trying to think of a suitable answer to Gemma's question. Failing to do so, he ignored it and asked one himself.
'What time did you arrive at the beach today, signora?'
'I got there this morning at about ten and left again just before one, then returned after lunch.'
'According to the chart of the bagno drawn for us by the owner, Signor Rutelli apparently occupied the place immediately opposite yours.'
'Well, today he did. But in fact that’s Pier Giorgio's place.'
She glanced at Zen, who leaned forward and cleared his throat.
'It is actually rented by the Rutelli family’ he said, 'but Girolamo, the elder brother, is an acquaintance of mine and gave me permission to use it. Massimo Rutelli evidently didn't know about this arrangement, so when he showed up unexpectedly he naturally took their usual spot.'
The major nodded absently, as this was merely a confirmation of old news.
'Did you see Signor Rutelli arrive?' he asked Gemma.
'No. I must have been sunning myself. But when I started sorting out my stuff before leaving, I noticed that mere was someone else in Pier Giorgio's place.'
'Didn't you recognize him?'
'How could I? He was lying on his stomach with his face turned away from me. It could have been anyone.' 'So how did you know he wasn't Signor Butani?' Gemma gave a throwaway gesture, as though this was obvious. 'His fingers.' 'What about his fingers?'
'They were thick and blunt. Women notice men's bodies a lot, they just don't notice them in the same way that men notice women's bodies. Pier Giorgio has very fine, tapering fingers. This man's were quite different. You could imagine them building a wall or castrating a horse. You couldn't imagine them caressing your skin.'
Zen looked away. For the first time he could remember, he was blushing. The major harrumphed.
'So the victim was present when you left shortly before one o'clock?'
'Yes.'
'And when you returned in the afternoon?' 'He was still there.' 'What time was that?' Gemma shrugged.
'I went to the Bar Centrale and had a panino and some salad. About two, probably.' She turned to Zen. 'What time did you get there?'
‘I left home at one,' Zen replied. 'It takes about fifteen minutes to walk. I prefer the beach in the lunch hour. If s less crowded.'
'He was there when I arrived,' Gemma explained to the carabiniere. 'He'd taken the next place up and looked like he was asleep.'
'I was. I had lunch at home and finished off a bottle of Vermentino. As soon as I sat down on the beach, the heat just knocked me out'
The major stood up, as if to impose his authority on this mutual dialogue.
'Please respect the sequence of questioning,' he said testily. ‘I didn't realize there was one,' Gemma retorted. Don't push him too far, thought Zen, but fortunately at that point the phone rang.
'Yes?' barked the carabinieri major. 'Very well. Tell them to’ He hung up and turned to Gemma.
'We have established that, according to your testimony, Signora Santini, the victim arrived shortly before one o'clock and was still there at two. Is that correct?'
'Yes.'
'Did you notice a towel draped over his back?' Gemma reflected for a moment.
'No, I don't think so. Wait a minute. There was one when I saw him in the afternoon. I'm not sure about the morning.' 'When did you leave the beach?'
'About four, earlier than usual. There was a rather unpleasant incident.'
Everything the major had picked up from his seemingly avid perusal of the chapter on basic interrogation techniques in the training manual now deserted him. He leaned forward, eyes bulging, all agog.
'What was that?'
Having achieved her effect Gemma proceeded to dismiss it 'Oh, nothing really. Pier Giorgio woke up at about three-thirty or so. I was going to get a coffee from Franco's bar, and I asked him if he'd like one too. On my way back, someone ran into me and spilt the coffee all over my bathing costume. I didn't have a spare with me, so there was nothing for it but to go home.' 'The man was running? Why?'
'I don't know. I mean, he wasn't running at first. He was just standing there on the boardwalk down the centre of Franco's strip. I thought he was staring at Pier Giorgio, to be honest'
A gleam came into the major's eye.
'Are you sure it was Signor Butani he was staring at? Might it not have been Signor Rutelli, who was sitting in the next chair?' Gemma made a moue of indifference.
'It could have been. I didn't have time to think about it. The next thing I knew, he'd whirled around and barged into me, spilling scalding coffee all over my belly and thighs.'
The major reflected a moment.
'Why did he run?'
'I haven't the slightest idea.'
'Was it because he heard you coming?'
'I don't think so. He was facing the other way, and I was barefoot so he couldn't have heard me. Besides, why should he be frightened of me?'
The major nodded and smiled the ironic, knowing smile of the master detective who alone has grasped the hidden clue concealed in the witness's seemingly ingenuous answer.
'Exactly. Why indeed should he be frightened of you?'
He turned to Zen.
'Did you notice this man, signore?'
'I saw him run off after he collided with Gemma, that’s all’
'Can either of you describe him?'
'No,' said Gemma decisively.
'You must remember something!' the major protested.
'Why? How many people do you think I see every day here? Hundreds, maybe a thousand, none of whom mean anything whatever to me. If I paid enough attention to them all to be able to describe them, I'd go mad. The man who ran into me was young, that’s all I can tell you. And when you've said that, you've said everything. He looked young, he moved young, he acted young and he dressed young.'
'How young?'
Gemma shrugged and looked at Zen.
'Thirty?'
Zen nodded.
'Early thirties, I'd say’
'That's right,' said Gemma. 'He was wearing jeans and a T-shirt with some writing on the front. In English.'
'He was English?' demanded the carabinieri officer.
'No, no. At least, I don't mink so. He looked typically Italian, like any of the young Florentine teppisti who hang out down at Viareggio at the weekend’
'Do you remember what this writing said?'
'Only one word’
'What was that?'
''Beach'. La spiaggia. I recognized that from those signs the council put up everywhere in all the different European languages, warning people about the currents and all the rest of it. But mere was another word I didn't get’
''Life',' said Zen unexpectedly.
The major regarded him with an air of professional triumph.
'Signor Butani, you have testified that you did not see this man until he was running away after his collision with Signora Santini. How then could you possibly have seen anything printed on the front of his clothing?'
'No, this wasn't him. Well, it might have been, I suppose, but it was later, after I left the beach. I was coming out of a shop in Via Puccini when I noticed some young man in a shirt like that. I didn't understand 'beach', but the
