Voice of the Violin

‘Right you are. And the timing fits, because they didn’t notify Dr Pasquano until four hours after Maurizio’s death.’

‘How do you know that? OK, sorry.’

‘Do you know who’s in charge of the depository?’

‘Yes, and you know him, too: Nene Lofaro. He worked here with us for a while.’

‘Lofaro? If I remember him correctly, he’s not the kind of person to whom you can say, “Give me the key, I need a hand grenade.’”

‘We’ll have to look into how it was done.’ ‘You go to Montelusa, Mimi. I can’t, since I’m under fire.’

‘All right. Oh, Salvo, could I have the day off tomorrow?’

‘You got some whore on your hands?’ ‘Not a whore, a lady friend.’

‘But can’t you spend the evening with her, after you’ve finished here?’

‘She said she’s leaving tomorrow afternoon.’

‘A foreigner, eh? All right, good luck. But first you have to unravel this story of the hand grenade.’,

‘Not to worry. I’ll go to Montelusa today, after I eat.’

He felt like spending a little time with Anna, but once over the bridge, he shot past and went straight home.

In his letter box he found a large brown envelope that the postman had folded in two to make it fit. There was no return address. Feeling hungry, Montalbano opened the fridge: baby octopus alla luciana and a very simple fresh tomato sauce.

Apparently Adelina hadn’t had the time or the desire to make more. While waiting for the spaghetti water to boil, he opened the envelope. Inside was a colour catalogue for ‘Eroservice’, featuring pornographic videos for every single, or singular, taste. He tore it in half and tossed it into the rubbish bin. He ate and went into the bathroom, then came racing out, trousers unzipped, like a character in a silent film. How had he not thought of it sooner? Had it taken the porno catalogue? He looked up a number in the Montelusa phone book.

‘Hello, Mr Guttadauro?

Inspector Montalbano here. Were you eating? Yes? I’m so sorry’

‘What can I do for you, Inspector?’

‘A friend of mine, talking of this and that — you know how these things happen — mentioned to me that you have an excellent collection of videos of yourself hunting’

A very long pause.

Apparently the lawyer’s brain was in high gear.

Yes, it’s true’

Would you be willing to show me a few?’

I’m very particular, you know, about my possessions. But we could make an arrangement,’

‘That’s what I was hoping you’d say.’

They said goodbye as if they were the greatest of friends. It was clear what had taken place.

Guttadauro’s friends — there had to be more than one — happen to witness the killing of Maurizio. When they see a policeman racing away in a squad car, they realize Panzacchi has hatched a plan for saving his face and career. One of the friends then runs and equips himself with a video camera. And he returns in time to tape the scene of the policemen pressing the dead man’s fingerprints onto the hand grenade. Guttadauro’s friends now have a grenade of their own, though different in nature, and they have sent the lawyer into the field A nasty, dangerous situation, which Montalbano absolutely had to find a way out of.

‘Mr Di Blasi? Inspector Montalbano here. I need to speak to you immediately.’ ‘Why?’

‘Because I have serious doubts about your son’s guilt.’

‘He’s already gone.’

‘Yes, of course, sir. But his memory.’

‘Do what you want.’

Utter resignation. A breathing, talking corpse. ‘I’ll be at your place in half an hour at the latest.’

He was astonished to see Anna open the door for him. ‘Talk in a low voice. The signora is finally resting.’ ‘What are you doing here?’

It was you who got me involved. I haven’t had the heart to leave her alone since.’

‘What do you mean, alone?

Hasn’t anyone called for a nurse?’

‘Of course. But she wants me. Now come inside.’

The living room was even darker than the time the inspector was shown in by Mrs Di Blasi. He felt his heart sink when he saw Aurelio Di Blasi lying crosswise on the armchair. The man’s eyes were closed, but he’d sensed the inspector’s presence, and he spoke out.

‘What do you want?’ he asked with that terrible’ dead voice.

Montalbano explained what he wanted. He spoke for half an hour straight and little by little saw the engineer sit up, prick up his ears, look at him and listen with interest. He realized he was winning him over.

