"Dibdin, Michael - Aurelio Zen 02 - Vendetta UC - part 10" - читать интересную книгу автора (Dibdin Michael)

minutes to realize that nothing was going to happen, no
matter how many times he twisted the key. At first he
thought he might have drained the battery by leaving the
lights on, but when he tried the windscreen wipers they
worked normally. He had invented problems with the
Mercedes as a way of breaking the ice with Turiddu and
his friends the night before, and the wretched car was
apparently now taking its revenge by playing up just
when he needed it most. Then he noticed the envelope
tucked under one of the wiper blades, like a parking ticket.
Zen got out of the car and plucked it free. The envelope
was blank. Inside was a single sheet of paper. FURIO
PADKDDA IS A LIAR,' he read. HE WAS NOT IN THE BAR
THE NIGHT THE FOREIGNERS WERE KILLED BUT THE
MELEGA CLAN OF ORGOSOLO KNOW WHERE HE WAS.
The message had been printed by a hand seemingly
used to wielding larger and heavier implements than a
pen. The letters were uneven and dissimilar, laboriously
crafted, starting big and bold but crowded together at the
right-hand margin as though panicked by the prospect of
falling off the edge of the page.
Despite his predicament, Zen couldn't help smiling. So
the humiliating disaster of the previous night had worked
to his advantage, after all. Turiddu had seen an opportu-
nity to even the score with his rival, no doubt easing his
conscience with the reflection that Zen had not yet been
officially identified as a policeman. If the information was
true, it might be just what Zen needed to fabricate a case
against Padedda and so keep Palazzo Sisti off his back.
Unfortunately Turiddu's hatred for the 'foreigner' from
the mountains, whatever its cause, did not make him a
very reliable informant. Nevertheless, there was some-
thing about the note which made Zen feel that it wasn't
pure fiction, although in his present condition he couldn't
work out what it was.
He stuffed the letter into his pocket, wondering what to
do next. For no reason at all, he decided to ring Tania.
The phone was of the new variety that accepted coins as
well as tokens. Zen fed in his entire supply of change and
dialled the distant number. Never had modern technology
seemed more miraculous to him than it did then, stranded
in a hostile, poverty-stricken Sardinian village listening to
a telephone ringing in Tania's flat, a universe away in
Rome.
'Yes?'
It was a man's voice, abrupt and bad-tempered.
'Signora Biacis, please.'
'Who's speaking?'
'I'm calling from the Ministry of the Interior.'
'For Christ's sake! Don't you know this is Sunday?'