Uniform Justice

Uniform Justice (2003) Donna Leon

This is a somewhat distressing story, since it starts with the death of a teenager–just so you’ve been warned.

Since he had learned of the boy’s death, Brunetti had been assailed by the desire to know if the man had other children, but couldn’t bring himself to ask. He had some sort of theoretical belief that their existence would serve as consolation, however limited. He tried to put himself in Moro’s place and understand what solace he would find in the survival of one of his own children, but his imagination shied away from that horror. At the very thought, some force stronger than taboo seized him, numbing his mind.

Paola asked, ‘What’s she like?’
He thought about the woman, remembered her voice, the eyes that took little interest in seeing him, the paper-thin skin of her neck. ‘Reduced,’ he finally said. ‘She’s not a whole person any more.’ He thought Paola would ask about this, but she didn’t. ‘All I saw was a photo of her, taken some years ago, with the boy. And her husband. She still looks like the same person; I mean, you could recognize her from the photo, but there’s less of her.’
‘That makes sense,’ Paola said, ‘there is less of her.’

No matter how often his kids had gone to stay with their grandparents or other relatives, signs of their recent habitation had always lingered behind them. Suddenly he had a vision of what it must have been for the Moros to attempt to remove evidence of Ernesto’s presence from their homes, and he thought of the danger that would remain behind: a single, lonely sock found at the back of a closet could break a mother’s heart anew; a Spice Girls disc carelessly shoved into the plastic case meant to hold Vivaldi’s flute sonatas could shatter any calm. Months, perhaps years, would pass before the house would stop being a minefield, every cabinet or drawer to be opened with silent dread.

It’s almost frightening how clearly these losses as seen and–not explained, because there can never be an explanation, but it seems to give a glimpse of the horror of losing a child.

Almost.

Of course, we do have Signoria Elettra, which always helps.

So habituated had Brunetti become to her useful criminality that it did not for an instant trouble him that a person with greater sympathy for legal precision would translate her phrase, ‘had a look at’ as ‘broke into’.

This story deals in good part with the corruption of the Italian government, which never fails to astound me. I may find many problems with the American government, but we’ve got nothing on Italy.

It was Fernando Moro’s report that pointed out the inconvenient fact that those three hospitals, however grandiose their plans, however extensive their staffs, and however varied the services they were meant to provide, had never actually been built.

And of course there is his family, especially Paola.

‘Paola,’ he began. She peered at him over the top of her book, eyes vague and inattentive. ‘What would you do if I asked you for a separation?’
Her eyes had drifted back to the page before he spoke, but they shot back to his face now, and Anne Elliot was left to her own romantic problems. ‘If you what?’
‘Asked for a separation.’
Voice level, she inquired, ‘Before I go into the kitchen to get the bread knife, could you tell me if this is a theoretical question?’
‘Absolutely,’ he said, embarrassed by how happy her threat of violence had made him.

This story is in many ways a contemplation of many horrible things: the death of a child, and the depths to which political corruption can sink.

Don’t look here for a clean and happy ending. However, that doesn’t mean this story isn’t worth reading.
Rating: 7/10

Published by Grove/Atlantic, Inc.

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