‘Does the Flying Squad have the keys to your villa?’

‘Yes,’ Mr Di Blasi said in a different, stronger voice. ‘But I had a third pair made some time ago.

Maurizio kept them in his bedside table. I’ll go and fetch them.’

He was unable to get up from the armchair. Montalbano had to help him.

He blew into headquarters like a gunshot.

‘Fazio, Gallo and Giallombardo, come with me.’

‘Are we taking the squad car?’

‘No, we’ll go in mine. Is Mimi back?’

He wasn’t back. They left in a hurry. Fazio had never seen him drive so fast. He got worried, not having a lot of faith in Montalbano’s driving abilities.

‘Want me to drive?’ asked Gallo, who was apparently harbouring the same concerns as Fazio.

‘Don’t bust my balls. We have very little time.’

It took him about twenty minutes to drive from Vigata to Raffadali. Once outside the town, he turned onto a country road. Mr Di Blasi had carefully explained to him how to get to the house. They all recognized it easily, having seen it repeatedly on television.

“Now, I’ve got the keys’ said Montalbano. “We’re going to go inside and do a thorough search. We’ve still got a few hours of daylight left, and we must take advantage of it. We have to find what we’re looking for before it gets dark, because we can’t turn on any lights. We don’t want anyone seeing the lights on from outside. Is that clear?’

‘Perfectly dear’ said Fazio. ‘But what are we looking for?’

The inspector told them, then added, ‘I hope I’m wrong, I really do’

“But we’ll leave fingerprints’ said Giallombardo, worried. “We didn’t bring gloves’

‘We don’t give a fuck.’

Unfortunately, the inspector hadn’t been wrong. After they’d been searching for an hour, he heard Gallo call him triumphantly from the kitchen. They all came running. Gallo was stepping down from a chair, a leather ammunition box in his hand.

It was on top of this cupboard.’

The inspector opened it: inside was a hand grenade exactly like the one he’d seen in the crime lab, and a pistol that looked like the kind once issued to German officers.

‘Where were you guys?

What’s in that case?’ asked Mimi, curious as a cat

‘And what have you got to tell me?’

‘Lofaro’s on sick leave for a month. He was replaced fifteen days ago by somebody named Culicchia.’

‘I know him well,’ said Giallombardo.

‘What’s he like?’

‘He’s not the type who likes to sit behind a desk keeping records. He’d sell his soul to go back in the field. He wants to make a career of it’

‘He’s already sold his soul,’ said Montalbano.

‘So, what’s in there?’ Mimi asked, increasingly curious.

‘Chocolate, Mimi. Now listen, all of you. When does Culicchia go off duty? Eight o’clock, right?’

‘That’s right’ Fazio confirmed.

‘When Culicchia leaves Montelusa Central, I want you, Fazio, and you, Giallombardo, to persuade him to get into my car. Don’t explain anything to him. Keep him guessing. As soon as he’s sitting down between you two, show him the ammunition box. Of course, he’s never seen it before, so he’s going to ask you what this whole charade is about’

‘Come on, can’t somebody tell me what’s in there?’ Mimi asked again, but nobody answered.

‘How come he won’t recognize it?’

The question came from Gallo. The inspector gave him a dirty look.

Haven’t you guys got any brains in your head? Maurizio Di Blasi was retarded, but he was a decent person, and he certainly didn’t have any friends who could provide him with weapons at the drop of a hat. The only place he could have found the grenade was at his country house. But they need proof that he took it from there. So Panzacchi, who’s a slyboots, orders one of his men to go to Montelusa to get two grenades and one wartime pistol. One of these he’ll claim Was in Maurizio’s hand, the other he hangs on to, together with the pistol, until he can come up with an ammo box. Then he sneaks back into the Raffadali house and hides the whole kit and caboodle in the first place where somebody would look for it.’

‘So that’s what’s in the box!’ exclaimed Mimi, slapping his forehead.

