Dibdin End Games

Main
ISBN: 978-0-571-24604-5
Verlag: Faber & Faber
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: 6 - ePub Watermark

E-Book, Englisch, Band 11, 480 Seiten

Reihe: Aurelio Zen

'One of Dibdin's finest . . . Wonderful.' EVENING STANDARD 'Energetically and meticulously written.' GUARDIAN AN AURELIO ZEN MYSTERY Aurelio Zen's final case brings him to remote town of Calabria, at the toe of Italy's boot, on what is supposed to be a routine assignment: the death of a scout for an American film company. But the case is complicated by a group of dangerous strangers who have arrived to uncover another local mystery - buried treasure - and who will stop at nothing to achieve their goal. The case rapidly spirals out of control, and Zen must penetrate the code of silence in the tight-knit community in order to solve the crime. 'Clever and exuberantly witty . . . Dibdin is outrageously funny, as always, in conveying Zen's snobbyVenetian attitude toward his regional postings.' NEW YORK TIMES 'Ample opportunities for the expression of his dry wit . . . the final entry [in the Zen series] is a very good one indeed.' INDEPENDENT 'One of the genre's best stylists . . . This combination of gritty violence, often wildly funny satire, and wonderful descriptive writing has been the hallmark of Dibdin's Zen novels.' GUARDIAN 'Superbly written thriller.' 5* reader review 'Probably the most enjoyable of the Zen series, it provides an insight of Italy rarely accomplished by any author.' 5* reader review 'Such a good read.' 5* reader review 'Brilliantly plotted, very exciting.' 5* reader review PRAISE FOR MICHAEL DIBDIN AND THE INSPECTOR ZEN SERIES: 'He wrote with real fire.' IAN RANKIN 'A maestro of crime writing.' SUNDAY TIMES 'One of the genre's finest stylists . . . And Zen himself is a masterly creation: he is anti-heroic and pragmatic but obstinate, cunning and positively burdened with integrity.' GUARDIAN 'Dibdin tells a rollicking good tale that you want both to read fast, because of its gripping storyline, and to linger over, to savour the evocative descriptions of place and mood.' INDEPENDENT 'One of British crime fiction's most distinguished and distinctive voices.' ANDREW TAYLOR 'Dibdin has a gift for shocking the unshockable reader.' Ruth Rendell 'Zen is one of the greatest creations of contemporary crime fiction.' OBSERVER 'I love the way these books capture the atmosphere and contradictions of Italy.' 5* reader review 'Aurelio Zen novels are a great treat.' 5* reader review 'There is no better writer than Dibdin. His books are a joy to read.' 5* reader review 'Love these books . . . I am sure you will get hooked too!' 5* reader review

Michael Dibdin was born in 1947. He went to school in Northern Ireland, and later to Sussex University and the University of Alberta in Canada. He lived in Seattle. After completing his first novel, The Last Sherlock Holmes Story, in 1978, he spent four years in Italy teaching English at the University of Perugia. His second novel, A Rich Full Death, was published in 1986. It was followed by Ratking in 1988, which won the Gold Dagger Award for the Best Crime Novel of the year and introduced us to his Italian detective - Inspector Aurelio Zen. In 1989 The Tryst was published to great acclaim and was followed by Vendetta in 1990, the second story in the Zen series. Dirty Tricks was published in 1991. Inspector Zen made his third appearance in Cabal, which was published in 1992. The Dying of the Light, an Agatha Christie pastiche, was published in 1993. His fourth Zen novel, Dead Lagoon, was published the following year. His next novel, Dark Spectre, was published in 1995. Two more Zen novels followed: Cosi Fan Tutti, set in Naples, was published in 1996 and A Long Finish was published in 1998. Blood Rain, the seventh Zen novel, was published in 1999. Thanksgiving was published in 2000, with the eighth Zen, And Then You Die, appearing in 2002. Aurelio Zen returned in Medusa, in August 2003, and then again in Back to Bologna in 2005. His last novel, End Games, was published posthumously in July 2007.

Autoren/Hrsg.

