There was a long pause.
‘He’s just a baby,’ Zen replied at length.
‘Congratulations! But they grow up rapidly. Hence my interest in this year’s Vincenzo wines. I have two sons, both in the most repulsive period of their teens. At present they regard my interest in wine as just another example of their father’s dotage. If they drink at all, it’s some obscure brand of imported beer, although Luca at least shows promising signs of becoming a collezionista about that, too, hunting down limited-release Trappist brews and the like.’
He set about the meticulous business of cutting and lighting a massive cigar.
‘I believe — I have to believe — that in time they will come to appreciate what I have bequeathed them, and perhaps even set about extending the cellar far into the next millennium as a heritage for their own children.’
A triumphant puff of blue smoke.
‘But that is to look too far into the future. For the moment, all that concerns me is this harvest! Unless we act now, the grapes will either be sold off to some competitor or crudely vinified into a parody of what a Vincenzo wine could and should be.’
Aurelio Zen tried hard to look suitably concerned at this dire prospect.
‘But what can I do about it?’ he asked. ‘If the son is already under arrest…’
‘I don’t believe for a moment that he did it,’ the famous director exclaimed impatiently.
Zen produced a crumpled handkerchief from his pocket and blew his nose.
‘Nevertheless, I’ve been given to understand that the Carabinieri have concluded their investigation. They have pressed charges against Manlio Vincenzo and the case is now in the hands of the judiciary. I don’t see where I come in.’
His host exhaled a dense barrage of smoke.
‘Perhaps you should be more concerned about where you go out,’ he said.
Zen frowned.
‘Go out? You mean, from this house?’
For the first time, Giulio smiled with what appeared genuine amusement.
‘No, no! All appearances to the contrary, I am not planning to immure you in some lost recess of my cellars. Nevertheless, a not dissimilar fate might well await you.’
He eyed Zen keenly.
‘I refer to your next professional posting.’
‘That is a matter of departmental policy,’ Zen replied, drawing on his cigarette.
Another smile, a shade more meaningful.
‘Exactly. And in that regard I wish to draw your attention to various facts of which you are aware, and to another which is as yet privileged information. I shall be brief. Firstly, the current Minister is a man of the Left. Many of his friends and associates in the former Communist Party dedicated their lives to the struggle against organized crime. Some of them were killed as a result.’
His eyes met Zen’s, and slid away.
‘In addition, you have recently been reassigned to work for Criminalpol after your brilliant exploits in Naples where, as the whole country knows, you were instrumental in smashing the terrorist organization known as Strade Pulite.’
‘But that was…’
‘A major coup! Indeed. All this you know, dottore. What you do not know — what no one outside the Minister’s immediate circle knows — is that he is in the process of forming an elite pool of senior officers who are to be drafted to Sicily to spearhead the coming campaign against the organization which took the lives of his comrades.’
Giulio waved his hand negligently.
‘We’ve all heard this before, of course, every time some judge or police officer was gunned down or blown up. But that was in the days when the Mafia had its men here in Rome, in the highest circles of power. Everyone understood how the game worked. Any over-zealous official who looked like doing some worthwhile work was transferred or killed, the government put up a token show of force, the Mafia made a token show of backing off, and in a few months it was back to business as usual.’
He glanced at Zen, who stifled a cough.
‘But this time, so I am assured, it will be different. A fight to the finish, with no quarter offered. The Mafia’s links to Rome have all been cut, and the new government is eager to show that it can deliver on what its predecessors endlessly promised. As a result, a process of internal head-hunting has been going on for officers of proven experience, ability and — shall we say? — independence.’
He broke off to relight his cigar, holding the tip at a respectful distance from the flame.
‘Your dossier, Dottor Zen, revealed you to have been severely compromised in the eyes of the former regime. This fact, needless to say, put you at the top of the list under the new management. Add to this your evident astuteness and ability to get things done, and you became a natural candidate for the new squad.’
‘They’re sending me to Sicily?’ gasped Zen.
His host nodded.
‘Oh, yes. I’m afraid there’s nothing we can do about that. There’s promotion in it, of course, and a substantial pay rise, but you’re definitely going to have to go south. The only question is when and where.’
For a moment Zen looked as though he was about to burst into tears, but all that emerged was another massive sneeze.
‘Salute!’ said his host. ‘Speaking of which, Sicily is notoriously insalubrious, particularly for newly arrived policemen who might well be drafted straight to the capital. If one were to arrive a little later, on the other hand, once the central command structure had been set up and all posts in Palermo filled, it might prove possible to secure an assignment in some relatively pleasant spot. Do you know Syracuse? An ancient Greek settlement in the least troubled portion of the island, possessing all the charm and beauty of Sicily without being tiresomely… well, Sicilian.’
Zen raised his eyes to meet those of his interlocutor.
‘What guarantees do I have?’
A look of pain, almost of shock, appeared on the famous director’s face.
‘You have the guarantee of my word, dottore.’
‘And your interest is?’
‘I thought I’d made that clear. I want Manlio Vincenzo released from prison in time to make the wine this year.’
‘Even if he murdered his father?’
A shrug.
‘If he turns out to be innocent, so much the better. But let’s assume that he did kill Aldo. It’s absurd to believe that Manlio Vincenzo poses a threat to any other member of the community. And in the meantime there’s a potentially great wine — maybe the great wine of the century — which demands the skill and attention only he can provide.’
He shrugged again, more expansively.
‘After that, I don’t really care what happens to him. In a year the estate will have had time to reorganize, to get another wine-maker or sell out to Gaja or Cerretto, either of whom would be only too glad to get their hands on the Vincenzo vineyards. But for now, Manlio’s my only resource. Just as I’m yours.’