And then you die

'What's the matter?' she said, as the carabiniere revved up his motor.

Zen shook his head and walked over to her.

'I don't know. I just had this incredibly strong sense of deja vu.'

'Get in,' Gemma said dismissively. 'Never mind your psychic experiences, let’s just deal with whatever bullshit this is.'

'It can't be anything serious or they wouldn't have let us drive there.'

'Didn't you say you worked for the Ministry of the Interior? Why don't you show them your documents and tell them to stop messing us about?'

"These are the carabinieri, cara. Different force, different ministry, no love lost. If I tried to pull rank, they'd keep us there all night. See his signal light? He's turning left.'

'Yes, I do see it. I like you calling me cara, but I don't like you telling me how to drive.'

'I'll never do so again.'

'Yes, you will.'

They followed the lead car a few kilometres south along the lungomare, finally turning off into one of the uglier developments of what had obviously been coastal marshland until very recently. Signora Pananelli's husband would have been in his element here. Tower-block apartment buildings and hotels divided the space with huge parking lots and supermarkets. They stopped in front of a relatively modest, and by the standards of the place old, two-storey concrete block sporting the carabinieri crest above the doorway.

Their escort led the way upstairs and into a room where a man in the uniform of a major looked up briefly from the papers he was studying.

'Signor Giorgio Butani and Signora Gemma Santini,' the man who had accompanied them announced. The officer at the desk nodded. 'Very good, Aldo. You may go.'

The door closed behind Aldo, but the carabinieri officer made no immediate move. Zen studied him with a professional eye.

Competent but unambitious, with a huge pool of resentment at having been passed over in favour of more motivated rivals and stuck away here as the holiday cop in a town which, like Brigadoon, only came into existence for brief spells at long intervals, and vanished off the map the rest of the time. He would be pompous, long-winded and a stickler for the rule book. The way to deal with him was to take the initiative, but without getting too pushy.

'May we sit down?' Zen asked, bringing a chair for Gemma from those stacked against the wall.

'Of course, of course,' the officer replied without looking up. 'Please excuse me, I'll be with you in a moment. I just have to finish perusing this report.'

Like hell you do, thought Zen, fetching himself a chair and sitting beside Gemma. He gave her an encouraging smile. She was glaring in a manner which suggested that she might lose her patience very rapidly, which with a man like this would be fatal.

The carabiniere stacked the papers he had been reading neatly together and looked at them both.

'I'm sorry to have to bring you here so late…' he began.

'Your colleague already apologized,' interrupted Gemma tartly. 'What do you want with us?'

The major gave her a glance evidently intended as a warning.

'It concerns the death today of one Massimo Rutelli,' he said after a significant pause.

'We know about that’ Gemma returned. 'I heard that he had a stroke. What’s that got to do with us?'

'There are various unresolved questions regarding the precise circumstances of the event which we are attempting to clarify. We have therefore compiled a list of all those clients of the bathing establishment where the body was discovered who were present on the beach today, with a view to interviewing them concerning what they may have seen or heard. Both your names appear on the said list.'

He pulled a notepad towards him.

'I propose to start with you, Signora Santini. You are resident in Lucca, I believe?' 'Yes.'

'At Via del Fosso number 73’ 'Correct.'

'You will be returning there tonight?'

It was said with just a hint of impertinent innuendo.

'Of course’ Gemma retorted.

"Then let us try and get you on your way as soon as possible, after which I will deal with your companion.'

'How do you know he's not coming with me?' demanded Gemma brazenly.

The carabinieri major gave her a look which Zen found himself quite unable to decipher. He seemed to be trying to think of a suitable answer to Gemma's question. Failing to do so, he ignored it and asked one himself.

'What time did you arrive at the beach today, signora?'

'I got there this morning at about ten and left again just before one, then returned after lunch.'

'According to the chart of the bagno drawn for us by the owner, Signor Rutelli apparently occupied the place immediately opposite yours.'

'Well, today he did. But in fact that’s Pier Giorgio's place.'

She glanced at Zen, who leaned forward and cleared his throat.

'It is actually rented by the Rutelli family’ he said, 'but Girolamo, the elder brother, is an acquaintance of mine and gave me permission to use it. Massimo Rutelli evidently didn't know about this arrangement, so when he showed up unexpectedly he naturally took their usual spot.'

The major nodded absently, as this was merely a confirmation of old news.

'Did you see Signor Rutelli arrive?' he asked Gemma.

'No. I must have been sunning myself. But when I started sorting out my stuff before leaving, I noticed that mere was someone else in Pier Giorgio's place.'

'Didn't you recognize him?'

'How could I? He was lying on his stomach with his face turned away from me. It could have been anyone.' 'So how did you know he wasn't Signor Butani?' Gemma gave a throwaway gesture, as though this was obvious. 'His fingers.' 'What about his fingers?'

'They were thick and blunt. Women notice men's bodies a lot, they just don't notice them in the same way that men notice women's bodies. Pier Giorgio has very fine, tapering fingers. This man's were quite different. You could imagine them building a wall or castrating a horse. You couldn't imagine them caressing your skin.'

Zen looked away. For the first time he could remember, he was blushing. The major harrumphed.

'So the victim was present when you left shortly before one o'clock?'

'Yes.'

'And when you returned in the afternoon?' 'He was still there.' 'What time was that?' Gemma shrugged.

'I went to the Bar Centrale and had a panino and some salad. About two, probably.' She turned to Zen. 'What time did you get there?'

‘I left home at one,' Zen replied. 'It takes about fifteen minutes to walk. I prefer the beach in the lunch hour. If s less crowded.'

'He was there when I arrived,' Gemma explained to the carabiniere. 'He'd taken the next place up and looked like he was asleep.'

'I was. I had lunch at home and finished off a bottle of Vermentino. As soon as I sat down on the beach, the heat just knocked me out'

The major stood up, as if to impose his authority on this mutual dialogue.

'Please respect the sequence of questioning,' he said testily. ‘I didn't realize there was one,' Gemma retorted. Don't push him too far, thought Zen, but fortunately at that point the phone rang.

'Yes?' barked the carabinieri major. 'Very well. Tell them to’ He hung up and turned to Gemma.

'We have established that, according to your testimony, Signora Santini, the victim arrived shortly before one o'clock and was still there at two. Is that correct?'

'Yes.'

'Did you notice a towel draped over his back?' Gemma reflected for a moment.

'No, I don't think so. Wait a minute. There was one when I saw him in the afternoon. I'm not sure about the morning.' 'When did you leave the beach?'

'About four, earlier than usual. There was a rather unpleasant incident.'

Everything the major had picked up from his seemingly avid perusal of the chapter on basic interrogation techniques in the training manual now deserted him. He leaned forward, eyes bulging, all agog.