Free Ratking by Michael Dibdin

loudly.
    ‘But Commissioner Zen’s feet are perfectly dry!’ he resumed. ‘So clearly he can’t be from Venice. Either that or he’s not a policeman.’
    ‘Shut your face!’
    The reprimand came not from Silvio or Crepi but from Gianluigi Santucci. Daniele continued to smile genially as though he had not heard him. He did not speak again, however. Neither did anyone else, and so silence fell.
    In the end it was left to Silvio’s secretary to save the situation.
    ‘Well, I expect Commissioner Zen would like to get an early night,’ she remarked, as she stood up.
    It was the first thing Zen had heard her say all evening, and he realized with a shock that she was not Italian. Of course! With those clothes he should have guessed.
    ‘That’s very thoughtful of you, signora,’ he said, rising to his feet to ensure that her gesture did not go for nothing.
    ‘She’s not a signora,’ Cinzia corrected him. ‘She’s not married. Are you, Ivy?’
    It was a horrible and quite deliberate insult. Any woman of a certain age is entitled to be addressed as signora whether or not she is married. Everyone tensed for the reaction, but it never came. The woman stood there like a statue, smiling as beatifically as she had all evening.

    ‘That’s quite true, Cinzia,’ she replied evenly in her deep, chesty voice, enunciating every word with almost pedantic clarity. ‘But the Commissioner hasn’t been here long enough yet to know all these little details. However, I expect in a few days he’ll know more about us than we do ourselves!’
    It was a remarkable performance. The woman’s foreignness made Zen think of Ellen, and so it was with genuine warmth that he replied, ‘Good night, signora,’ and received a beaming smile in return.
    Everyone stood up, except for Daniele.
    ‘I don’t want to leave yet,’ he complained. ‘I only just got here.’
    Gianluigi Santucci strolled over to the sofa where he was slumped and grabbed him by the ear.
    ‘Ah, these young people today!’ he cried with vicious playfulness. ‘No energy, no initiative. It makes me sick!’
    With a mocking laugh he hauled Daniele to his feet and pushed him over to join the others.
    At the front door hands were shaken and formulas of farewell exchanged. At the last moment Crepi plucked at Zen’s sleeve, holding him back.
    ‘Not you, dottore.’
    The Milettis exchanged a flicker of rapid glances.
    ‘I thought he wanted to get anearly night,’ Silvio objected.
    ‘Don’t you worry about Commissioner Zen,’ Crepi smiled, all cheerful consideration. ‘Mind how you go yourselves, that driveway of mine is quite dangerous in places. I keep meaning to have it resurfaced but what with one thing and another I never get around to it.’
    ‘And if Valesio comes?’
    Gianluigi Santucci’s question, unlike that of his brother-in-law, had real meaning.
    ‘If Valesio comes he’ll get a dish of cold tagliatelle and a piece of my mind! But we won’t discuss the kidnapping behind your backs, if that’s what you’re worried about.’

    Santucci grimaced.
    ‘Worried? Why should I be worried? It’s for others to worry, not me!’
    A few minutes later the disparate noises of the Fiat, the Santuccis’ Volvo and Daniele’s Enduro Trail bike had all faded to a distant intermittent drone that was finally indistinguishable from silence.
    ‘Well, what did you think of them?’ Crepi demanded as they returned to the living room. ‘But first let me offer you something to drink. Do you like grappa? I’m told this one is good. It’s from your part of the world. My youngest girl married a dentist from Udine and they send me a bottle made by one of the uncles every Christmas. Actually, my doctor has forbidden me to drink spirits, but I haven’t the heart to tell them that.’
    He handed him a glass of liquid as limpid as spring water.
    ‘Now listen, dottore,’ Crepi continued. ‘You must be wondering why I should want to ruin your first evening in Perugia like