Free Cosi Fan Tutti - 5 by Michael Dibdin

uniform was strongly made and neatly cut. To his eyes it looked very much like the real thing, apart from the absence of any labels or other identifying marks. The shirt and shoes, on the other hand, were both of Italian manufacture. The soles of the latter were stamped gucci.
    ‘Fake/ commented Caputo, coming back in. ‘Look at the position of the logo and check the sloppy stitching at the heel. You can buy them in Piazza Garibaldi for thirty thousand a pair. I can get you twenty/ he added automatically.
    Zen held up the grey plastic cassette.
    ‘Were any of the extraneous prints on this?’ he asked.
    Caputo walked over and picked up the sheaf of pages forming the report Zen had skimmed earlier. He turned a few pages.
    ‘There’s a partial thumb on one side, and a nice forefinger and obscured second digit on the other.’
    Using the edge of the cassette, Zen rapped out the rhythm of one of the songs he had quoted earlier on the desktop.
    ‘All right, Caputo, I need you to do three things. One, take this uniform over to our American allies. I’m pretty sure it’s fake too, but we need to make sure.’
    He held up the cassette.
    Two, try and find out how we can go about comparing the extraneous prints with those of the crew of that air craft carrier. Their prints must all be on file somewhere for identification purposes. Make it clear we don’t suspect anyone, and it’s purely for purposes of elimination/
    ‘And the third?’ asked Caputo, frowning at the prospect of these onerous duties which were going to cut into his weekend.
    Zen smiled.
    ‘Ah, that’s more amusing. I want you to get together a team of men to harass the prisoner round the clock, twenty-four hours a day.’
    Caputo coughed nervously.
    ‘Forgive me saying so, chief, but I don’t think we’ll get anywhere that way with this son of a bitch. He’s as tough as they come. To break him we’d have to use the most extreme methods, and that’s bound to leave scarring and internal injuries, to say nothing of the risk of the guy dying on you.’
    Zen pursed his lips judiciously.
    “I don’t think we quite understand one another, Caputo. I’m talking about verbal harassment.’
    Caputo looked utterly perplexed.
    ‘But he only speaks English!’
    ‘The only English he speaks is “only spik Ingleesh”. My bet is that he’s as Neapolitan as you. Your job is to prove it. Set up a roster of men to go down there in shifts and abuse him in dialect. Tell him his mother performs fellatio on Arab carpet salesmen’s dogs, that sort of thing. The idea is to get him to respond. It doesn’t matter what he says, just the fact that he understands what’s being said to him. OK?’
    Caputo gave a laugh as sharp as a razor cut.
    ‘I’ll get Santanna on the job. When it comes to this sort of thing, he’s a virtuoso.’
    ‘Go to work on him until he cracks and says something in return. Then I want you to really go to work on him. I need a name, an address, anything we can pass on to the Questura to get this son of a bitch off our backs.’
    He headed for the door.
    ‘And if la Piscopo calls again?’ asked Caputo.
    Zen smiled thinly.
    ‘Tell her I’m in Rome following up an important lead.’
    Caputo gave an exaggerated wink.
    ‘Right! Oh, before I forget, I managed to get those tickets for you.’
    He handed Zen an envelope.
    ‘My brother-in-law works backstage at San Carlo and gets comps to all the shows. Turns out he doesn’t fancy this one, so if they’re any use to you Zen pocketed the envelope gracefully.
    ‘Thanks, Caputo. Once we get this stabbing business sorted out, I think you’re due for some leave. A couple of weeks sound good to you? You could spend some time
    with the wife and kiddies to make up for all this involuntary overtime.’
    Caputo scowled.
    ‘I’d rather come to work! But I have a few commercial interests which need a little personal attention. You know how it is/
    ‘That’s the trouble with this country/ Zen agreed,