‘Oh, I see! You mean you know they did. Oh, well, that’s different! Sorry, chief, I didn’t realize that. I thought it was just their word against the official record. And like we say in Naples, never believe a Calabrian unless he tells you he’s lying!’
Zen gazed down at the surface of the table gleaming dully under the flat neon light. He stood up abruptly.
‘I’ve got to go to the toilet. I’ll meet you in the car.’
As Zen washed his hands he gazed at his face in the mirror above the basin. How could he have failed to see what was obvious even to a knucklehead like Palottino? How could he have imagined for a second that the kidnappers’ unsupported assertions would be taken seriously by anyone? On the contrary, they would be indignantly dismissed as a feeble and disgusting attempt by a gang of ruthless killers to add insult to injury by smearing the family of the man they had just savagely murdered.
It was Thursday evening now. His mandate in Perugia ran until midnight on Friday. That gave him just over twenty-four hours. He phoned the Night Duty Officer at the Questura in Perugia and then, since he had some tokens left, dialled Ellen’s number in Rome. But as soon as it began to ring he pushed the rest down with his finger, breaking the connection.
He must have dozed off, for the next thing he was aware of was feeling chilled and anxious. Through the window he could see the upper limb of a huge planet which almost filled the night sky. The collision in which the earth would inevitably be destroyed was clearly only moments away, for despite its appalling size the planet’s motion was perceptible. It was even close enough for him to make out the lights of the hundreds of cities dotted across its monstrous convex surface.
‘Son of a bitch!’
The world swerved, veered, straightened up.
‘Fucking lorry drivers, think they own the road,’ Palottino commented.
When Zen looked again the rogue planet had become a ridge blanked in darkly on the clear moonlit sky and its alien cities the twinkling lights of Perugia.
It was only just gone ten o’clock, but the streets were deserted. Palottino pulled into the car park where it was never night and they got out, watched by the guard on the roof of the prison. In the blank wall of the Questura opposite a light showed in Zen’s office on the third floor.
Geraci must have heard his footsteps, for he was standing by the window with a respectful and curious expression as Zen came in.
‘Evening, chief. What’s up, then?’
The Duty Officer had told him to report to the Questura and await further instructions. Motioning the inspector to a chair, Zen went round behind the desk and sat down, rubbing his eyes.
‘I’ve just got back from Florence. The military have taken the whole gang. All of them. Well, not quite all.’
Geraci’s expression shifted almost imperceptibly, like the face of someone who has just died. The silence reformed. Zen felt himself starting to slip back into his interrupted sleep and he forced his eyes open, staring intently at Geraci until the inspector looked away.
‘I would never have agreed if it hadn’t been for the boy,’ he said.
‘How much did they offer you?’
‘It wasn’t the money,’ Geraci replied scornfully. ‘We’re from the same place, from neighbouring villages. They simply asked me to help them out. I would gain nothing myself, just the goodwill of certain people, people who are respected.’
He shook his head at the impossibility of a Northerner understanding these things.
‘Anyway, I said no. So they started to use threats, although they don’t like doing that. To them it’s a sign of weakness. But they had asked and I had refused. They can’t allow that.’
He paused and sighed.
‘Just before Christmas I heard from my sister. Her youngest boy, just three years old, a little darling, had been taken. A few days later a letter arrived for me. Inside there was a little scrap of skin and a tiny fingernail. They’d amputated his finger with a pair of wire-cutters. I never thought fingernails were beautiful until I saw this one, it was like a miniature work of art. That evening they phoned me again. The boy still had nine more fingers and ten toes, they said. I agreed to do what they asked.’
Zen pushed his chair back and stood up, trying to dominate the situation again, to rise above the pity that threatened to swamp him.
‘And what was that?’
‘Get myself transferred to the squad investigating the kidnapping and pass on any information which might be useful.’
‘And they gave you the tape-recorder and the crucifix?’
‘Not until you arrived. While Priorelli was in charge I didn’t need it, he was very open about his plans. But no one ever knew what you were thinking or what you were going to do.’
Zen allowed himself a moment to savour the irony of this. He had been uncommunicative with his staff because he thought they were all hostile to him and reporting back to the Questore, if not the Ministry or the Security Services!
‘Where was the receiver?’
‘In the broom cupboard at the end of the corridor, hidden under a pile of old boxes and papers. I played back the tapes at home and noted down anything important.’
‘And the contacts with the gang? Come on, Geraci! I want to get home, go to bed. Don’t make me do all the work.’
‘I put an advertisement in the newspaper offering a boat for sale. The day the advertisement appeared I took a certain train, got into the first carriage and left the envelope in the bin for used towels in the toilet.’
Zen shook his head slowly. His disgust was as much with himself as with Geraci, but the inspector suddenly flared up.
‘I wasn’t the biggest shit in all this! One of the Milettis was in on it too! Can you imagine that? Betraying your own father! At least I didn’t sink that low.’
Zen waved his hand wearily.
‘Don’t waste time trying to do dirt on the family. I’m not interested.’
Geraci got to his feet.
‘It’s true, I tell you! I had to pick up his messages at a service area on the motorway and leave them on the train, same as my own. Once I got there early and saw him.’
‘So who was it?’
‘I don’t know.’
Zen snorted his contempt.
‘He was all wrapped up in a coat and a scarf and wearing dark glasses, and I was watching from a distance. I didn’t want to risk being recognized either.’
‘How did he get there?’
‘In a blue Fiat Argenta saloon.’
‘Was there anyone else in the car?’
‘No.’
‘Describe him.’
‘Quite short. Medium build.’
‘How do you know it wasn’t a woman?’
‘He phoned to let me know he was coming. It was a man, all right.’
Zen turned to the window, as though he feared that his thoughts might be visible in his face. Daniele and Silvio were out. Pietro, too. Ivy Cook’s voice was deep enough to be mistaken for a man’s, but she was too tall. Cinzia was the right size, but her voice was almost hysterically feminine. No, there was really only one person it could have been.
‘How many times did this happen?’
‘Four altogether. I can give you the dates.’
Geraci took out his diary and scribbled on a blank page which he then tore out and handed to Zen.
