A Long Finish - 6 by Michael Dibdin Read Free Book Online

was no reply,’ the local police chief replied, sitting down. ‘Since I happened to be passing, I thought I’d just drop by in person.’
    Zen coughed, sniffed and lit a cigarette.
    ‘And found what looks like a flop for homeless alcoholic derelicts,’ he said, pushing the remaining clove of garlic about the bedside table like an extracted wisdom tooth awaiting the proverbial fairy. ‘But it does work. At least, so I’ve been told.’
    ‘The curative powers of garlic are, of course, well-attested,’ Tullio Legna remarked sententiously. ‘But here in Alba, at this time of the year, I think we may be able to do better. Will you allow me to order you lunch? Not from the kitchens here, God forbid. There’s a good place a couple of streets away. I’ll have them send it up to the room. What are you drinking?’
    Zen passed him the bottle. His visitor inspected the label, sniffed the contents, and handed it back.
    ‘No,’ he said decidedly.
    ‘Not good?’ queried Zen.
    ‘Not even bad.’
    Tullio Legna wiped his hands together as if to remove a contaminating stain.
    ‘Leave it to me,’ he said. ‘In an hour, shall we say? The sooner we start, the sooner you’ll be back on your feet. Which brings me to my reason for coming, apart, of course, from the pleasure of making your acquaintance.’
    He pursed his lips and gazed thoughtfully at Zen, who felt the full force of his disadvantage for the first time.
    ‘When it was announced that a Criminalpol officer was being transferred here to open an investigation into the Vincenzo case, the news naturally excited much comment,’ Legna continued in a studiously neutral voice. ‘This case had been in the hands of my Carabinieri colleagues – we had had no hand in it – and they had made an arrest. There has therefore been a considerable amount of speculation as to why the Ministry should suddenly have decided to take a hand, and at such a high level.’
    ‘Naturally,’ Zen replied in an equally bland tone.
    Tullio Legna smiled sympathetically.
    ‘I don’t want to burden you with questions when you’re unwell, dottore . But it would considerably facilitate my position if you would, however briefly, clarify yours.’
    Semi-recumbent, half-drunk, stinking of garlic and feeling like death partially defrosted, thought Zen.
    ‘My position?’ he repeated.
    ‘Your interest, let’s say.’
    ‘In the Vincenzo case?’
    ‘Exactly.’
    Zen put out his cigarette in the dregs of wine remaining in his glass.
    ‘I have no interest in it.’
    ‘Ah.’
    ‘It’s a question of someone else’s interest.’
    ‘And what is that?’
    ‘To ensure that the Vincenzo wine gets made.’
    Legna looked probingly at Zen for a moment, then smiled ironically.
    ‘And who on earth is this well-connected intenditore ?’
    Zen lit another Nazionale. When it became evident that he was not going to reply, Tullio Legna nodded gravely.
    ‘Ah, like that, is it? Excuse my indiscretion, dottore . We’re just simple country people here in the Langhe. I’m not accustomed to the Roman way of doing things.’
    Zen gestured feebly.
    ‘It’s I who should apologize. You’ve been very kind, and I’m not trying to play games. I can assure you that the identity of the person who was instrumental in having me sent here is of absolutely no relevance to the case or to my assignment.’
    ‘Which is to get Manlio Vincenzo out of gaol,’ Legna remarked expressionlessly.
    Zen shrugged.
    ‘I understand that this year’s wine promises to be exceptional.’
    The Alba police chief got up and crossed over to the window. He opened the curtains, then wound up the external metal shutters. A bleak, pallid light reluctantly made its presence felt in the room. From the bed, Zen could see nothing but a section of rain-drenched plaster on the building opposite.
    ‘Not if this keeps up,’ Legna commented. ‘Until a few days ago, it looked like being one of the best years of the decade, possibly even the best