He read the entry again, then dropped the document and lit a cigarette. The contessa! Christ almighty. For a time he was lost in memories. Then he looked at the page again. Two weeks earlier, Ada Zulian had reported intruders at her home, claiming that it was part of a campaign of systematic persecution which had been going on for over a month. She had renewed her complaints the previous week.
Zen looked up at the window. He nodded slowly to himself. That would do nicely. It was too trivial to have excited any interest from any of the resident staff, but the family connection would provide exactly the kind of illusory logic he needed to justify his involvement to anyone who asked. He noted down the date and case number in his diary and replaced the list in the metal tray.
When the Personnel office responded to the phone half an hour later, Zen went along and introduced himself. The clerk in charge dug out the chit which had been faxed up from Rome.
‘Zen, Aurelio. Criminalpol. Temporary transfer regarding…’
He frowned at the form.
‘That’s odd. They’ve forgotten to fill that bit in.’
Zen shook his head.
‘Typical! The people they’re employing these days can’t remember their own names half the time.’
He took out his notebook.
‘It’s to do with someone called Zulian. I’ve got the details here somewhere… Yes, here you go.’
He showed the reference number and date to the clerk, who copied them on to the chit.