Uniform Justice Read Online Free PDF Page A

matter. Like all that Global Warming stuff. Nothing matters if it takes a long time.’
    It was obvious to Brunetti that the boy was in earnest. He said, ‘But you’re in school, studying for a future career – I presume in the military. That’s not going to happen for a number of years, either; doesn’t that matter?’
    The boy answered after a few moments’ reflection. ‘That’s different.’
    ‘Different how?’ asked a relentless Brunetti.
    The boy had relaxed now with the ease of their conversation and the seriousness with which Brunetti treated his answers. He leaned back against the top of his desk, picked up a packet of cigarettes and held it out to Brunetti. At his refusal the boy took one and patted around on the top of his desk until he found a plastic lighter hidden under a notebook.
    He lit the cigarette and tossed the lighter back on to the desk. He took a long drag at the cigarette. Brunetti was struck by how very hard he tried to appear older and more sophisticated than he was; then the boy looked at Brunetti and said, ‘Because I can choose about the music but I can’t about the school.’
    Sure that this made some sort of profound difference to the boy but unwilling to spend more time pursuing it, Brunetti asked, ‘What’s your name?’ using the familiar
tu
, as he would with one of his children’s friends.
    ‘Giuliano Ruffo,’ the boy answered.
    Brunetti introduced himself, using his name and not his title, and stepped forward to offer his hand. Ruffo slid from the desk and took Brunetti’s hand.
    ‘Did you know him, the boy who died?’
    Ruffo’s face froze, all ease fled his body, and he shook his head in automatic denial. As Brunetti was wondering how it was that he didn’t know a fellow student in a school this small, the boy said, ‘That is, I didn’t know him well. We just had one class together.’ Ease had disappeared from his voice, as well: he spoke quickly, as if eager to move away from the meaning of his words.
    ‘What one?’
    ‘Physics.’
    ‘What other subjects do you take?’ Brunetti asked. ‘What is it for you, the second year?’
    ‘Yes, sir. So we have to take Latin and Greek and Mathematics, English, History, and then we get to choose two optional subjects.’
    ‘So Physics is one of yours?’
    ‘Yes, sir.’
    ‘And the other?’
    The answer was a long time in coming. Brunetti thought the boy must be trying to work out what this man’s hidden motive was in asking all of these questions. If Brunetti had a motive, it was hidden even from himself: all he could do at this point was try to get a sense of things at the school, to catch the mood of the place; all of the information he gained had more or less the same amorphous value and its meaning would not become clear until later, when each piece could be seen as part of some larger pattern.
    The boy stabbed out his cigarette, eyed the packet, but did not light another. Brunetti repeated, ‘What is it, the second one?’
    Reluctantly, as if confessing to something he perhaps construed as weakness, the boy finally answered, ‘Music.’
    ‘Good for you,’ came Brunetti’s instant response.
    ‘Why do you say that, sir?’ the boy asked, his eagerness patent. Or perhaps it was merely relief at this removal to a neutral subject.
    Brunetti’s response had been visceral, so he had to consider what to say. ‘I read a lot of history,’ he began, ‘and a lot of history is military history.’ The boy nodded, prodding him along with his curiosity. ‘And historians often say that soldiers know only one thing.’ The boy nodded again. ‘And no matter how well they might know that one thing, war, it’s not enough. They’ve got to know about other things.’ He smiled at the boy, who smiled in return. ‘It’s the great weakness, knowing only that one thing.’
    ‘I wish you’d tell my grandfather that, sir,’ he said.
    ‘He doesn’t believe it?’
    ‘Oh, no, he doesn’t even want to hear the word