And then you die az-8

by Michael Dibdin

  'That s right. It was probably a wise decision. Like a lot of the older members of staff, he didn't really fit into the new ethos here.'

  'I can imagine.'

  'Dottor Brugnoli's philosophy is that we should think as individuals but act as a team.' 'And Tullio wasn't a team player.' 'Not really, no.' Zen nodded.

  'Brugnoli's full of new ideas, isn't he?' The woman's eyes glowed.

  'Oh I know! He's just so inspirational. He's even having signs printed up for every workplace with phrases like that one, to help keep the staff motivated and focussed. I'm hoping to get one soon.'

  Zen left the cardboard box on the counter and slipped the communication device and adaptor pack into his coat pocket.

  'Don't get too motivated,' he said, turning towards the door. 'Brugnoli's ambitious, and this ministry is a political dead end.

  Come the next cabinet reshuffle, he'll be gone. But those "older members of staff" you mentioned will still be around.'

  Ten minutes later, he walked into the Bar Gran Caffe dell'Opera. Giorgio De Angelis was sitting at a table by the window.

  'Tell me all,' he said as Zen sat down, 'then let’s see if we can work out what it really means.'

  'I don't think that will be too difficult’ Zen replied sourly.

  He gave Giorgio a paraphrased version of what Brugnoli had said, inserting a few of the choicer lines verbatim for comic effect, and they were duly effective.

  When he'd stopped laughing, De Angelis said, 'I see you're already fluent in the new dialect Aurelio.'

  'There was just one phrase I didn't understand. Something about "the Three I's".'

  That's their motto for the way forward in this country’ De Angelis retorted in a tone of disgust. '"Inglese, impresa, Internet". This is the new Right, Aurelio. Statism with a human face. Well, with a business suit, anyway. No more canny old spiders like Andreotti spinning their intricate webs. Now if s all feel-good slogans and photo-ops carefully stage-managed by Publitalia. Christ, whoever would have thought that we'd miss the former regime so soon? Listen, if this new job doesn't work out, you're welcome to mine. When this retirement plan they've been threatening us with comes into effect, I'm going to cash in.'

  'You don't understand, Giorgio. I can't have your job, or even my old one. That s the whole point.'

  De Angelis looked at him, suddenly serious.

  'How do you mean?'

  ‘I mean I'm being promoted out of harm's way.' 'They're kicking you upstairs?'

  'Upstairs and to the left, all the way down the corridor to that little room at the end where no one ever goes. At least, that’s the way I read it'

  'But why?'

  ‘I don't know.'

  'What harm could you do them?'

  'I have no idea. That s what's so worrying. If they simply wanted to get rid of me, they could have told me to take indefinite sick leave until this retirement deal comes through – the least we could do for un mutilato di guerra e del lavoro, etcetera, etcetera -and then handed me a cheque and kissed me goodbye. But for some reason I don't understand, they seem to want to keep me in the organization but not of it, if you see what I mean.'

  'Out of touch but under control?'

  Zen nodded.

  'As I say, I have no idea why, but I can't read it any other way. Can you?'

  De Angelis pondered this for some time. 'Maybe you're being too cynical,' he said at last. 'One can never be too cynical’

  'That s pretty cynical. Try to be more positive. Maybe they really do respect your abilities and skills and want to put them to the best possible use’

  Zen fixed him with a glassy eye.

  '"To facilitate positive interactions and innovative strategies fostering enhanced productivity in the crime issue resolution sector"? I don't think so, Giorgio’

  He turned to the window beside them.

  'Anyway, who cares?' exclaimed De Angelis. 'It sounds like a hell of a deal to me, whatever their motives may be. No staff meetings, no routine paperwork, no supervision and no bullshit? Anyone in Criminalpol would kill for an offer like.. ‘

  'Giorgio.'

  'What?'

  'Look out there’

  De Angelis followed Zen's gaze to the street outside. 'What?'

  'How many people can you see?'

  Giorgio De Angelis attempted a laugh, which did not come off. 'What kind of question is that?' he demanded. 'How many?' insisted Zen, not turning to look at him. De Angelis sighed.