‘In short, that motherfucking Panzacchi has created a perfectly plausible scenario. And if someone should ask him why the other weapons weren’t found during the first search, he can claim they were interrupted when they spotted Maurizio going into the cave.’

‘What a son of a bitch!’

said Fazio indignantly. ‘First he kills an innocent kid — because as captain he’s responsible even though he didn’t fire the shots himself — and now he wants to screw a poor old man just to save his own skin!’

‘Let’s get back to what you have to do. Let this

Culicchia simmer a little.

Tell him the ammo box was found at the house in Raffadali. Then show him the grenade and the gun. Then ask him — as if out of curiosity — if all seized weapons are registered. And, finally, make him get out of the car together with you, carrying the weapons and ammo box.’ Is that everything?’

‘That’s everything, Fazio.

The next move is his.’

_THIRTEEN

‘Chief? Galluzzo’s onna phone. He wants to talk to you in person. Whaddo I do, Chief? Put ‘im through?’

It was clearly Catarella on the afternoon shift. But why did he say ‘in person’ and not ‘in poisson’?

‘All right, put him through. What is it, Galluzzo?’

Inspector, some guy phoned TeleVigata after they broadcast the photos of Mrs Licalzi and Maurizio Di Blasi together like you asked. He says he’s positive he saw the lady with a man around eleven thirty that evening, but the man was not Maurizio Di Blasi. He says they stopped at his bar, right outside Montelusa.’

‘Is he sure it was Wednesday night?’

‘Positive. He explained that he didn’t go to the bar on Monday and Tuesday because he was out of town, and Thursday it’s closed. He left his name and address. What should I do, come back to the station?’

‘No, stay there until after the eight o’clock news. Somebody else might come forward.’

The door flew open, slammed against the wall, and the inspector started.

‘Can I come in?’ asked Catarella, smiling.

Without a doubt, Catarella had a problem with doors. Montalbano, confronted with that innocent face, suppressed the attack of nerves that had come over him.

‘Yes. What is it?’

This package jes now came f’you, and this personally ‘dressed letter.’

‘How’s your course in pewters going?’

‘Fine, Chief. But they’re called computers, Chief.’

Montalbano looked at him in amazement as he left the room. They were corrupting Catarella.

Inside the envelope he found a few typewritten lines without a signature:

This is only the last part. Hope it’s to your liking. If you want to see the whole video, call me whenever you like.

Montalbano felt the package. A videotape.

As Fazio and Giallombardo had his car, he summoned Gallo to drive him in the squad car. ‘Where are we going?’

To Montelusa, to the Free Channel studios. And don’t speed, I mean it. I don’t want a rerun of last”

Thursday.’

Gallo’s face darkened.

‘Aw, it happens to me once and you start bellyaching the minute you get in the car!’ They drove there in silence.

‘Should I wait for you?’

Gallo asked when they got there.

‘Yes. This won’t take very long.’

Nicolo Zito showed him into his office. He was nervous.

‘How’d it go with Tommaseo?’

‘How do you expect? He gave me a royal tongue-lashing, flayed me alive. He wanted the witnesses’ names.’

‘And what did you do?’

‘I pleaded the Fifth Amendment.’

‘C’mon, there’s no such thing in Italy.’

‘Fortunately! Since anyone who pleads the Fifth in America still gets screwed anyway.’

‘How did he react when he heard Guttadauro’s name? That must have had a certain effect’

‘He got all flummoxed.

Looked worried to me. At any rate, he gave me an official warning. Next time he’s going to throw me in jail with no questions asked.’

‘That’s what I wanted.’

‘For me to get thrown in jail with no questions asked?’

‘No, arsehole, for him to know that Guttadauro and the people he represents are mixed up in this.’

‘What’s Tommaseo going to do, in your opinion?’

‘He’ll talk to the commissioner about it. I’m sure he realizes he’s caught in the net, too, and he’s going to try to wiggle out of it. Listen, Nicolo, I need to watch this video.’

