Michael Dibdin: Cosi Fan Tutti

He walked in through the open doorway, acknowledging the greetings of the three uniformed men lounging about in the hall, and climbed the stairs to his office on the first floor. The trio discreetly broke off their conversation until he had reached the landing, then resumed in a low tone. The murmur of their voices reached up through the cool, shadowy spaces of the stairwell like the distant drone of bees.

He had been in the office barely a minute when there was a knock at his door.

'Come in!' called Zen, surprised and pleased that his cappuccino had arrived so quickly.

But it was Giovan Battista Caputo who appeared. His manner was unusually subdued.

'Sorry to disturb you, chief. Can I have a word?'

Zen waved his hand wearily 'We had a spot of trouble last night/ Caputo announced, coming in and closing the door.

'Mmm?'

'We've got a couple of warships in at the moment. An American aircraft carrier and a Greek frigate. A group of sailors from the carrier spent the evening in that bar by the passenger terminal.'

Zen nodded. He had visited the place on a brief guided tour of the dock area with Caputo a couple of weeks earlier, the idea being to provide Zen with a bluffer's guide to his new job. The bar in question, he had been given to understand, was operated by the same consortium responsible for the various phantom enterprises which operated from the top floor of the police station, and served among other things as a perfectly legal front allowing prospective clients to be screened before being granted admission to this inner sanctum. It was a poky place which nevertheless managed to provide a splash of life and colour amid the grandiose austerities of the stazione marittima.

The most striking feature of the place was a large neon sign in the window, reading, in English: mix drinks.

According to Caputo's account of the incident the previous night, a group of American sailors had apparently taken this advice literally, downing a staggering variety and quantity of wines, beers, spirits and liqueurs before trooping off to explore the town. All went well until they ran into another party returning to the Greek frigate.

'One of the Americans comes from a Greek family/ Caputo explained, 'so he started trying to talk to them.

Only it seems his Greek isn't all that good any more, or maybe he was too drunk. Anyway, whatever it was he said sounded insulting to the Greeks. A fight broke out, and the Americans got the best of it.'

'Mmm/ repeated Zen, inspecting his finger-nails.

'When the Greeks got back to their ship, the word went round about what had happened and a bunch of them go out looking for revenge. They come across a man in American uniform and start to push him around. Next thing they know he's pulled a knife and stabbed two of them. One of our men was coming back from the bar, where he'd been compiling a report on the earlier incident, and he immediately arrested the attacker.'

Zen yawned lengthily.

'Really, Caputo, I hardly think you need to bother me with this sort of thing.' "I wouldn't have, sir, except for one thing. We informed the Americans that one of their crew was under arrest, and they sent a couple of officers over to identify him.

And here's where it gets sticky. You see, it turns out this man we've arrested is not one of their men at all.'

A shrug from Zen.

'So?'

Caputo sighed.

'Look, chief, you made it very clear that you didn't want anything happening here which might compromise you and provide an opening for your enemies in Rome, right?'

'Mmm?'

'Well, this is shaping up to become just that, I'm afraid.

One of the Greek sailors was badly injured, and he's still in critical condition. The Greek consul has lodged an official complaint, and the Americans aren't too happy that we allowed someone masquerading as one of their personnel into a supposedly secure area. I've already fielded three calls from the Questore this morning…'

'Damn! What did you tell him?' "I said you were out of the office conducting further enquiries in person. But he didn't sound pleased. I think you'd better get back to him as soon as possible.' "I don't even know the number.'

Caputo told him. Zen picked up the phone.

'Stay here/ he told Caputo, who was heading discreetly for the door. "I may need back-up.'

Despite his alleged impatience to discuss the case, the police chief of the provincia di Napoli kept Zen waiting on the line for over ten minutes before deigning to speak to him.

When he did, however, he left Zen in no doubt that Caputo had not exaggerated the gravity or urgency of the situation.

"I understand that you're new to the city/ the Questore remarked in a quiet, suave voice more effective than any hectoring. 'We naturally have to make allowances for that. I remember wondering at the time whether it was a wise appointment. Naples is a unique city, and one which in many ways is difficult if not impossible for an outsider to understand.'

Zen sat there gripping the receiver tightly and wishing that he had not given up smoking.

'But then I told myself that this was after all simply a matter of policing the port area, a relatively minor and routine operation. I assumed that a man of your apparent experience would be able to handle it, even allowing for your lack of local knowledge. But within a few months of your arrival here we now have all the ingredients of a major international incident in the making, a scenario which makes the city look like some Third World hellhole where bands of drunken sailors and local thugs have it out with knives among the wharves. We've spent a lot of time and money trying to upgrade the image of Naples in the world, and our efforts were crowned with the gj conference. Now your slackness and incompetence threatens to bring all that work to naught!'

'It's impossible for my men to be everywhere/ Zen protested feebly.

'This affray occurred less than fifteen metres from the main passenger terminal/ said the Questore. 'If you can't police that area properly, what can you do? Anyway, it's too late to worry about that now. The essential thing is to bring this investigation to a suitable conclusion in the shortest possible time, a conclusion which will satisfy and reassure all the interested parties — who, I need hardly remind you, include two of our principal NATO allies. What progress have you made?'

'What progress have we made?'

He eyed Caputo desperately.

'Well, the individual responsible…'

Caputo held up his arms, crossed at the wrist.

'… is in custody…'

Caputo ran one finger across his closed lips as though tugging at a zipper.

'… but has so far refused to talk.'

Caputo was now pacing up and down the floor, darting glances this way and that, one hand shading his eyes.

'My men are conducting a thorough search of the scene …'Zen went on.

Caputo made writing motions on the palm of his left hand.

'… and taking detailed statements from witnesses.'

'What leads are you working on?' demanded the Questore.

'What leads are we working on?'

'Must you repeat everything I say? Yes, leads! Theories, ideas, hypotheses. Something which might begin to explain this incident and which I can communicate to the Prefect for subsequent transmission to Rome.'

Caputo stood on the other side of the desk, his arm thrust forward, holding up three fingers.

'We are working on three main theories at the moment/ Zen replied evenly. 'The first is that the perpetrator…'

He glanced at Caputo, who was waddling bow-legged around the room with his hands clutched like claws beside his hips.

'… was a cowboy/ concluded Zen.

'AwhatT Caputo shook his head furiously. Zen covered the mouthpiece of the phone.