‘Go and find Morino, then bring the Faigano brothers up here.’
The patrolman glanced at Tullio Legna, who stalked out of the room. Dario followed. Left alone, Zen wandered over to the window, collecting his thoughts for the coming performance. He had no doubts about the course he was taking. The encounter with Carla, and its unexpected but wholly logical conclusion, seemed to have clarified his mind like a breeze carrying off mist. He had been sleepwalking for too long. Now he was awake once more, responsible for his actions, and confident about the result.
Nevertheless, despite the bravado with which he had answered Tullio Legna, he was well aware that it could all go very wrong. He felt like a sculptor confronting a block of expensive marble, sheer to all appearances but with a slight internal flaw. If he selected an instrument of the correct size and shape, and applied it with precisely the proper force at exactly the right place, the whole mass would open up and reveal its inner essence to him, and he could finish his work with ease. But if he miscalculated, he would be left with a botched lump of masonry which no amount of subsequent labour could ever repair.
He turned round expectantly as the door opened, but it was only Nanni Morino, shuffling in with his notepad and a sheepish expression.
‘Ah, it’s you!’ Zen remarked coldly. ‘I gather you’ve been ratting on me to the chief.’
‘I was just keeping him informed about developments in the case,’ Morino replied with righteous embarrassment. ‘He has a right to know what’s going on in the section under his command.’
‘That’s all right. In your position, I’d probably have done the same. There’s no reason why you should risk your own career just to follow me.’
‘On the contrary, dottore,’ Morino protested, as Dario ushered in the Faigano brothers, ‘I’d follow you anywhere!’
In a barely audible undertone, he added, ‘If only out of morbid curiosity.’
‘Ah, there you are!’ Aurelio Zen exclaimed, going round the desk to greet the new arrivals, his right hand held out. With expressions of mild bemusement, both brothers automatically responded. Maurizio’s hand was given a perfunctory shake, but Zen grasped Gianni’s and brought it up to his face for closer examination.
‘One of your nails is missing,’ he observed.
Gianni snatched his hand away.
‘So?’
‘How did it happen?’
‘Working the land isn’t a desk job,’ Gianni returned with a touch of contempt.
‘Do you remember the occasion?’
Gianni looked at his brother, frowning.
‘It was when we were bottling last year’s wine,’ Maurizio prompted. ‘Don’t you remember?’
‘Oh, that’s right! I’d forgotten.’
‘It’s common enough round here,’ Maurizio explained. ‘And that’s not counting the ones from the war. The Fascists used to specialize in that, when they ran out of more inventive ideas. They used to do it properly, with pliers. And slowly. Half the men round here are still missing a few. Once the roots get ripped out, the nail never grows back.’
He glanced keenly at Zen, as though suddenly recalling the situation.
‘But why are you asking about this?’
For a moment, Aurelio Zen looked puzzled. Then he waved at Nanni Morino, who was assiduously noting all this down.
‘Just “morbid curiosity”, to quote my colleague. I’ll only need to keep you a moment, and then Dario will take you downstairs and do the necessary for your release.’
The brothers glanced at each other.
‘Release?’ queried Gianni.
‘Yes, it’s all over. Once I got the confession, of course…’
‘Minot has confessed?’
Zen nodded briskly.
‘And that’s why I need your help. It was off the record, you see. No lawyers present, no witnesses, no notes taken. The cunning bastard waited until everyone else had left, and then confessed to the whole thing!’
Zen burst into laughter.
‘I’ve never seen anything quite like it!’ he exclaimed in a tone of aggrieved admiration. ‘This Minot is certainly quite a character. He even told me why he’d done it, but as a challenge. “Now try and prove it!” he said. “You won’t be able to. There isn’t a scrap of evidence. You’ll never be able to take me to court, much less get a conviction.”’
Gianni Faigano nodded sourly.
‘That sounds like Minot all right. But where do we come in?’
‘Because I accept his challenge, and to win I need some background information.’
‘About what?’ asked Maurizio.
Zen gave a declamatory sigh.
‘When I searched your house yesterday, following your arrest, I noticed an old photograph on display. It was a portrait of Chiara Cravioli, later Signora Vincenzo.’
The silence which followed had a new quality, like a fresh sheet of sandpaper replacing one worn smooth.
‘What’s that got to do with it?’ snapped Gianni.
‘Well, you see, Minot claims that she’s the reason he murdered Aldo.’
‘That’s absurd! He didn’t even know Chiara!’
Zen gestured for calm.
‘One thing at a time, Signor Faigano, if you please. I’m sorry, it’s my fault. I’m telling the story back to front. It’s been a long night for all of us, and I’m getting confused. Let’s begin at the beginning.’
He sat down, looking over some notes scribbled hastily on the back of various envelopes and departmental circulars.
‘Yes, here we are. According to Minot, he and this Chiara Cravioli were lovers long ago…’
Gianni Faigano took a step forward.
‘That’s bullshit!’
‘Oh!’ called Dario from the door.