He handed it to him. Nicolo took it and inserted it in his VCR. It opened with a long shot showing a handful of men in the country, but their faces were unreadable. Two people in white smocks were loading a body onto a stretcher. Superimposed across the bottom of the image were the unmistakable words: ‘Monday 14.4.97.‘ Whoever was shooting the scene then zoomed in, and now one could see Panzacchi and Dr Pasquano talking. There was no sound The two men shook hands and the doctor walked out of the field of vision. The image then panned out to capture the six officers of the Flying Squad standing around their captain. Panzacchi said a few words to them, and they all walked off camera. End of show.

‘Holy shit!’ Zito said under his breath.

‘Make me a copy.’

‘I can’t do it here, I have to go into the production studio.’

‘All right, but be careful: don’t let anyone see it.’

I’ve viewed the sample. It’s of no interest. Do whatever you like with it. But I advise you to destroy it or use it in strictest privacy.

Montalbano didn’t sign the note or write down the address, which he knew from the phone directory. Zito returned and handed him two tapes.

‘This is the original and this is the copy. It came out only so-so. You know how it is, making a copy of a copy…’

‘I’m not competing for an Oscar. Give me a big brown envelope.’

He slipped the copy in his jacket pocket and put the note and original in the envelope. He didn’t write any address on this, either.

Gallo was in the car, reading the Gazzetta dello Sport.

‘Do you know where Via Xerri is? At number eighteen you’ll find the law offices of Orazio Guttadauro.

I want you to drop off this envelope, then come back and get me.’

When Fazio and Giallombardo straggled back into headquarters, it was past nine.

‘Oh, Inspector, what a farce, and a tragedy, too!’ said Fazio.

‘What did he say?’

‘First he talked, and then he didn’t,’ said Giallombardo.

‘When we showed him the ammo box, he didn’t understand. He said, “What’s this? Some kind of joke, eh? Is this a joke?” As soon as Giallombardo told him the box had been found at Raffadali, his face changed and started to turn pale.’

‘Then, when he saw the weapons inside,’ interjected

Giallombardo, who wanted to put in his two cents, he had a fit, and we were scared he was going to have a stroke right there in the car’

‘He was shaking all over, like he had malaria. Then he got up, climbed over me and ran away in a hurry’

said Fazio.

‘He was running like an injured hare, stepping this way and that,’ concluded Giallombardo. ‘What now?’

asked Fazio.

‘We’ve made our noise. Now we wait for the echo. Thanks for everything’

‘Duty’ Fazio said dryly.

And he added, ‘Where should I put the ammo box? In the safe?’

‘Yes’ said Montalbano.

Fazio had a rather large safe in his room. It wasn’t used for documents, but for holding seized drugs or weapons before turning them over to Montelusa.

Fatigue sneaked up on him; his forty-sixth was just around the comer. He informed Catarella he was going home, but told him to forward any phone calls to him. Past the bridge he stopped the car, got out, and walked up to Anna’s house. And what if she was with someone? He tried anyway.

Anna greeted him.

‘Come on in’

‘Anybody there?’

‘Nobody.’

She sat him down on the sofa in front of the television, turned down the volume, left: the room, and returned with two glasses, one with whisky for the inspector, another with white wine for herself.

‘Have you eaten?’

‘No,’ said Anna.

‘Don’t you ever eat?’

‘I ate at midday.’

Anna sat down beside him.

‘Don’t get too close; I can tell I smell,’ said Montalbano.

‘Did you have a rough afternoon?’ ‘Rather.’

Anna extended her arm across the back of the sofa; Montalbano leaned his head back, resting the nape of his neck against her skin. He closed his eyes. Luckily he had put the glass down on the coffee table, because he fell at once into a deep sleep, as though the whisky had been drugged. He woke up with a start half an hour later, looked all around himself in confusion, realized what had happened, and felt embarrassed.

‘Forgive me.’

‘Good thing you woke up. My arm is full of pins and needles.’

The inspector stood up. ‘I have to go.’ ‘I’ll see you out,’

At the door, very naturally, Anna placed her lips lightly on Montalbano’s.

