Anonymous Venetian by Donna Leon Page A

about that than I would,
coming in as something of a foreigner.’ Complimenting, as well.
     
    Gallo nodded. ‘It’s usually the
girls who work those fields out by the factories. But we’re getting more and
more boys - a lot of them are Slavs and North Africans - so maybe they’ve been
forced to move into new territory.’
     
    ‘Have you heard any rumours about
this?’
     
    ‘I haven’t personally, sir. But I
usually don’t have much to do with the whores, not unless they’re involved in
violent crimes.’
     
    ‘Does that happen very often?’
     
    Gallo shook his head. ‘Usually,
if it does happen, the women are afraid to tell us about it, afraid they’ll end
up in jail, no matter who’s responsible for the violence. A lot of them are
illegals, so they’re afraid of coming to us, afraid of being deported if they
get in any sort of trouble. And there are a lot of men who like to beat them
up. I guess they learn how to spot those, or the other girls pass the word and
they try to avoid them.
     
    ‘I’d guess that the men are
better able to protect themselves. If you read that file, you saw how big some
of them are. Pretty, even beautiful, some of them, but they’re still men. I’d
imagine they’d have less of that sort of trouble. Or if they had it, they’d at
least know how to defend themselves.’
     
    ‘Have you got the autopsy report
yet?’ Brunetti asked.
     
    Gallo picked up a few pieces of
paper and handed them to him. ‘It came in while you were at the hospital.’
     
    Brunetti began to read through it
quickly, familiar with the jargon and technical terms. No puncture wounds on
the body, so the deceased wasn’t an intravenous drug user. Height, weight,
general physical condition: all those things that Brunetti had seen were listed
here, but in exact, measured detail. Mention was made of the make-up the
attendant had talked about but no more than to say that there had been
significant traces of lipstick and eyeliner. There was no evidence of recent
sexual activity, either active or passive. Examination of the hands suggested a
sedentary occupation; the nails were trimmed bluntly, and there was no
callousing on the palms. Patterns of bruising on the body confirmed the
supposition that he had been killed somewhere else and carried to the place
where he was found, but the intense heat in which he had lain made it
impossible to determine how much time had elapsed between his murder and his
discovery, more than to say it could have been anywhere from twelve to twenty
hours.
     
    Brunetti looked up at Gallo and
asked, ‘Have you read this?’
     
    ‘Yes, sir.’
     
    ‘And what do you think?’
     
    ‘We still have to decide between
rage and cunning, I suppose.’
     
    ‘But first we have to find out
who he is,’ Brunetti said. ‘How many men have been detailed to this?’
     
    ‘There’s Scarpa.’
     
    ‘The man who was out in the sun
yesterday?’
     
    Gallo’s calm ‘Yes, sir,’ told
Brunetti that he had heard about the incident, and the way he said it suggested
that he didn’t like it. ‘He’s the only officer who’s been assigned. The death
of a prostitute isn’t a high priority, especially during the summer when we’re
short-staffed.’
     
    ‘No one else?’ Brunetti asked.
     
    ‘I was assigned the case
provisorily because I was here when the call came in, so I sent the Squadra
Mobile to the scene. The Vice-Questore has suggested that it be handed over to
Sergeant Buffo, since he’s the one who answered the original call.’
     
    ‘I see,’ Brunetti said,
considering this. ‘Is there an alternative?’
     
    ‘Do you mean, is there an
alternative to Sergeant Buffo?’
     
    ‘Yes.’
     
    ‘You could request that, as your
original contact was with me, and we have discussed the case at great length
...’ Here Gallo paused, as if to make that length even greater, then continued,
‘It might save time if I were to continue to be assigned to the case.’
     
    ‘Who