'We call the police,' Gemma answered. 'We explain what happened. You shot him in self-defence after he'd threatened to kill us both. I'll testify to that. There won't be any problems.'
Zen shook his head.
'It's not as easy as that. Come and sit down and I'll try and explain. Afterwards, if you still want to call the police, I won't try to stop you.'
He started towards the living room.
'Not in there’ Gemma snapped. 'It you insist on boring me, come into the kitchen. We're a couple of murderers, for God's sake! There's no point in being formal’
In the bright, modern kitchen she gulped down a large glass of water, then another. Then she produced a bottle of white wine from the fridge and poured a glass for each of them. For the first time, Zen noticed what she was wearing. The same bare legs, the same sandals, but for this evening at home a very simple sleeveless dress in some soft pale-green material, tied at the left side of her waist. She wore flat gold earrings, but her hair looked less studied this time, her nails were unpainted and her make-up minimal. She looked fabulous, he thought, as if that mattered.
'I'll try and make this brief’ he told her, 'because if you're going to call the cops, you'll have to do it in the next few minutes. But we're safe here for the moment. Lessi was almost certainly operating alone. An anonymous break-in and two dead bodies was his idea, hence the wig and moustache. Even if one of the neighbours had seen him enter, the description wouldn't have been recognized. He was counting on no one knowing what had really happened, and therefore he almost certainly didn't tell anyone else about it. He may have had friends who would help him out in minor ways, like giving him the odd tip as to my whereabouts, but he couldn't count on them backing him up when a double murder was involved.'
He paused, smiling ingratiatingly and hoping that Gemma believed all this.
'It's unlikely that anyone heard the shots, but if you decide to make this official then the time of death will be established more or less accurately. So we can't dither around too long. Here's all I have to say, and I'd just ask you to hear me out before making a decision. Lessi's dead, but he was a member of an elite unit with a very strong esprit de corps. He admitted himself that he still had…'
A voice sounded out in the courtyard outside. Gemma went over to the open window.
'Ciao, Antonella!' she called down.
The other woman said something Zen didn't catch.
'No, no, I was just opening a bottle of spumante’ Gemma replied. 'I have an old friend over to dinner.'
'Bene, bene,' the other voice replied. 'Allora buon appetite' 'Altrettanto.'
Gemma turned back to Zen. 'You were saying?'
'I said that Lessi must have still had "a few friends in the business", as he put it. They'll have friends too. Lessi may have been regarded as a rotten apple, but if they find out that I killed him all that will change. The ranks will close. Believe me, they'll get even, one way or another. They may not kill me, but the prospect will be something I'll be living with for the rest of my life. You too, if we're still together.'
Gemma looked at him in a startlingly new way which he couldn't interpret at all.
'But what's the alternative?'
Her voice had changed too. Zen shrugged wearily, suddenly aware how absurd it was to even be making this appeal.
'He'd have to disappear. If we're ever going to go back to leading normal lives, we'd have to dispose of the body in such a way that it would never be found, and would be completely unidentifiable if it were. That would, of course, make you an accessory. So you're right, come to think of it. Call the police. You'd be crazy not to.'
He turned away and took a swallow of wine.
'How could we do that?' asked Gemma.
Zen tightened his grip on the glass, but didn't turn round.
'Do what?'
'Hide the body in the way you mentioned.'
He laughed lightly, as though she had posed some theoretical philosophical problem of no real concern to either of them.
'Well, I don't know,' he said, turning to face her but not looking her in the eyes. 'I suppose there must be places up in the mountains where it might not be found for a while. Some abandoned mine or old railway tunnel. But I don't know of any, and I don't expect you do either.'
'What about at sea?'
He looked at her now, but laughed again.
'That would be perfect, of course, but how are we going to manage it? We can't very well take the corpse down to Livorno in the car and dump it over the rail of the Elba ferry.'