‘Have a good sleep, Salvo’

He took a very long shower, changed his underwear and clothes, and phoned Livia. The phone rang for a long time, then the connection was suddenly cut off. What was that blessed woman doing? Was she wallowing in her sorrow over Francois? It was too late to ring her friend and get an up-date. He went and sat down on the veranda, and after a short while he decided that if he couldn’t get in touch with Livia within the next forty-eight hours, he would drop everything and everyone, grab a flight to Genoa, and spend at least one day with her.

The ringing of the telephone had him running in from the veranda. He was sure it was Livia calling him, finally.

‘Hello? Am I speaking to Inspector Montalbano?’

He’d heard that voice before, but couldn’t remember who it belonged to.

‘Yes. Who’s this?’

‘This is Ernesto Panzacchi.’

The echo had arrived.

‘What is it?’

Were they on familiar terms or not? At this point it didn’t matter.

‘I want to talk to you. In person. Should I come to your place?’

He had no desire to see Panzacchi in his house. ‘I’ll come to you. Where do you live?’ ‘At the Hotel Pirandello.’ Tm on my way.’

Panzacchi’s room at the hotel was as big as a ballroom. Aside from a king-size bed and an armoire, it had two armchairs, a large table with television and VCR on top, and a minibar.

“There hasn’t been time yet for my family to move down here.’

At least they’ll be spared the trouble of moving twice, the inspector thought.

‘Excuse me, I have to take a piss.’ ‘Look, there’s nobody in the bathroom.’ ‘I really do need to piss.’

There was no trusting a snake like Panzacchi. When Montalbano returned from the bathroom, Panzacchi invited him to sit down in one of the armchairs. The captain of the Flying Squad was a stocky but elegant man with very pale blue eyes and a Tatar-style moustache.

‘Can I get you something?’

‘Nothing.’

‘Should we get right to the point?’ Panzacchi asked. ‘As you like.’

‘Well, a patrolman came to see me this evening, a certain Culicchia, I don’t know if you know him.’

“Personally, no, by name,, yes.’

‘He was literally terrified. Apparently two men from your station threatened him.’ Is that what he said?’ ‘That’s what I believe I understood.’ ‘You understood wrong.’ ‘Then you tell me.’

‘Listen, it’s late and I’m tired. I went into the Di Blasis’ house in Raffadali, looked around a little, and with very little effort found an ammunition box with a hand grenade and a pistol inside. I’ve got them in my safe now.’

‘Jesus Christ! You’ve got no authorization!’ said Panzacchi, standing up.

‘You’re going down the wrong road,’ Montalbano said calmly.

‘You’re concealing evidence!’

‘I said you’re on the wrong road. If we keep talking about authorization and going by the book, I’m going to get up, walk out of that door and leave you behind in the shit. Because that’s where you are, deep in shit’

Panzacchi hesitated a moment, weighed the pros and cons, and sat back down. He’d given it a shot, and the first round had gone badly for him.

‘You should even thank me,’

the inspector went on.

‘For what?’

‘For having taken the ammunition box out of the house. It was supposed to prove where Maurizio Di Blasi found his hand grenade, right? Except that forensics wouldn’t have found Di Blasi’s fingerprints in there even if their lives depended on it. And how would you have explained that? By saying Maurizio had worn gloves? Can you imagine the laughter!’

Panzacchi said nothing, his pale eyes looking straight into the inspector’s.

‘Shall I go on? Your first sin … actually, no, I don’t give a fuck about your sins, the first mistake you made was to hunt down Maurizio before being absolutely certain of his guilt. But you wanted to carry-out a “brilliant”

operation at all costs. Then what happened happened, and you breathed a real sigh of relief. Pretending you were saving one of your men who mistook a shoe for a weapon, you concocted the story of the hand grenade, and to make it more credible, you went and planted the ammo box in the Di Blasi house.’

‘That’s all talk. If you go and say those things to the commissioner, - rest assured he won’t believe a word of it. You’re spreading these rumours just to tarnish my reputation, to avenge yourself for the fact that the investigation was taken away from you and turned over to me.’

