170 292
Ioana Pârvulescu
170
that, there was constant
ill feeling and backbiting
among
the
agents,
sergeants and constables of
the Prefecture. The turkeys,
that is, the sergeants, who
had numbers on their caps,
laughed at the goldfinches,
that is, the constables,
because of the green or red
patches on their shoulders.
And
the
goldfinches
called
the
commissars
and sub-commissars, that
is, Costache’s men, who
had degrees in law and
spoke French and German,
coxcombs, bookmen and
earwigs.
Mr
Costache
heaved a sigh. Ultimately,
thequarrels and theprefects
flowed by like water, while
he, like a rock, remained.
But it was not easy to be a
rock.
At the Bucharest Police, they
had been taking fingerprints
for almost three years, since
before the arrival of Caton
Lecca. They had first done
so thanks to Dr Minovici,
the oldest of the three
physician brothers, who
had experimented with
‘dactylloscopy’ on dozens
of convicts. A year later,
Costache had proposed
that he himself take over
the Judicial Identification
Service, a department such
as existed in other parts
of the world to deal with
the biggest malefactors,
criminals,forgersandrapists.
They had anthropometric
records, with photographs
and fingerprints. Costache
had secretly conducted an
experiment on Fane the
Ringster: he had demanded
that his fingerprints be
taken the first time he was
arrested. Itwas a real honour
for a jewel thief like Fane,
who had not understood
what was happening and