
    ‘I’ve got private guards who work the parking lots of the discos.’
     
    ‘What for?’ he asked, thinking of muggers and the vulnerability of the kids who staggered out at three in the morning.
     
    ‘To take their car keys away from them.’
     
    ‘And no one complains?’
     
    ‘Who’s to complain? Their parents, that I stop them from driving off dead drunk or out of their minds on drugs? Or the police, because I stop them from slamming into the trees at the side of the highways?’
     
    ‘No, I suppose not. I didn’t think.’
     
    ‘It means they don’t get woken up at three to go out to watch bodies being cut out of cars. Believe me, the police are very happy to give me any help they can.’ He paused and Brunetti listened to the sharp snap of a match as Luca lit a cigarette and took the first deep breath. ‘What is it you’d like me to do - get this hushed up?’
     
    ‘Could you?’
     
    If shrugs made sounds, Brunetti heard one on the phone. Finally Luca said, ‘I won’t answer that until I know whether you want me to or not.’
     
    ‘No, not hushed up in the sense that it disappears. But I would like you to keep it out of the papers if it’s possible.’
     
    Luca paused before he answered this. ‘I spend a lot of money on advertising,’ he said at last.
     
    ‘Does that translate as yes?’
     
    Luca laughed outright until the laugh turned into a deep, penetrating cough. When he could speak again, he said, ‘You always want things to be so clear, Guido. I don’t know how Paola stands it.’
     
    ‘It makes things easier for me when they are.’
     
    ‘As a policeman?’
     
    ‘As everything.’
     
    ‘All right, then. You can consider it as meaning yes. I can keep it out of the local papers, and I doubt that the big ones would be interested.’
     
    ‘He’s the Vice-Questore of Venice,’ Brunetti said in a perverse burst of local pride.
     
    ‘I’m afraid that doesn’t mean much to the guys in Rome,’ Luca answered.
     
    Brunetti considered this. ‘I suppose you’re right.’ Before Luca could agree, Brunetti asked, ‘What do they say about