‘And what are you going to do about Culicchia?’

‘He’s coming with me to the Flying Squad offices tomorrow morning. I’ll pay the price he’s asking.’

‘And what if I take the weapons to Judge Tommaseo?’

‘Culicchia’ll say it was you who asked him for the key to the depository the other day. He’s ready to swear by it. Try to understand: he has to defend himself, and I suggested to him how to do this.’

‘So - I’ve lost?’

It looks that way.’

‘Does that VCR work?’

‘Yes.’

‘Could you play this tape?’

Montalbano took it out of his pocket and handed it to Panzacchi who didn’t ask any questions, but simply inserted the cassette. The images appeared, the captain of the Flying Squad watched them all the way through, then rewound the tape, extracted the cassette, and handed it to Montalbano. He sat down and lit a half-consumed Tuscan cigar.

‘That’s just the last part.

I’ve got the whole tape in the same safe as the weapons’ Montalbano lied. ‘How did you do it?’

‘I didn’t make the tape myself. There were two men in the area who saw what was going on and filmed it.

Friends of Guttadauro, the lawyer, whom you know well’

‘This is a nasty development, totally unexpected.’

It’s a lot nastier than you can possibly imagine. It so happens you’re being squeezed between me and them.’

‘Allow me to say that their reasons I can understand perfectly well; it’s yours that don’t seem so clear to me, unless you’re motivated by feelings of revenge.’

‘Now you try. to understand my position. I cannot, under any circumstances, allow the captain of the Montelusa Flying Squad to become a hostage of the Mafia. I can’t let you be subject to blackmail’

‘Look, Montalbano, all I wanted to do was protect the good name of my men. Can you imagine what would have happened if the press had discovered we killed a man who was defending himself with a shoe?’

Is that why you implicated Maurizio’s father, who had nothing to do with the case?’

‘With the case, no, but with my plan, yes. As for possible attempts at blackmail, I know how to defend myself.’

Tm sure you do. You can hold out, which isn’t a very nice way to live, but what about Culicchia and the other six who’ll be put under pressure every single day? How long will they hold out? All you need is for one to crack, and the whole story comes out. I’ll give you a very likely scenario: As soon as they get sick of your refusals, the mob is liable to give a public viewing of their tape or send it to a private TV

station that’ll jump at the scoop even if it means risking prison. And if that happens, the commissioner, gets fried too.’

‘What should I do?’

Montalbano looked at him in admiration for a moment, Panzacchi was a ruthless, unscrupulous player, but he knew how to lose.

‘You should disarm them, neutralize the weapon they’ve got in their hands.’ He couldn’t resist adding a malicious comment he immediately regretted. ‘This is not a shoe’ he said. ‘Talk about it, tonight, with the commissioner. Find a solution together. But I warn you: if you haven’t made a move by twelve tomorrow, I’ll make my own move, in my own way.’

He got up, opened the door, and went out.

‘I’ll make my own move, in my own way’ It had a nice ring to it. Just threatening enough. But what did it really mean? If, say, the captain of the Flying Squad were to get the commissioner on his side, and the latter in turn got Judge Tommaseo to join them, he, Montalbano, was as good as fucked. But was it possible that everyone in Montelusa had suddenly become dishonest? The antipathy a particular person might arouse is one thing; his character and integrity were another matter.

He returned to Marinella full of doubts and questions. Had he been right to talk that Way to Panzacchi? Would the commissioner accept that he wasn’t motivated by a desire for revenge? He dialled Livia’s number. As usual, no answer. He went to bed, but it took him two hours to fall asleep.

_FOURTEEN

When he walked into the office, his nerves were so obviously frayed that his men judged it best to give him a wide berth. Of all things the bed is the best. ‘ If you can’t sleep you still can rest. So went the proverb, but it was wrong, for not only had the inspector slept only fitfully in his bed, he had also woken up feeling like he’d run a marathon.

Only Fazio, who was closest to him, ventured to ask a question, ‘Any news?’

‘I’ll be able to tell you after twelve.’

