secure.’
When Zen did so, Foschi informed him that Brugnoli, Zen’s patron at the Ministry had taken up the offer of a consultancy position with a leading bank following a governmental ‘crisis’ and cabinet reshuffle of which Zen had heard nothing.
‘I didn’t know,’ he explained feebly. ‘I had to have an operation and I’ve been on indefinite sick leave ever since.’
‘Very indefinite,’ Foschi retorted. ‘So much so that there’s absolutely no record of the fact in the personnel database.’
‘Dottor Brugnoli told me that he would arrange everything.’
Foschi laughed shortly.
‘I’m sure he did, but that was before he arranged his own departure to greener pastures in the private sector. Since then we’ve gone back to playing strictly by the book of rules, according to which you are available for immediate active duty. Are you saying that such is not the case?’
Zen thought for a moment. He could probably get a letter from the consultant excusing him from service for another month or so, and explaining and documenting the record of his case. On the other hand…
‘What did you have in mind?’ he asked.
‘It’s this Curti business.’
Zen had no idea what he was talking about, but he had already created a bad enough impression for one morning. He decided to bluff.
‘What exactly do you want me to do?’
Foschi sighed deeply.
‘It’s a damn shame you don’t live here in Rome like everyone else, Zen. That’s something we may have to review in the light of the changed situation. It would make things so much easier if we could discuss this face to face.’
Zen said nothing.
‘Anyway,’ Foschi went on, ‘the Questura in Bologna are handling the actual investigation, but we need someone to go up there and liaise with the Ministry. Your name came up.’
‘Why should they tell me anything they don’t tell you?’
Instinct told him that bluntness was the best way to whatever organ had been substituted for Foschi’s heart.
‘They won’t. But they’ll tell you sooner, and above all you’ll be in a position to report back on what they’re not telling us.’
‘Why should they try and conceal the truth? We’re all playing for the same team.’
‘I’m not saying that they necessarily will. But they are going to be under enormous pressure to deliver results, and quickly. Lorenzo Curti was a figure of fame and notoriety not just in Emilia-Romagna but on a national and even international level, a millionaire entrepreneur who owned the Bologna football team and was also the majority shareholder in a dairy conglomerate currently under investigation for tax evasion and serious fraud. In short, this promises to be the highest-profile case in the Bologna jurisdiction since the Uno Bianca fiasco.’
After a moment, Zen recalled the spate of serial killings around Bologna in the late 1980s involving a white Fiat Uno. He also recalled that when the perpetrators had finally been brought to justice, they had almost all turned out to be policemen working out of the Bologna Questura, many of them involved in the investigation into their own crimes. It had taken years for morale in the Polizia di Stato to recover from this scandal.
‘Forewarned is forearmed,’ Foschi concluded. ‘Your assignment is not to take command of the investigation but to remain fully informed about progress and to report developments to me personally on a daily basis, and more frequently if necessary. That way, if the media vultures start to circle, we’ll be ready for them.’
‘I understand.’
‘How soon can you get there?’
Zen was about to remind Foschi that he hadn’t agreed to go yet, but instantly realised that as far as he was concerned he had.
‘In a few hours.’
‘Very good. I’ll tell them to expect you after lunch.’
When Gemma came in, Zen had already showered and dressed and was busy packing. Without offering a word of apology for the vile names she had called him at their last
When Zen did so, Foschi informed him that Brugnoli, Zen’s patron at the Ministry had taken up the offer of a consultancy position with a leading bank following a governmental ‘crisis’ and cabinet reshuffle of which Zen had heard nothing.
‘I didn’t know,’ he explained feebly. ‘I had to have an operation and I’ve been on indefinite sick leave ever since.’
‘Very indefinite,’ Foschi retorted. ‘So much so that there’s absolutely no record of the fact in the personnel database.’
‘Dottor Brugnoli told me that he would arrange everything.’
Foschi laughed shortly.
‘I’m sure he did, but that was before he arranged his own departure to greener pastures in the private sector. Since then we’ve gone back to playing strictly by the book of rules, according to which you are available for immediate active duty. Are you saying that such is not the case?’
Zen thought for a moment. He could probably get a letter from the consultant excusing him from service for another month or so, and explaining and documenting the record of his case. On the other hand…
‘What did you have in mind?’ he asked.
‘It’s this Curti business.’
Zen had no idea what he was talking about, but he had already created a bad enough impression for one morning. He decided to bluff.
‘What exactly do you want me to do?’
Foschi sighed deeply.
‘It’s a damn shame you don’t live here in Rome like everyone else, Zen. That’s something we may have to review in the light of the changed situation. It would make things so much easier if we could discuss this face to face.’
Zen said nothing.
‘Anyway,’ Foschi went on, ‘the Questura in Bologna are handling the actual investigation, but we need someone to go up there and liaise with the Ministry. Your name came up.’
‘Why should they tell me anything they don’t tell you?’
Instinct told him that bluntness was the best way to whatever organ had been substituted for Foschi’s heart.
‘They won’t. But they’ll tell you sooner, and above all you’ll be in a position to report back on what they’re not telling us.’
‘Why should they try and conceal the truth? We’re all playing for the same team.’
‘I’m not saying that they necessarily will. But they are going to be under enormous pressure to deliver results, and quickly. Lorenzo Curti was a figure of fame and notoriety not just in Emilia-Romagna but on a national and even international level, a millionaire entrepreneur who owned the Bologna football team and was also the majority shareholder in a dairy conglomerate currently under investigation for tax evasion and serious fraud. In short, this promises to be the highest-profile case in the Bologna jurisdiction since the Uno Bianca fiasco.’
After a moment, Zen recalled the spate of serial killings around Bologna in the late 1980s involving a white Fiat Uno. He also recalled that when the perpetrators had finally been brought to justice, they had almost all turned out to be policemen working out of the Bologna Questura, many of them involved in the investigation into their own crimes. It had taken years for morale in the Polizia di Stato to recover from this scandal.
‘Forewarned is forearmed,’ Foschi concluded. ‘Your assignment is not to take command of the investigation but to remain fully informed about progress and to report developments to me personally on a daily basis, and more frequently if necessary. That way, if the media vultures start to circle, we’ll be ready for them.’
‘I understand.’
‘How soon can you get there?’
Zen was about to remind Foschi that he hadn’t agreed to go yet, but instantly realised that as far as he was concerned he had.
‘In a few hours.’
‘Very good. I’ll tell them to expect you after lunch.’
When Gemma came in, Zen had already showered and dressed and was busy packing. Without offering a word of apology for the vile names she had called him at their last
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