  'One, two, three, four, five. Now four. Now six. Now five again. No, now it's.. ‘

  'Can you see someone leaning against the wall right opposite, between that blue Fiat and the scooter?'

  'That young jerk in the green shirt? Yes, Aurelio, I can. My distance vision is still remarkably good, although I have some difficulty reading small print. Speaking of which, would you mind telling me what this is all about?'

  For a moment Zen was tempted to try and explain, but by now he was sane enough to restrain himself.

  'Oh, nothing. I just thought I recognized him, that's all.'

  De Angelis regarded him with unmitigated perplexity.

  'How am I supposed to know whether you recognized him? Anyway, that's not what you said. You asked if I could see him.'

  'Yes, I suppose I did. Never mind. Let's just forget it'

  Giorgio De Angelis gave a perfunctory nod.

  'Very well. He's gone now anyway. So you're not off to America after all?'

  'No. One of the two brothers I was supposed to testify against has apparently worked out a sistemazione with the prosecutors.'

  'As a result of which they don't need you any more.'

  'Exactly.'

  'Shame. I was there a few years ago. A private trip to visit relatives in Chicago. You'd have liked it.' Zen sniffed.

  'I've never had any desire to go anywhere that wasn't part of the Roman Empire.'

  As soon as the sentence was spoken, he realized how pompous it sounded. De Angelis looked at him in a way that made Zen realize suddenly that their friendship, if not over, had at least shifted in some important way. A moment later, he thought: he's envious.

  'But if you'd been around at the time of the Roman Empire,' De Angelis replied, 'where would you have wanted to live? Carthage? Barcelona? Marseilles? London? Byzantium? Antioch? Alexandria? All very nice provincial cities with a low crime rate, state-of-the-art amphitheatres and immaculately maintained forums, and regularly topping the list of 'Ten Most Livable Cities in the Empire". No, you'd have wanted to live in Rome, at the heart of the beast, where the horrible action was. Well, today America is Rome.'

  Zen nodded abstractedly.

  'Have you heard about La Biacis?' De Angelis murmured. The last thing Zen wanted to hear about was Tarda Biacis, yet another former girlfriend who'd toyed with him for a while and then decided she could do better. But it would of course have been fatal to display the least reluctance to hear whatever Giorgio had to say. 'How is she?' he asked.

  'Rich’ De Angelis replied. 'And I mean seriously rich. Remember that start-up company she founded to export authentic food and drink from the Friuli? Well, she branched out and started handling small quality producers in other areas of the country, nearly all in the south. When the Internet came along she saw her chance, hired a firm to design a killer web site, and started selling online. Agrofrul – now branded as Delizie – got big write-ups in a bunch of those glossy" food-porn mags, and the next thing you know she was deluged with orders from all over the world. I mean she was shipping Calabrian honey to America and Sicilian bottarga di tonno to Japan!'

  Zen smiled thinly. He was thinking of his interview with Borunn Sigurdardottir, the Icelandic policewoman. Maybe Tania's private impresa, which she had used to run from her desk at the Ministry, had been the inspiration for the cover story he had given her. He hadn't thought consciously about Tania for years, though, and certainly didn't want to hear about her now. Nevertheless, he nodded.

  'Good for her’

 
De Angelis laughed.

  'No, no. That’s just the set-up. Then she got really smart. Just before the dot.com market crashed, she sold out to a multinational distributor looking for a high-end flagship line.'

  'But why would she do that, if the business was so successful?'

  De Angelis held up his right hand, the fingers outspread. Zen shrugged impatiently.

  'Cinque miliardi,' pronounced De Angelis distinctly. 'Five billion lire. She'd already quit her job here, of course. The last I heard, she's bought a fabulous abandoned monastery near her native village in the Friuli and is restoring it as a luxury hotel and resort for the discerning rich.'

  Zen nodded vaguely. De Angelis slapped him on the stomach with the back of his hand.

  'You should have stuck with her, Aurelio. Then you could have told Brugnoli where to put this McJob he's dreamt up for you.'

  He glanced at his watch. 'Well, I must be going.'

