‘I really shouldn’t be cutting you in on the defence case, but, well, as one Venetian to another… When she’s summoned to appear before Mamoli, Ada Zulian will tell him that last night’s episode, so far from being one in a long series, was quite different from anything she had experienced before. Her nephews’ performance, it seems, was so crude that she guessed immediately that it was them. It lacked all the fluidity and “other-worldliness”, to use her own term, of the previous manifestations.’
Zen violently hurled the butt of his cigarette, which had burned down to the filter, into the bin.
‘That’s absurd! The carnival costumes the accused were wearing corresponded exactly with the description the contessa gave me of the figures who have been tormenting her. No one’s going to believe that it was sheer coincidence.’
‘Of course not. But you’re not the only person whose ear she bent about these ghostly apparitions of hers. The old girl’s been going on about it to her nephews for weeks, and last night they played a little trick on her by dressing up in carnival gear and acting out her fantasies.’
Gorin shrugged.
‘Many people may consider such a jape was in extremely questionable taste, to put it mildly. There is, however, nothing remotely illegal about it.’
He shook his head mournfully.
‘I’m afraid you’re going to have to let them go, dottore.’
Zen glanced at his watch, then at the slashing rain outside the window.
‘There’s another charge I omitted to mention,’ he told Gorin solemnly. ‘One of the brothers referred to my men as “sons of whores”, while the other called me a “heap of shit”.’
Gorin laughed a little uneasily.
‘Oh come on Zen! You’ll hear that kind of thing down at the bar any day.’
‘That’s different. If someone insults me when I’m off duty, that’s a personal matter. I can choose to ignore him or to retaliate. But last night I was abused whilst carrying out my duties as a state functionary. The offence was thus not only to me personally but to the office I hold. To let such a thing go unpunished would be to undermine the authority of the legal process and inded the very fabric of an ordered, democratic society.’
Gorin gestured with his hands cupped together, appealing to sanity and common sense.
‘Be reasonable, dottore! If you go round bursting into the homes of respectable citizens in the middle of the night, firing off guns in all directions, you can’t expect a very warm welcome!’
‘Your clients are in contravention of article 341 of the Criminal Code, which penalizes insults to the honour or prestige of a public official, made in his presence and during the execution of his duties. There is no question of their being released at the present time.’
Gorin gave him a long, measured look.
‘All right,’ he nodded, ‘if that’s the way you want to play it. But it isn’t going to look good you clutching vindictively at 341 because your main charges have gone up in smoke. This is the second time in twenty-four hours that you’ve screwed up. If you’re going to take such a hard line, I’ll mention your irregular detention of Signor Bon to Mamoli. I don’t think he’s going to be very impressed. Nor do I think that he’ll be taken in by this vindictive and spiteful attempt to harass my clients on a technicality. You may be able to get away with that sort of high-handed behaviour in Rome, but here in Venice we still have standards.’
He turned and strode across the office to the door. Zen stood quite still, staring fixedly at the space which the lawyer had just vacated. He was still in this trance when Aldo Valentini arrived.
‘Our friend Enzo is deep in the shit!’ cackled the Ferrarese gleefully. ‘Having got back from bum-sniffing the politicos, the boss has summoned all the departmental heads to his office to hear the party line. Not only has Gavagnin not shown up, he hasn’t even phoned in to apologize. And Francesco Bruno is a man who doesn’t take kindly to being stood up.’
Zen nodded absent-mindedly. Valentini looked at him more closely.
‘Is something wrong?’
Zen sighed.
‘What’s the biggest mistake you can make in this job?’
Valentini shrugged.
‘There’s so many to choose from. Accepting too small a bribe? Making a pass at Bruno’s wife? Failing to make a pass at Bruno’s wife?’
He slapped his thigh loudly.
‘I’ve got it! It’s taking Bettino Todesco along on an operation without unloading his pistol first.’
Zen shot him a hurt glance.
‘Nice one.’
‘How is she, anyway?’ asked Valentini with a smile to show he’d meant no harm.
‘At home, recovering. A couple of days’ leave and she’ll be fine. But she was lucky. That fool Todesco could have killed her, firing blind like that.’
‘What’s going to happen to him?’
‘An official reprimand, loss of accumulated promotion points and compulsory attendance at a firearms retraining course. But that’s nothing compared to the unofficial hazing he’ll have to put up with around here. It’s tough enough being a policeman without having your own colleagues shooting at you.’
He collected his coat and hat and made for the door.
‘See you later, Aldo.’
‘Wait a minute!’ the Ferrarese called after him. ‘You haven’t told me about the biggest mistake you can make in this job.’
Zen turned in the open doorway. He closed his eyes and squeezed the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger.
‘To take it seriously,’ he murmured. ‘To think you have any hope of achieving anything. To imagine that anyone is going to support you.’
The quay outside the Questura glistened greasily under the steady drench. Mino Martufo, draped in a waterproof cape, was securing the mooring lines of one of the police launches.
‘Are you doing anything?’ Zen asked him.
‘Where to, dotto?’
‘Palazzo Zulian.’
He stepped aboard the launch. Freeing the mooring rope, Martufo followed, pushing off with his foot. He revved the motor, bringing the craft around, then engaged the throttle. The bow lifted and they surged off along the canal, riding a thick cushion of wash. Zen stood facing forward, eyes closed, gaunt and unsmiling, the raindrops dripped down his cheeks like tears. Mino Martufo looked at his superior with concern.
‘We really fixed those bastards, sir, eh?’
Zen did not respond. Emerging into the crowded waters of the bacino di San Marco, the Sicilian dragged the launch into a slewing turn, narrowly missing an incoming ferry and a barge piled high with crates of artichokes.
‘Take it easy,’ Zen told him tonelessly. ‘This is the new Italy. We’ve got to foster good relations with the public. We could be privatized at any moment.’
Martufo glanced twice at his superior before judging it safe to laugh heartily.
‘After all the talk about botched jobs and cock-ups, it’s really great to have taken part in an operation that was a total success from beginning to end,’ he enthused. ‘Okay, it was a shame about la Nunziata, but like I said when we were playing cards, they should never have let ladies join.’