Uniform Justice by Donna Leon Page B

desk to the other. ‘If it doesn’t take too much time, all right.’ How typically Patta was this answer: having commissioned the investigation, he had simultaneously assured that any delay would be laid at the feet of someone else.
    ‘Yes, sir,’ Brunetti said and got to his feet. Patta turned his attention to a thin file on his desk and Brunetti let himself out.
    In the small outer office, he found Signorina Elettra at her desk, head bent over what appeared to be a catalogue. He looked closer and saw a double-page spread of computer screens.
    She glanced up and smiled.
    ‘Didn’t you just buy one of those?’ he asked, pointing to the screen to her right.
    ‘Yes, but they’ve just come out with new ones, perfectly flat screens, as thin as a pizza. Look,’ she said, pointing a scarlet fingernail at one of the photos in the catalogue. Though he found her simile surreal, he had to agree it seemed accurate enough.
    He read the first two lines of print and, seeing too many numbers and initials, to make no mention of a word he thought was ‘gigabytes’, he sped to the bottom where the price was given. ‘That’s a month’s salary,’ he said, in astonishment, aware that there was more than a little disapproval in his tone.
    ‘Closer to two,’ she added, ‘if you get the larger LCD screen.’
    ‘Are you really going to order it?’ he asked.
    ‘I’ve no choice, I’m afraid.’
    ‘Why?’
    ‘I’ve already promised this one,’ she began, indicating her all-but-new computer screen as though it were a bag of old clothing she was asking the cleaning lady to dispose of, ‘to Vianello.’
    Brunetti decided to let it go. ‘There seems to be some connection between the Vice-Questore and Dottor Moro,’ he began. ‘Do you think you could find out more about that?’
    She had returned her attention to the catalogue. ‘Nothing easier, sir,’ she said, and turned a page.

11
    VENICE, LIKE EVERY other city in the country, was feeling the consequences of the government’s refusal to adopt an immigration policy that was related in any sane way to the realities of immigration. Among the consequences which did not affect Brunetti directly were the thousands of illegal immigrants who profited from the easygoing Italian policy and who then, in possession of Italian documents legitimizing their presence on the continent, passed to northern countries where they would be able to work with some protection under the law. There was also the resulting irritation on the part of other governments at the ease with which the Italians washed their hands of the problem by passing it on to them.
    Venice, and Brunetti, had begun to feel the consequences in their own way: the number of pickpocketings had skyrocketed; shoplifting was a problem for even the smallest merchants; and no householder any longer felt that his home was safe from robbery. Since most of these cases passed through the Questura, Brunetti registered the increase, but he felt it lightly, as a person with a mild cold might discover that his temperature has increased a degree or two without feeling any real symptoms. If this increase in petty crime produced any symptoms for Brunetti himself, it was in the amount of paperwork he was obliged to initial and, presumably, read.
    It was a period in which there was very little violent crime in the houses or on the streets of Venice, and so Patta, no doubt feeling withdrawal symptoms after his name had not appeared in the
Gazzettino
for more than a week, ordered Brunetti, and requested Signorina Elettra, to prepare a report providing statistics which would show the high clear-up rate of the Venetian police. The report, he stipulated, was to show that the perpetrators of most crimes were found and arrested and that, during the last year, there had been a consequent decrease in crime within the city.
    ‘But that’s nonsense,’ Brunetti said, when Signorina Elettra informed him of their task.
    ‘No more nonsensical than any