Gemma finished her wine and set her glass down with a distinct clink
Tommaso has a boat Well it belongs to both of us, theoretically’
This time, Zen didn't laugh. 'We can hardly drag Tommaso into this’ 'We don't need to. The marina has a set of keys. They'll give them to me.'
Zen stared at her in total perplexity. Gemma opened the refrigerator.
'If s all right, you don't have to decide right away’ she said. 'Shall we have something to eat?'
Zen pointed to the dining room, where Roberto Lessi's head was just visible.
'But what about…?' he said.
Gemma looked at his vaguely pointing hand, then turned back to the fridge.
'Fuck him, he's dead’ she replied. 'I bought this fabulous red mullet specially for tonight, but I can't face cooking it now. Would some starters and a little pasta do? If s about all I'm up for, frankly’
She set a dish of antipasti di mare and a loaf of bread on the small table near the window which must have served her and her husband as their breakfast nook, then turned up the heat under a cauldron of water on the stove. Zen noted that the pasta water had been started but then turned off.
'So he arrived about a quarter of an hour before I was due,' he said. 'Twenty minutes, more like. He had plenty of time to talk.'
'How do you know that?'
'I'm a detective. I'll explain later’
'Very well. Shall we eat?'
Zen just stood there staring.
'What is it?' demanded Gemma, sitting down.
'Nothing. If s just… I don't know. One moment you're all for telephoning the police, the next you're asking me to sit down and eat with the corpse of the man I've just shot lying in the next room. It seems a little sudden, that’s all.'
Gemma smiled at him over a forkful of marinated anchovies.
'It was something you said’
'What?'
'You said, "If s something I'll be living with for the rest of my life. You too, if we're still together."'
Zen looked at her indignantly, as though she'd faulted his logic
' Well, you will!' he said. Gemma laughed. 'That isn't the point, silly.' 'Then what is?'
'Never mind. Shame about the mullet. It was gorgeous. Fresh off the boat' 'We could still cook it' 'It won't be the same when we get back.' 'Get back from what?'
'Disposing of the body, of course. We'll have to get out into deep water. That 11 take hours. We couldn't be back here until tomorrow afternoon at the earliest'
'Back from where?'
A sudden hissing behind them announced that the pasta water had boiled over. Gemma got up and busied herself with the stove. The odours of garlic and oil filled the air.
'Portunciulla. That s where Tommaso keeps his boat. Our boat It's near La Spezia. About an hour on the autostrada, depending on traffic'
'But how are we going to get there?'
'My car has a back seat that folds down to make luggage space. He'll fit in there.'
Zen sat there, nibbling squid, sipping wine and thinking all this over with a clarity he found alarming.
'Can you operate the boat?' he asked.
Gemma waved impatiently.
'No, but you must be able to. You're Venetian, you told me.' 'Of course I can!' Zen retorted proudly. 'What sort is it?' 'A motor cruiser. The latest model, all the latest gadgets. Even I could probably drive it if I had to. A child could.' Zen considered some more.
>
'We'll need to wrap the body. Do you have any spare sheets or anything like that?' 'Tons.'
Gemma did more things near the cooker and the sink, then returned with a broad dish which she set down on the table with the air of someone who is quietly satisfied with her work. Just like I did after killing Lessi, thought Zen. The dish contained a heap of penne rigate dressed with chopped aubergines, green olives, basil,. capers and anchovies in a light tomato sauce tangy with garlic and chilli. Zen suddenly realized that he was famished.
'So how much did he tell you?' he asked as Gemma served the pasta.
'Pretty much everything, I think. He seemed to want to tell someone, to show off how brave and clever he'd been.' 'But that was all?' 'All?'
'I mean, he just tied you up. He didn't…' Gemma laughed.
'No, no. Nothing like that. I don't think he was interested in women, to tell you the truth. You can usually tell, even if you're dealing with a maniac. No, the one he wanted was you. Apparently he'd tried five times, but you hadn't come across. So he was getting pretty frustrated and desperate.'