Dibdin, Michael

Leseproben

‘So you won’t tell me what you discussed.’

‘I don’t remember every detail! In any case, it was all business matters relating to the film project. Nothing that could have the slightest bearing on this tragic event.’

Zen strolled to the window, looked out for some time, then lit a cigarette. The official ban on smoking in government buildings added a particular piquancy to this gesture, virtually making it part of the interrogation.

‘What language did you speak?’ he asked, turning back to face Nicola Mantega.

‘Italian, of course.’

‘Not Calabrian dialect?’

The witness hesitated just a moment before answering.

‘Dialect? Signor Newman is an American lawyer. How could a man like that know the dialect?’

‘Answer the question.’

‘We spoke Italian.’

‘Newman spoke it fluently?’

Mantega shrugged.

‘For a foreigner.’

‘So how did he learn Italian?’

‘I have no idea.’

‘You didn’t discuss it?’

‘Certainly not.’

‘Didn’t you think it unusual? And perhaps mention it? Some flattering comment …’

‘I really didn’t think about it. This wasn’t a personal relationship! As I keep telling you, it was strictly business. Maybe he took lessons before coming out here. What do I know?’

Zen stared at him in silence for a moment.

‘That’s precisely what I’m trying to determine.’

Nicola Mantega’s appearance was of a classic Calabrian type, with thick, lustrous black hair, a crumpled, oval face that barely contained all the troubles it had seen, a florid moustache and an expression of terminal depression.

‘Let’s just go back over that final phone call,’ Zen said. ‘You rang Signor Newman at ten thirty-two on the Tuesday morning …’

‘It was some time that morning, yes.’

‘It was at the time I stated. Newman hired a mobile phone and we have obtained a copy of the records. What we don’t have is a transcript of what was said, but you have stated that you told him that some new factors had arisen regarding final arrangements for the film project, and that you needed to meet again. You then suggested that he come to dinner at your house at seven that evening, but he never turned up.’

‘Exactly.’

‘Nor did he return to his hotel that night. In short, he was almost certainly kidnapped on his way to that meeting at your villa, Signor Mantega. An arrangement which only he and you knew about.’

‘He must have been followed. If the kidnappers are professionals, they would have had him under surveillance for days.’

‘Perhaps, but how did they know that he was a suitable prospect? How did they know who he was and what he might be worth? For that matter, how did they know he was here at all?’

On the wall of Zen’s office hung an elegantly designed notice proclaiming the vision statement of the new Italian police, thick with catchphrases such as la nostra missione, i nostri valori, competenza professionale, integrità, creatività e innovazione. As so often in the past, Zen decided to go for the last two.

‘Acting on my orders, one of my officers interviewed your wife this morning while you were at work,’ he said. ‘She denied all knowledge of any guest having been invited for dinner on the evening in question.’

Mantega was staring at Zen with an expression of baffled indignation.

‘I didn’t tell her,’ he said at last.

Zen nodded, as though this little misunderstanding had now been cleared up.

‘Of course! You were planning to cook yourself. Some local delicacy, no doubt, to remind your guest of his origins. Stewed tripe in tomato sauce, perhaps.’

‘What is the meaning of these insinuations?’ Mantega demanded angrily. ‘Signor Newman is an American. I wouldn’t have dreamt of offering him one of our traditional Calabrian dishes. We are only too well aware that they are often unappreciated by foreigners.’

He glared pointedly at Zen.

‘I didn’t mention the occasion to my wife because I did not intend her to be present. As I keep trying to get you to understand, this was not a social event. The business that Signor Newman and I had to discuss was extremely confidential. I planned to receive him outside on the terrazza. It has a wonderful view of the city below, and there we could talk freely. As for food, there was some leftover parmigiana di melanzane in the fridge that I could warm up.’

Mantega was well into his stride by now.

‘I did in fact tell my wife when I returned from work that night, but she may well not have been listening to me. Such is often the case. I’ll remind her of what happened as soon as I get home. If it comes to her making a sworn testimony in the future, I’m sure that her story will tally with mine.’

