
The news had arrived at eight on Monday morning; Patta followed it into the Questura at eleven. At one-thirty, the call came in about the transvestite, but by then most of the staff had already left for lunch, during which meal some employees of the Questura engaged in quite wild speculation about Signora Patta’s future film career. An indication of the Vice-Questore’s popularity was the bet that was made at one table, offering a hundred thousand lire to the first person who dared to enquire of the Vice-Questore as to his wife’s health.
Guido Brunetti first heard about the murdered transvestite from Vice-Questore Patta himself, who called Brunetti into his office at two-thirty.
‘I’ve just had a call from Mestre,’ Patta said after telling Brunetti to take a seat.
‘Mestre, sir?’ Brunetti asked.
‘Yes, that city at the end of the Ponte della Liberta,’ Patta snapped. ‘I’m sure you’ve heard of it.’
Brunetti thought of what he had learned about Patta that morning and decided to ignore his remark. ‘Why did they call you, sir?’
‘They’ve got a murder over there and no one to investigate.’
‘But they’ve got more staff than we have, sir,’ Brunetti said, never quite certain just how much Patta knew about the workings of the police force in either city.
‘I know that, Brunetti. But two of their commissarios are on vacation. Another broke his leg in an automobile accident this weekend, so that leaves only one, and she’ – Patta managed to give a snort of disgust at such a possibility – ‘leaves for maternity leave on Saturday and won’t be back until the end of February.’