Galluzzo came in.

Inspector, yesterday evening I looked for you over land and sea.’

‘Did you try the sky?’

Galluzzo realized this was no time for preambles.

‘Inspector, after the eight o’clock news report, somebody phoned. He said that on Wednesday evening, around eight, eight fifteen at the latest, Mrs Licalzi stopped at his petrol station and filled up her tank. He left his name and address.’

‘OK. Well drive over there later’

He was tense, unable to set his eyes on a sheet of paper, and he kept looking at his watch. What if by twelve nobody had called from Montelusa?

At eleven thirty the telephone rang.

‘Chief’ said Grasso, ‘it’s Zito the newsman.’ ‘Let me talk to him.’

At first he didn’t know what was happening. ‘Bat-ta-tum, bat-ta-tum, bat-ta-tum, tum-tum-ttmitum’ said Zito. ‘Nicolo?’

“Fratelli d‘ltalia, l’ltalia s’e desta—’”

Zito had started singing the Italian national anthem in a booming voice.

‘Come on, Nicolo, I’m not in the mood for jokes.’

‘Who’s joking? I’m about to read you a press release that was sent to me just a few minutes ago. Plant your arse firmly in your chair. For your information, this was sent to us, to TeleVigata, and to five different newspaper correspondents. I quote:

Montelusa Police Commissioner’s Office.

For strictly personal reasons, Ernesto Panzacchi has asked to be relieved of his responsibilities as captain of the Flying Squad and to be placed on reserve. His request has been granted. Mr Anselmo Irrera will temporarily assume the position vacated by Captain Panzacchi. As some new and unexpected developments have emerged in the Licalzi murder case, Inspector Salvo Montalbano of Vigata police will assume charge of the investigation for its duration.

Signed: Bonetti-Alderighi, Montelusa Police Commissioner.

‘We won, Salvoi’

Montalbano thanked his friend and hung up. He did not feel happy. The tension had dissipated, of course; he’d got the answer he wanted. Still, he felt a kind of malaise, a profound uneasiness. He cursed Panzacchi sincerely, not for what he’d done, but for having forced him to act in a way that now troubled him.

The door flew open, the whole staff rushed in. Inspector.” said Galluzzo. ‘My brother-in-law phoned just now from TeleVigata, they just got a press release—’

‘I know, I’ve already been told.’

‘We’re going to go out and buy a bottle of spumante and…’

Giallombardo, withering under Montalbano’s gaze, didn’t finish the sentence. They all filed out slowly, muttering under their breath. He had one foul disposition, that inspector …

Judge Tommaseo didn’t have the courage to show his face to Montalbano and pretended to be going over some important papers, bent over his desk. The inspector imagined that at that moment the judge wished he looked like the Abominable Snowman, with a beard covering his entire face, though Tommaseo’s bulk fell short of the yeti’s.

You must understand, Inspector. As far as withdrawing the weapons possession charge, there’s no problem, I’ve already called Mr Di Bksi’s lawyer. But it’s not quite so easy for me to lift the complicity charges. Until proved to the contrary, Maurizio Di Blasi is self-convicted of the murder of Michela Licalzi. My prerogatives in no way permit me to—’

‘Good day,’ said Montalbano, getting up and walking out.

Judge Tommaseo came running after him along the corridor.

Inspector, wait! I want to clarify—’

‘There is nothing at all to clarify, Your Honour. Have you spoken with the commissioner?’

Yes, at great length. We met at eight o’clock this morning.’

‘Then you must surely be aware of certain details of no importance to you. Such as the fact that the investigation of the Licalzi murder was conducted like a toilet-cleaning operation, that young Di Blasi was ninety-nine per cent innocent, that he was slaughtered like a pig by mistake, and that Panzacchi covered it all up. You can’t dismiss the weapons charges against the engineer and at the same time not start proceedings against Panzacchi, who actually planted the weapons in his house.’

‘I’m still examining Captain Panzacchi’s situation.’

‘Good. Examine it well But choose the right scales, among the many you keep in your office.’