‘I’m sure it will,’ said Zen drily. ‘And she will probably deny ever having spoken to my subordinate. All right, you may go.’

Mantega frowned and stood up, shrugging awkwardly.

‘I’ve told you everything I know,’ he said in a defensive tone.

‘You’ve been a model witness,’ Zen returned. ‘In fact I shall hold you up as an example to the people I have still to question, some of whom may be less helpful. “Why can’t you be as co-operative as Signor Mantega?” I shall say. “There’s a man who’s not afraid to tell me everything he knows.”’

Mantega seemed about to say something for a moment, but then Natale Arnone came in and escorted him out. Zen went over to the window and stood looking down until the notary emerged on to the street. When Mantega was about ten metres off, one of the officers that Zen had detached from the elite Digos anti-terrorist squad got out of a parked car and started to follow. His companion started the car and drove ahead to take the point position.

Zen’s pro tem transfer to his current post as chief of police for the province of Cosenza had come about purely as a matter of chance, and had not promised – still less delivered, until a few days ago – the slightest challenge to his professional skills. A new bureaucratic entity had appeared on the map of Italy: the provincia di Crotone, carved out of the neighbouring provinces of Cosenza and Catanzaro. It naturally demanded a fully staffed bureaucratic apparatus to run it, and this had to be constructed from scratch. One of the vacant positions was that of police chief, and Pasquale Rossi, the incumbent in Cosenza, had eventually been selected as someone professionally familiar with much of the territory concerned and thus in a position to bring his extensive experience to bear. His post had in turn gone to the deputy chief at Catanzaro, one Gaetano Monaco, but unfortunately the latter was unable to take up his duties since he had shot himself in the foot while cleaning his service pistol.

Once made, such appointments are very difficult to unmake, since the promotional ripple effect spreads far and wide and the suitability of each chosen candidate has to be vetted by all interested parties before approval. The Ministry in Rome had therefore opted for the expedient of a temporary replacement for the short period until the original appointee recovered from his self-inflicted injury, and their choice had fallen on Zen. He had been received politely enough by the questore and the other senior officers, but it had discreetly been made clear to him that he was a mere figurehead occupying the post in name only and need not concern himself too much with the day-to-day workings of the department. Which is exactly what he had been happy to do until the recent disappearance of an American lawyer which bore all the hallmarks of a professional kidnapping for ransom.

There was a knock at the door and Natale Arnone entered. He was in his late twenties, stockily built and with a shaven head, no neck and a generally thuggish manner accentuated by his unshaven jowls and bandit beard. After two months in Calabria, Zen was beginning to feel facially nude.

‘This just arrived, sir,’ Arnone said, laying a sheet of paper on the desk. It was a fax from the American consulate in Naples, which Zen had contacted immediately after lunch, and read as follows:

PETER NEWMAN

Passport # 733945610

Date of birth: 11/28/44

Place of birth: Spezzano della Sila, Italy

Remarks: Birth certified under name PIETRO OTTAVIO CALOPEZZATI. Name legally changed 5/30/69 at San Francisco. US citizenship acquired 4/19/68, sponsor Roberto Marcantonio Calopezzati, SBU//FOUO file reference 48294/AVP/0006

Attached were several official photographs of Newman and a digitalised scan of his fingerprints, taken when he received US citizenship. Zen handed Arnone the documents without comment. The young officer read them through and whistled quietly.

‘Rather changes things, doesn’t it?’ Zen remarked.

The young officer erupted in a loutish, splurging laugh, instantly repressed.

‘In more ways than one.’

Arnone tapped the sheet of paper.

‘Until the land reform acts of the 1950s, the Calopezzati were the richest family in this province and far beyond. They owned half of Calabria.’

The two men eyed one another in silence.

‘Drop whatever you’re doing and get me a certified copy of that birth certificate,’ said Zen.

When Arnone had gone, he rang the consulate in Naples and asked them to explain the significance of the letters SBU/FOUO preceding the file records of Peter Newman’s naturalisation process.

‘Sensitive but unclassified, for official use only,’ came the...