Zen nodded. The professor seated himself at the other end of the table.
'Very good. Now then, what can you tell me about the missing individual? Have you a picture, or better yet some object belonging to him or her? An article of clothing, a piece of jewellery.. / 'This is all I have.'
He took out the Missing Persons bulletin on the escaped prisoner and passed it up the table.
'I don't even know the man's name…' Zen began.
'I do/ Zen stared at Professor Esposito, who was scowling at the photograph.
'His name is Giosue Marotta, also known as 'o pazzo/ ''The madman'?'
''The joker', rather, although there's nothing particularly amusing about Don Giosue. He boasts of having killed over a hundred men. Eighty is probably nearer the mark, but his technique is more remarkable than his sheer output. He works in various media, but his speciality is the garrotte. They say he can make the process last as much as fifteen minutes/ Zen gaped at him.
'You mean this man is well-known?'
Professor Esposito shrugged.
'Notorious, in certain circles.'
'But we had him in custody for days, and were unable to identify him!' Zen protested. 'We sent his prints and that mug shot over to the Questura. They said they had nothing on him.'
'Naturally. These people are not film stars or politicians.
In the circles I just referred to, fame is inversely proportionate to how much is known about you, especially officially. With the very top people — Don Gaetano or Don Fortunato — the only data extant are the time and place of birth, and both are almost certainly false.'
Zen acknowledged the point with a nod.
'Have you any idea where this Marotta is now?' he asked.
The professor stared at the photograph for a long time.
Outside in the street, above a cacophony of car horns, shouts, whistles and revving engines, a lone cock crew three times. Inside the room all was still except for the buzzing of a fly circling in the hot air above the lamp. It plunged sideways and fell, spiralling down to land on its back on top of the mug-shot of Giosue Marotta, legs waving feebly.
'In Hades/ The voice appeared to come from a great distance.
'You mean hell?' queried Aurelio Zen, frowning.
There was a long silence.
'That's the best sense I can make of it/ Professor Esposito said with a sigh. 'The images are very faint. Good reception is almost impossible without an object of reference, something imprinted with the subject's personal aura. But I see him somewhere deep underground, with flames and figures milling around. Do you know The Last Judgement they have up at Capodimonte? Or you may be familiar with the Roman copy by Michelangelo. In the glimpse I had, Don Giosue might have been posing for one of the figures towards the bottom of the picture.'
Zen made no attempt to hide his disappointment.
'That doesn't help me much.'
'A time may come when it all makes sense/ the professor replied blandly, pushing the photograph back down the table. 'May I offer you a refreshment of some kind?'
Zen hesitated a moment.
'As a matter of fact, there's someone else I'm anxious to trace.'
'Then you're in luck, dottore. This week only I'm offering a thirty per cent discount on the second consultation.
Who is it this time?'
'My mother. But I have no photographs, no personal belongings, nothing.'
The professor smiled.
'Stand up and come here/ Zen obeyed. Professor Esposito undid the two middle buttons of his client's shirt and inserted the little finger of his right hand into Zen's belly-button.
'Where your mother is concerned,' he remarked, closing his eyes in concentration, 'you yourself are the only object of reference required/ Cor difemmina 'What's the matter with you?' demanded Libera as Iolanda walked in looking, as her companion tactfully added, like a cigarette butt fished out of a urinal.
'Mind your own fucking business!' was the angry reply.
'It is my business, darling/ Libera reminded her.
'They've both got to come across or we don't get paid.'
'If it's the money you're interested in, you can kiss it goodbye right now!' snapped Iolanda, throwing herself down on the sofa, legs akimbo.
'What else would I be thinking about?' Libera asked innocently.
'Well, forget it! Gesualdo is straight as a die/ Libera put her head on one side and nodded slowly.
'Not even a hint of any action?'
'Not a damn thing. You want to hear about it?'
'I'm all ears, darling!'
She came to perch on the edge of the sofa. Iolanda sighed mightily.
'I caught up with him on the steps outside and gave him the big sob story. Pretended to weep and be nervous and tongue-tied, the whole production.'
'Well done. And?'
'At first he took a really tough line. Said he couldn't help me, it was nothing to do with him, and he was sure De Spino would fix us up with something. 'I can imagine what that creep has in mind,' I told him. 'Do you want to force my sister and I out on the streets?'' 'The very idea!' murmured Libera.
'He seemed to soften a bit at that. I mean, he's basically a really decent guy, you know? That's what makes it so tough.'
She looked away distractedly. Libera's jaw hardened.
'You're not falling for him, are you?' she said insinuatingly.
Iolanda flashed her a furious look.
'Don't be so fucking stupid!'
'All right, dearie, all right. No need to get your tackle in a twist. So what happened?'
Iolanda sighed again.
'He said he felt very sorry for us. I told him to stuff his pity. And he said 'Yes?'
'He said it wasn't just pity.'
Libera's eyes opened wide.
'He did?'
'So of course I went ahead and made a total fool of myself. I told him I'd always known there was something between us from the first moment I'd set eyes on him, and that someone so handsome couldn't be cold and selfish, blah, blah. And then it all came out.'
'What did?'
'Abig speech about how he was engaged to be married and would never do anything that might hurt his future wife and the mother of his children. Then he turned on his heel and walked off without a word or a look, as though I was a piece of dog shit…'
She started to weep.
'And now he's probably on the phone to that bitch in England, giving her an earful about how beautiful and sweet and feminine she is…'
Tears rolled down her cheeks and splashed on to her blouse. Libera embraced her briefly and patted her back.
'Never mind, dear. You'll get over it.'
Iolanda sniffed.
'What about yours? Same story, I suppose. Bastards!
They're all the same!'
Libera inspected her nails.
'Well, maybe not quite all/ 'What do you mean?' snapped Iolanda.
Libera tossed her hair and laughed archly.
