Fatal Remedies by Donna Leon

himself to plan a strategy for dealing with the legal consequences of Paola’s behaviour. Though he was acquainted with most of the criminal lawyers in the city and was on reasonably good terms with many of them, he knew them only in the most strictly professional way. He found himself going through their names, trying to recall that of the man who had made a successful defence in a murder case two years ago. He pulled his mind away. ‘My wife will have to take care of that, I think.’
     
    Vianello nodded and got to his feet. He didn’t say anything further and left the office.
     
    When he was gone, Brunetti pushed himself up and began to pace back and forth between the wardrobe and the window. Signorina Elettra was checking out the bank records of two men who had done nothing more than report a crime and suggest it be settled in a way that would give least trouble to the person who all but boasted of having committed it. They had gone to the trouble of coming to the Questura, where they had offered a compromise, which would save the culprit from the legal consequences of her behaviour. And Brunetti was going to sit idly by as their finances were investigated in a manner that was probably as illegal as was the original crime of which one of them was the victim.
     
    He had no doubts whatsoever about the illegality of what Paola had done. He stopped walking and considered that she had never denied it was illegal. She simply didn’t care. He spent his days and his life in defence of the concept of the law, and she could spit on it as though it were some stupid convention that was in no way binding on her, just because she didn’t agree. He felt the pulse of his heart increase as his indignation mounted towards the anger that had lurked in his chest for days now. She answered a whim, following some self-constructed definition of right behaviour, and he was simply supposed to stand idly by, mouth agape at the nobility of her actions, while his career was destroyed.
     
    Brunetti caught himself sinking into this mood and stopped himself before he began to lament the effect all this would have on his position among his peers at the Questura, the cost to his self-respect. So he was forced, here, to give himself much the same answer he had given Mitri: he was not responsible for his wife’s behaviour.
     
    The explanation, however, did little to calm his anger. He resumed pacing, but when that proved fruitless, he went downstairs to Signorina Elettra’s office.
     
    She smiled when he came in. ‘The Vice-Questore has gone to lunch,’ she offered but said nothing else, waiting to catch Brunetti’s mood.
     
    ‘Did they go with him?’
     
    She nodded.
     
    ‘Signorina,’ he began, then paused as he thought how to phrase it. ‘I don’t think it’s necessary that you ask any further questions about those men.’
     
    He saw her begin to protest, and he spoke before she could make any sort of objection. ‘There’s no suspicion that either one of them has committed a crime, and I think it would be impolitic to begin investigations about them. Especially in these circumstances.’ He left it to her imagination to supply just what those circumstances were.
     
    She nodded. ‘I understand, sir.’
     
    ‘I didn’t ask if you understood, Signorina. I’m saying that you are not to initiate an investigation of their finances.’
     
    ‘Yes, sir,’ she said, turning from him and flipping on the screen of her computer.
     
    ‘Signorina,’ he repeated, his voice level. When she looked up from the screen, he said, ‘I’m serious about this, Signorina. I don’t want any questions asked about them.’
     
    ‘Then none will be asked, sir,’ she said and smiled with radiant falseness. Like a soubrette in a cheap film comedy, she put her elbows on the table, laced her fingers together and propped her chin on their linked surface. ‘Will that be all, Commissario, or do you have something you do want me to do?’
     
    He