'Well, he made his move, and it still didn't take.'
"Thanks to me.'
'Yes, you were pretty good in there. So what did he tell you?'
'Well, there was the bomb in Sicily, obviously. Are you really a detective? You don't seem the type.'
'That s the key to my success, such as it is. What about the others, the people he mistook for me?'
'Apparently he got chatting with one of those African traders who work the beach, and offered him a small fortune in exchange for borrowing his robes and stock of trinkets for the day. The man jumped at the chance, of course, and as an illegal immigrant he would never dream of going to the police after he learned what had happened. Then our friend blacked up with boot polish and hit the beach. The make-up wasn't that convincing, he said, but then "no one looks at those vucumpra anyway". When he got to Franco's, there was a man lying face down asleep in the place you always used. He'd been watching you for days, apparently. So he walked over, as though trying to interest the man in a sale, shot him once through the heart with that silenced gun, and then tossed the man's towel over his back to cover up the wound and shuffled away. No one took the slightest notice, he said.' She pushed her plate back.
'I'll tell you the rest later. We'd better get moving. I'm nervous suddenly, thinking of him lying in there.' Zen ate a final forkful of the pasta, then glanced at his watch. 'What time does it get light now?' he asked. Gemma shrugged. 'About five? Five-thirty, maybe.'
"Then we have plenty of time. Let’s aim to get to the boat around four. But if you're feeling anxious, we could do some of the preliminary work. If you're still sure you want to do this, that is.'
He paused significantly. Gemma nodded. Zen made a little conciliatory gesture, as though the whole thing had been her idea in the first place.
'Fine. Let me have a cigarette, then we'll make a start.'
He smiled at her.
"Thank you for the meal. It was delicious.' 'It would have been even better with the mullet.' 'Don't worry about that. Like they say, there are plenty of good fish in the sea.' Gemma stood up and started to clear the dishes. 'Not at our age’ she said.
It was dark outside when they started. Zen closed the shutters on the dining-room windows, then bent over Lessi's corpse and started removing the man's clothes while Gemma fetched the sheets. In the event of the body itself being discovered, Zen wanted no identifying material of any kind to be turned up at the scene. He searched the garments, but found nothing except some money which he pocketed. Then he turned to the body.
Lessi's nine-millimetre pistol must have been loaded with the same fragmenting shells that he'd used to kill Massimo Rutelli, for there were no exit wounds in the skull. The only sign of injury, apart from the superficial wounds to Lessi's scalp, was a trickle of blood from the mouth and the deep scratches inflicted by the rose thorns. It was seeing his victim naked that disturbed Zen most. He was normally unsqueamish about the dead, but Lessi's nudity he found problematic. It somehow entitled him to the status of a helpless and vulnerable baby. He felt instinctively protective towards the man he had just killed, and wanted to get him covered up as soon as possible.
Gemma returned with the sheets, and then gathered up the scattered roses to clear the floor.
'I've been wanting to get rid of these for years’ she said, spreading out the two layers of pale green cotton. 'A wedding gift from one of Tommaso's aunts.'
She took Lessi's ankles, Zen his shoulders, and together they shifted the body on to the sheeting. They then folded the flap at each end up over the feet and head, and rolled the corpse to one side to make a neat bundle which Zen secured with the lengths of rope that Gemma had been tied up with. She meanwhile fetched some plastic garbage bags into which they stuffed Lessi's shoes, clothing, the wig and false moustache, along with the roses. The pistol and the Ministerial communication device Zen put in his pockets.
'Will there be anyone at the marina at this hour?'
'There's always someone there, to guard the property and the boats.'
'Call and tell them…'
He broke off.
'What if your husband is using the boat?'
'He won't be. He hardly ever uses it, and then only for trips around the bay to show off to his business friends. He gets seasick if there's the slightest movement'
'All right. Call the marina and tell them mat you'll be arriving with a friend to take the boat out in the early hours of the morning. Say we're off to Corsica and want to make an early start. Oh, and ask them to top up the fuel and water.'
