‘I wasn’t going to, but someone must have gossiped. We met in the village, and there were lots of people coming and going. One of them must have told Dad, because he brought it up over dinner.’
Another pause.
‘I used to have a bit of a crush on Manlio at one time you see,’ she said all in one breath. ‘Just silly adolescent stuff, nothing serious. He never even knew about it, and I’d have died if he’d found out. But I used to keep a diary at the time, and my father read what I’d written about Manlio. He got in a raging fury and made me swear on Mamma’s grave never to see him or to speak to him.’
Zen finally turned to face her.
‘Did he explain why?’
‘No. He just said there was a very good reason which he would tell me when I was older. But I was scared. I’d never seen Dad like that, so intense and angry. Of course I started imagining all sorts of things. I thought perhaps we might be related, Manlio and me. I’d always wanted a sibling, and it didn’t seem that far-fetched an idea, not round here. You hear all kinds of odd stories. About that man who was just here, for instance.’
‘Minot?’
The girl’s cheeks turned even brighter pink.
‘They say his father was also his grandfather, if you see what I mean.’
Zen clearly didn’t.
‘I mean that his mother was abused by her own father and Minot was the result,’ Lisa said quickly. ‘I don’t know if it’s true. He’s an odd sort, keeps to himself, and people are a bit afraid of him for some reason. They may just have made it all up, but I’ve heard similar things about other people, back in the old days. There wasn’t much else to do, I suppose, and this area was so isolated. Half the folk in the village had never even been to Alba.’
Zen scribbled something in his notebook.
‘When did you meet Manlio in Palazzuole?’
‘Oh, that was later, after he got back from abroad. He phoned and said he had something important to discuss, and would I meet him at the bar in the village. I didn’t see why not. I’d completely forgotten about Manlio by then. Besides, I’d heard he’d met someone in America. Anyway, that’s when he told me about Aldo’s plans. He was just being kind, trying to protect me in case the whole thing came out somehow.’
‘And how did your father react when he heard that you’d disobeyed him?’
Lisa looked away, out of the window.
‘It was even worse. He wasn’t angry. He just marched me to the telephone, made me phone Manlio and then stood over me while I told him never to call me again and a lot more cruel things I don’t want to repeat.’
‘What did Manlio say?’
‘He said, “Very well,” and hung up.’
There were tears in her eyes now.
‘Why does it all have to be horrible? I don’t understand! I just don’t understand.’
Zen was about to go and comfort her, but then thought better of it.
‘Well, thank you, signorina,’ he said, putting his notebook away. ‘I’m sorry I’ve brought back painful memories, but you’ve been very helpful. I’ll naturally let you know when you can expect your father and uncle home again. But supposing all this takes longer than I thought, is there somewhere you could go?’
‘There’s my aunt in Alba, my real aunt. But Dad’s not in any real trouble, is he?’
‘Not so far as I know. And, believe me, I’m just as anxious as you are to get this whole thing over with. In fact I can’t wait to get out of this place, to tell you the truth.’
The girl made a face.
‘You’re not the only one.’
‘Where are you going?’
‘To Milan, to study mathematics.’
‘When?’
‘Next year. More precisely, in ten months, two weeks and six days. Do you know Milan?’
‘I used to work there.’
Lisa looked at him eagerly.
‘Is it as ghastly as everyone says?’
Zen smiled.
‘It’s even worse. Crowded, noisy, dirty and dangerous. I’m sure you’ll have a wonderful time there, signorina. If I don’t see you again, let me wish you the best of luck.’
He opened the door and walked out, leaving the girl standing all alone in the large, empty house.
‘We want a lawyer,’ said Gianni Faigano.
‘That’s right,’ his brother added. ‘We have a right to legal representation.’
It was twenty-past five in the afternoon. The sky was dulling, draining away to the west, chased by the long night coming. Aurelio Zen took off his overcoat and hat and laid them on the desk in the centre of the room.
‘A lawyer?’ he said. ‘Whatever for?’
‘To protect our legal rights,’ replied Gianni.
‘With regard to what?’
‘Whatever this is about.’
Zen sat down behind the desk, surveying the two standing men. There was a hard wooden stool facing the desk, but the only other chair was occupied by Nanni Morino, resplendent in a tweed jacket, canary yellow pullover, sky blue shirt and red tie. A legal notepad was propped open on his knee, and in the intervals between taking down the proceedings in shorthand he concentrated on picking his teeth with a blade unfolded from a Swiss Army knife.
‘What do you think it’s about?’ Zen asked the Faigano brothers.
‘How the hell are we supposed to know?’ snapped Gianni. ‘The last time I saw you, you claimed to be a reporter for some paper in Naples!’
‘It’s for you to tell us what it’s about,’ Maurizio insisted stolidly.
‘Or our lawyer,’ added Gianni.
Zen surveyed them with an expression of bewilderment.
‘It’s about wine, of course.’
The two brothers conferred briefly and silently.
‘Wine?’ echoed Gianni.
‘That’s right,’ said Zen. ‘Specifically, the undocumented shipment you made to Bruno Scorrone the other day.’
The ensuing silence was broken by the click of Nanni Morino’s dental aid returning to join its numerous relatives and then the squeaks of his pen.
‘That’s all?’ Gianni Faigano blurted out.
Zen frowned.
‘What else would it be?’
Maurizio’s relief was evident in his laugh.
‘Well, you know, it’s just that we heard that you’d been sent up here from Rome to investigate Aldo Vincenzo’s murder. And then you tried to pump Gianni about it over lunch, so when your men came to bring us in we naturally assumed that…’
The scene was a second-floor office in the Alba police station. It was small and dingy and had been unused for some time. A thick layer of dust covered every horizontal surface like a natural secretion.
Zen got up from the desk and, with some difficulty, opened the window. It was evidently the first time in years that this had been done, and the musty, enclosed odours lingered in the air, mingled with currents from the cool darkness outside and the sounds of merriment and sociability drifting up from the street below.
‘Scorrone?’ Gianni Faigano remarked with exaggerated casualness. ‘Sure, we sent him some wine from time to time. When we had a back stock we couldn’t shift, or needed some cash right away. Bruno could always use some good stuff to bulk out his blend.’
He paused and shot Zen a shrewd glance.
‘But I don’t understand why someone like you should be taking an interest in this sort of thing, dottore. We might have been in technical violation of some law or other, but people round here do it all the time. It’s like
