"Dibdin, Michael - Aurelio Zen 02 - Vendetta UC - part 09" - читать интересную книгу автора (Dibdin Michael)

about the villa to tape the compromising material he stored
in the vault, he camouflaged these clandestine operations
behind a very public obsession with recording poolside
frolics and informal dinner parties. Thus no attempt had
been made to disguise the large video camera mounted on
its tripod in the corner of the dining room. In the event, no
glimpse of the murderer had been recorded on the tape,
but how could he have been absolutely sure of that? And if
there was even the slightest possibility that some damning
clue had been captured by the camera, why had he made
no attempt to remove or destroy the tape?
Once again, Zen felt his reason swamped by the sense of
something grossly abnormal about the Burolo case. What
did this almost supernatural indifference indicate, if not
the killer's knowledge that he was invulnerable? There was
no need for him to take precautions. The efforts of the
police and judiciary were as vain as Oscar Burolo's expen-
sive security measures. The murderer could not be caught
any more than he could be stopped.
He walked back along the terrace to the west face of the
villa. Beyond the sad ruins of the pool, the land sloped
steeply upwards towards the lurid forest he had noticed
earlier. The trees were conifers of some kind, packed
together in a tight, orderly mass that looked like a re-
afforestation project. Beyond them lay the main mountain
range, a mass of shattered granite briefly interrupted by a
smooth grey wall, presumably a dam. Zen continued
along the terrace to the wall which concealed the service
block and helicopter pad, a half-hearted imitation of the
traditional pasture enclosures, higher and with the stones
cemented together. On the other side was a neat kitchen
garden with a system of channels to carry water to the
growing vegetables from the hosepipe connected to an
outside tap. Zen took a path leading uphill towards a
group of low concrete huts about fifty metres away from
the house and partially concealed by a row of cherry trees.
As he passed the line of trees, a low growl made the air
vibrate with a melancholy resonance that brought Zen out
in goose-flesh. There were three huts, a small one and two
large structures which backed on to an enclosure of heavy-
duty mesh fencing. Both of these had metal doors
mounted on runners. One of them was slightly open, and
it was from here that the noise had come.
The inside of the hut was in complete darkness. A hot,
smothering, acrid odour filled the air. Something rustled
restlessly in the further reaches of the dark. As Zen's eyes
gradually adjusted, he made out a figure bending over a
heap of some sort on the ground. The resonant vibration
thrilled the air again, like a giant breathing stertorously in
a drunken slumber. The bending figure suddenly whirled