  'All right. But keep in touch. Come up to Versilia for the weekend some time. I'll be there till the end of the month. Bring the wife and kids too, if you want. There's plenty of room’

  ‘I might take you up on that.'

  'You should.'

  The two men shook hands with a certain constraint, and then Zen walked back to the railway station, where he picked up his bags from the left-luggage office and took a cab to his home in the Prati district.

  It was as his 'home' that he still thought of it, but the moment he turned the key in the lock and stood on the threshold, he realized that here, too, things had changed. A shaft of sunlight created a rectangle of brilliance on the floor, casting the rest of the room into comparative obscurity. The light looked as still and solid as a marble plinth, and yet it was changing even as he gazed at it. That was the real problem, he thought. The boundary between the darkness and the light was shifting all the time, but too subtly for us to be aware of it, except when it was too late.

  He had not been in the apartment for almost a year, and then only to make the necessary arrangements for his mother's funeral. Every horizontal surface was covered in a fine layer of dust, while cobwebs hung like wisplets of high grey cloud from the ceiling. Maria Grazia, the housekeeper and latterly Giuseppina's nurse, had long wanted to retire to her native village, but given the demands of Zen's job and his mother's state of health had loyally agreed on various occasions to stay on 'for the time being'. Following Signora Zen's death, however, she had finally given her notice. Oddly, Zen found himself missing her presence more than he did that of his mother.

  He lifted the phone and was greeted by silence. Evidently it had been cut off for non-payment of bills. He walked over to the kitchen door and flicked the light switch. Nothing. Probably the gas and water didn't work either. This bothered him less than the phone being dead. He already felt sufficiently isolated and forgotten, an honorary member of the huldufolk.

  On instinct, he dug his mobile phone out of his baggage and dialled Gilberto Nieddu.

  The number rang and rang. Zen was just about to give up when a voice answered.

  'Fuck off’ it said. 'I don't care any more, understand? It’s over. Just leave me alone, all right? Is that too much to ask?'

  'You're not talking to me, Gilberto’ said Zen.

  'Who's this?'

  'Aurelio.'

  'Who?'

  Zen didn't answer. There was a silence. 'Oh. Yes. Hi, Aurelio.'

  Well, thought Zen, this is different. Since emerging from his shadow persona as Pier Giorgio Butani, everyone he'd spoken to so far had been all over him with questions and theories and opinions about what had or hadn't happened to him in Sicily and since. Yet here was Gilberto, his closest friend, acting as though Zen had just got back from a week's walking holiday in the Dolomites.

  'So who did you think was calling?' Zen asked.

  'Oh, it doesn't matter.'

  'What are you doing?'

  'Drinking.'

  'Drinking what?'

  'Who cares?'

  'Are you all right, Gilberto?' 'No.'

  'Why? What’s happened?'

  'Nothing. It doesn't matter’

  Zen took a deep breath.

  'Where are you?'

  'At home.'

  'Can I come round?'

  'Suit yourself.'

  'In an hour or two?'

  'Whenever.'

  'I've been travelling all night and I'm exhausted.' 'So you're not feeling chirpy? Good. I couldn't stand chirpiness.'

  'I don't think there's much risk of that.'

  Gilberto hung up. Zen followed suit, wishing he hadn't called in the first place. Since leaving the police and setting up on his own account in the security and electronic surveillance business, Nieddu's career had been a roller-coaster ride of success, failure and close brushes with the law. When Zen had last been in touch, enlisting his friend's help in extricating himself from a difficult situation he had found himself in during his posting to Catania, the situation had seemed to be improving. This latest contact seemed to confirm that, once again, the Sardinian had not overlooked an opportunity to plunge himself back into crisis.

  Gilberto and his wife Rosa lived in Via Carlo Emanuele, near Porta Maggiore. They owned an apartment in a modern block, which had been borderline affordable when they bought it By now, it must have been worth a fortune. Zen walked up the gleaming stairs to the first floor and rang the bell. Outside the tall metal-framed windows, it was already dark. He had slept for over three hours.

  He had to ring twice before the door opened and a man's face appeared. Unshaven, unfocussed, at once haggard and bloated, it was barely identifiable as that of Gilberto Nieddu.