Gemma was heading into the living room when he had another thought.
'Is there an anchor on the boat?'
'Of course. Two, in fact.'
He waved her away and paced the room, thinking over his provisional plan and failing to find any obvious flaw in it. But they would get only one chance.
"That s done’ Gemma said, coming back. 'Now what?'
'Now we wait a while, until everyone around here is sound asleep. When will that be?'
'Most of them probably are already. Lucca is not really a nightlife town, apart from the kids who hang around Piazza Napoleone. This neighbourhood is very quiet.'
'Where's your car parked?'
'Just down the street'
'Can you back it up to the door?'
'Of course.'
Zen emitted a long sigh.
'Good. We'll wait a while to make sure that everyone is settled down. The really tricky bit is going to be getting the body and the other stuff into the car. Once we're under way, barring unforeseen circumstances, it should be fairly straightforward. But if someone sees us humping an oddly shaped bundle out of here in the middle of the night, they'll remember it. And if a police patrol car happens to pass by, they're going to check.'
Back in the kitchen. Gemma poured herself some more wine and lit a cigarette.
'If anyone does notice, we're loading up a very valuable rug that I'm giving my sister for her birthday’ she said.
'At this hour?'
'Yes. She lives in Milan and we want to be back by evening’ Zen nodded sceptically. 'It might work.' 'Of course it will’
'Unless I'm wrong, and Lessi did have a back-up plan.' 'How do you mean?'
'Those "friends in the business" he claimed to have. He might just have told one of them to send someone to this address if he hadn't called a certain number by a certain time. Something like that. But there's nothing we can do about that’
'He had friends all right,' Gemma said. 'That s how he found out that you were going to America’
Zen gazed at her.
'He did?'
She nodded.
'He also had some equipment, or code words, or access to some computers. I didn't understand all the details, but his friends told him that you were going to the States, and also the number and date of the flight you were booked on. Apparently he told them that he just wa
nted to confront you and "gain closure". In reality, he reckoned that was his last chance of getting even with you for what you'd done to his partner or whatever he was. Once you'd landed in America, you'd be whisked off into some secure accommodation pending the trial, and his contacts would be no use to him there. So everything depended on getting to you before that'
'And he booked himself on the same flight and attacked me in that street in Reykjavik. But supposing the plane hadn't been diverted? What was he going to do then?'
Gemma shook her head.
'No, you don't understand. He didn't buy a ticket on the plane. He travelled as one of the cabin attendants.' Zen laughed. 'That s impossible!' She looked at him gravely.
'No, it wasn't. And that’s what scares me most about this insane affair I suddenly find myself caught up in. It wasn't impossible at all. For people like that, and he isn't the only one by any means, nothing is impossible.'
'But how could he get through security? They must know who's going to be on any given flight. You can't just show up and be allowed on.'
'With the computer codes he had, he accessed the Alitalia database and got the details of the designated crew for the flight you were going to be on. Then he looked up the personal details, address and telephone numbers of male cabin attendants on the roster, discovered one who lived in Rome, and called him saying that a mutual friend had said they ought to get together. They went out to some gay club in the suburbs, then back home to the man's apartment. He didn't say what happened after that, except that he took the man's uniform and ID and changed the photo to one of him. That got him through security at Malpensa.'
'But surely the other members of the crew would have recognized that he wasn't… whatever his name was.'
'Enrico, I think. Yes, but once he was past security he didn't pretend to be Enrico any more. He was now someone else, who stepped in at the last moment because Enrico was ill. He'd got the story about the job out of Enrico at the club the night before. Everyone likes talking about their work. He wasn't assigned to the cabin you were in, but once the lights had been dimmed for the movie he made his way there and placed a glass of water on the tray table of the seat number you had been assigned. Everyone always drinks any water available on an aeroplane, he said’
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