‘I need your help again, Giovanni. There’s an angle to the case that’s been bothering me. It may not be relevant, but if so then it’s a remarkable set of coincidences. According to the official records both here and in the United States, Peter Newman was born in the province of Cosenza under the name Pietro Ottavio Calopezzati. Later he became an American citizen, changed his name to Newman and as far as we know never returned to Italy until recently. In short, we appear to have a Calabrian who moves to the United States, styles himself Newman — uomo nuovo — and avoids any contact with his native country for over forty years. Then one fine day he returns, is kidnapped and is murdered in a highly theatrical way for no apparent motive whatsoever.’
Sforza nodded bureaucratically.
‘And your point is?’ he asked.
‘To prove that he was indeed the person mentioned in the records. The Calopezzati family have proved very hard to trace, but I’ve learned an interesting fact about Roberto, who would be Pietro’s uncle if the documents are correct. Our records contain no mention of him after the war, nor do any other related files. But I’ve learned from other sources that a person by that name worked at the Italian embassy in Washington for twelve years from 1953. I now need to know what became of him.’
‘What post did he hold at the embassy?’
‘Legal adviser.’
Giovanni Sforza evidently didn’t know what resonance the name Calopezzati had in Calabria, but the term ‘legal adviser’ had its significance for him.
‘Secret job,’ he said. ‘That would explain the security clearance level on that file you mentioned.’
Zen looked incredulous.
‘The servizi?’
‘Used to be their standard operating procedure. It wasn’t usually covert work. To save everyone time and trouble, and foster good relations with a trusted ally, they were declared to the host government. But it complicates your task. Those people change their identities like we change our socks, only they don’t wash the used ones, they throw them away. And they’re very reluctant to divulge any information about their personnel, present or past. To anyone.’
Zen shrugged.
‘Well, without it, this is all going to take a lot longer. And we don’t have that much time. Now the news of Newman’s death is out, I’m under severe pressure. If I happen to mention in an unguarded moment that my investigation is being impeded by some secretive 007s in Rome, they’ll be under a lot of pressure too. You might mention that in your sales pitch.’
‘I can’t promise anything, but I’ll do my best.’
In the corridor, Zen was accosted by Natale Arnone, a stack of papers in his fist.
‘The report from the Digos day team shadowing Nicola Mantega just came in,’ he said. ‘I know how busy you are, so I’ve filleted it for you.’
He handed over the sheaf of paperwork with a page containing heavy underlining uppermost.
‘Mantega met Tom Newman by chance in a cafe around lunchtime. They made small talk for a while — some archaeological matter — and then Newman told Mantega that his father had been murdered. Mantega appeared perturbed by this news and immediately borrowed the American’s mobile phone, presumably because he suspects his own is being tapped, to call that number in San Giovanni that we now have on intercept. There was no reply, but it switched over to an answering machine and Mantega left this message.’
His stubby forefinger, with its immaculately trimmed nail, indicated a transcribed passage on the page.
You crazy bastard! What do you think you’redoing? Newman’s son just told me that hisfather’s dead. Well, that’s the end of it as far asI’m concerned! I trusted you, Giorgio, and now Ifeel betrayed. It’s all very well for you, lying lowwith your friends out of harm’s way. I’m the onethe cops are going to put through the mincer. Ifthey do, and I still haven’t heard from you, I’ll tellthem everything I know. Names, numbers, dates, times, places, the lot! And don’t think you canblackmail me with that video. That was about akidnapping. This is manslaughter at the veryleast, and probably murder. I had nothing to dowith that and I’m sure as hell not taking theblame. I don’t owe you anything and I shall takeall necessary measures to protect my ownposition, so get in touch by tomorrow at thelatest. If you don’t, all bets are off, and you’ll findout just what I’m — ’
‘The machine cut him off at that point,’ Natale Arnone remarked when Zen had finished reading. ‘Shall we take him? He’s clearly been withholding evidence and would probably be ready to talk with a little persuasion.’
‘True, but who knows how informative or conclusive his evidence would turn out to be? No, on balance I want to leave him loose a little while longer, along with the man whose phone he called. But he must be watched night and day and we must be prepared for him to try and slip off to another covert meeting with Giorgio at some point. If he does, we have to be ready to move in this time and close the trap. How’s the surveillance operation on the house in San Giovanni going?’
‘All in place. They’re doubling up as a maintenance crew from the gas company during the day and a parked delivery truck overnight.’
A stunning guttural rumble that would have had any rap artist weeping in awe shook the city like a celestial earthquake.
‘Young Newman also tried to pick up one of the female Digos agents. She took advantage of the situation to read the number Mantega had just called off the screen of his mobile, in case we didn’t have an intercept in place.’
‘What’s the agent’s name?’
‘Mirella Kodra.’
‘Tell her to get in touch with young Signor Newman, co-operate up to a certain point, find out whatever she can about what he’s up to and report back.’
‘Yes, sir.’
Zen heard his desk phone ringing and dashed into his office.
‘I’ve found someone who is willing, subject to certain provisos, to talk to you about the subject we discussed,’ Giovanni Sforza said, as though choosing his words carefully. ‘I’ve got him on the line now and will put him through to you.’
‘Who is he?’
‘Don’t ask. And don’t ask him either.’
‘Very well, I’ll try to avoid the tough questions.’
‘Avoid jokes too. These people take themselves very seriously indeed.’
After a number of fuzzy clicks, an unfamiliar voice spoke.
‘ Buona sera, dottore. I have been given to understand that you wish to contact a certain individual of my acquaintance. For the purposes of this conversation, we will refer to him simply as Roberto.’
‘That is correct.’
‘And that you wish to obtain a DNA sample from him. May I ask why?’
‘To positively identify the victim of a murder I’m investigating. Circumstantial evidence appears to suggest that he was Roberto’s nephew. Genetic profiling would instantly confirm or exclude that hypothesis, which in turn might well have a decisive effect on the progress of the case.’
There was a silence at the other end.
‘So you don’t wish to interview Roberto in person?’ the other man said at length.
‘Ideally, yes. He might well be able to supply other details relating to his family which are at present either vague or unknown. But I appreciate the sensitivities of your department, so if you insist I will settle for the DNA material. As you perhaps know, this isn’t an invasive procedure. A mouth swab would suffice. What is crucial, however, is that there should be irrefutable evidence that the sample was indeed taken from the individual under discussion.’
‘I can provide immaculate paperwork to support the authenticity of any sample, should Roberto consent to provide one.’
‘I haven’t the slightest doubt that you are in a position to provide any type of paperwork whatsoever,’ Zen replied with a touch of steel in his voice. ‘But should the case go to court, the person named in the documents you provided would be required to present himself before the judges in order to validate under oath the statements made therein. Do you really want to risk one of your agents being blown like that?’