  'Oh, if s you,' he said, throwing the door open so violently that it slammed against the wall, and instantly turning back inside.

  Zen followed, closing the door quietly behind him. The smells hit him first, a whole orchestra of them tuning up before the conductor arrived and they unleashed their full power. Once inside, the visual aspect kicked in. The pleasant, bright, orderly apartment Zen remembered had been transformed into an unrecognizable state of squalid disorder and abandon. In the living room, dirty clothes lay across the furniture and floor, an array of empty bottles and used glasses covered the table, and the air was blue with cigarette smoke. The kitchen to the left had piles of dishes and saucepans on every work surface, while still more were stacked high in the sink.

  'Well, this is the scene of the crime, Dottor Zen,' Gilberto remarked with arch jocularity, reaching for one of the half-empty glasses. 'What do you make of it?'

  Zen coughed apologetically. He did not sit down.

  'It looks like Rosa's left you’ he said.

  Nieddu laughed.

  'Bravo! Nothing can escape the eagle eye and awesome intelligence of the renowned Aurelio Zen. He takes a few seemingly insignificant and unrelated clues overlooked by less astute observers, processes them faster than a supercomputer and lays bare the mystery which had baffled the finest minds of Europe. Yes, the little bitch has left me.'

  Zen sighed heavily.

  'When?'

  'Four days ago? Three? Six? I forget. Who cares? She's gone, that’s all that matters. She's gone and she's not coming back. She made that very clear.'

  He collapsed on the sofa, grabbed a bottle and poured some colourless spirit into the glass he had been using.

  'Very clear indeed,' he added quietly, as though addressing the bottle.

  'So where is she now?'

  'Back home in Sassari with her younger brother,' Nieddu continued in the same quiet tone, all bravado gone. 'Who is threatening to come over shortly and break my legs.'

  'And the children?'

  'With her, of course. I came home one day to find the place empty, all their clothes and belongings gone, and a note on the table.'

  Zen lit a cigarette.

  'What happened?'

  'A friend of hers saw me and a member of my staff having dinner at a restaurant down at the beach in Lido di Ostia when I was supposedly in Tur
in, on business. Rosa had had her suspicions about me for years, but this was the first time she'd ever been able to prove anything. Her note gave me to understand that she was taking steps to ensure that it would also be the last.'

  Zen nodded.

  'So you've been doing this for years and finally got caught.' Nieddu refilled his glass.

  'Want a drink? No? Good idea. Yes, I got caught, and you know why? Because I'd stopped trying so hard. That business in Lido di Ostia, I'd never have risked anything that stupid in the old days. If I said I was going to Turin, I'd go. What happened there was another matter. But I got lazy. Mobile phones haven't helped, either. Time was, you had to say where you'd be staying

  and leave the number, but now you could be anywhere.' He took a large gulp of his drink. 'But that's not really it.' 'So what is?'

  Nieddu lit a cigarette and lay down on the sofa.

  'She got old, Aurelio. What else can I say? She got old.'

  Zen did not reply. After a while, Nieddu leaned over and flicked the ash of his cigarette into his drink.

  'You know that saying about generals? That they're always superbly prepared to fight the last war? It's not just generals, it's all of us.'

  ‘I don't understand.'

  'Can you imagine if we were twenty again, or even thirty, how easy it would be for us to win at the kind of games people that age play? We'd be unbeatable, not least because we wouldn't care too much if we won, the way we did back then. We were under too much pressure, there was too much at stake. No wonder we fucked up.'

  ‘I still don't see what this has to do with you and Rosa.'

  ‘I thought I was one of those generals. I thought I had the situation all worked out. Basically, I thought I could get away with a certain amount of action on the side, providing I was discreet about it. But that wasn't the real point'

  'So what was?'

  'That it was still working for us in bed. Maybe she even did have some proof of what I was getting up to, I don't know, but as long as she was getting her share of attention it didn't bother her that much. But things were changing, like they always do. You don't notice it, any more than you notice the days growing shorter at this time of year. But they are, imperceptibly. The solstice is past and winter's on its way.'