Tommaseo was about to react, but reconsidered and said nothing.

‘Tell me something, for the sake of curiosity,’ said Montalbano. ‘Why hasn’t Mrs Licalzi’s body been turned over to her husband yet?’

The judge’s embarrassment became more pronounced. He clenched his right hand in a fist and stuck his right index finger in it.

‘Uh, that was … yes, that was Captain Panzacchi’s idea. He pointed out to me that public opinion … In short, first the body was found, then Di Blasi died, then the funeral of Mrs Licalzi, then young Maurizio’s funeral … Don’t you see?’

‘No.’

‘It was better to spread them out, over time … To relieve some of the pressure on people, all the crowding…’

He was still talking, but the inspector was already at the end of the corridor.

When he came out of the court building it was already two o’clock. But instead of retiirning to Vigata, he took the Enna—Palermo road Galluzzo had carefully explained to him how to find the petrol station and bar-restaurant where Michela Licalzi had been seen.

The station, located just three kilometres outside Montelusa, was closed The inspector cursed the saints, drove another two kilometres, then saw, on his left, a sign that said TRUCKERS’

bar-trattoria. As oncoming traffic was heavy, the inspector waited patiently for someone to decide to let him turn, but. seeing there was no hope in heaven, he cut right in front of everyone, amidst a pandemonium of screeching tyres, horn blasts, curses and insults, and pulled into the bar’s parking lot.

It was very crowded inside.

He walked up to the cashier.

‘I’d like to speak with a Mr Gerlando Agro.’ ‘That’s me. And who are you?’ ‘Inspector Salvo Montalbano. You phoned TeleVigata to say—’

‘Well, goddamn it all. Did you have to come right now? Can’t you see how busy I am?’

Montalbano got an idea that struck him as brilliant. ‘How’s the food here?’

‘See those people sittin’

down? They’s all truckers. Ever seen a trucker go wrong?’

At the end of the meal (the idea hadn’t been brilliant, but only good, the food remaining within ironclad limits of normality, with no; flights of fancy), after the coffee and anisette, the cashier, who’d got a boy to take his place, approached Montalbano’s table.

‘Now we can talk,’ he said.

‘OK if I sit down?’

‘Of course.’

Gerlando Agro immediately had second thoughts. ‘Maybe it’s better if you come with me.’ They went out of the building.

‘OK. Wednesday, around eleven thirty at night, I was here outside, smoking a cigarette, and I saw this Twingo pull in off the Enna-Palermo road.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘I’d bet my life on it. The car stopped right in front of me, and a lady, who was driving, got out.’

Would also bet your life it was the same woman you saw on TV?’

‘Inspector, with a woman like that, poor thing, it’s hard to make a mistake.’ ‘Go on.’

‘The man, on the other hand, stayed in the car.’

‘How did you know it was a man?’

‘See, there was a truck with its headlights on. I was surprised, because usually it’s the man that gets out and the woman who stays in the car. Anyway, the lady ordered two salami sandwiches and bought a bottle of mineral water. My son Tanino was at the cash register, the same kid who’s there now. The lady paid and went down these three steps here. But on the last step, she tripped and fell, and the sandwiches flew out of her hands. I went down the steps to help her up and I found myself face-to-face with the man, who’d got out of the car. “It’s all right, it’s all right,” the lady said. The guy got back in the car, she ordered two more sandwiches, paid, and they drove off in the direction of Montelusa.’

‘You’ve been very helpful, Mr Agro. And I assume you can also say that the man you saw on television was not the same man who was in the car with the lady.’

‘Definitely not Two totally different people.’

‘Where did the lady keep her money? In a large bag?’

‘No sir, Inspector. She didn’t have any bag. She had a little purse in her hand.’

After the tension of the morning and the hearty meal he’d just eaten, fatigue came over him. He decided to go home to Marinella and sleep for an hour. Just past the bridge, however, he couldn’t resist He stopped, got out and rang the intercom. Nobody answered.

Anna had probably gone out to see Mrs Di Blasi. Perhaps it was just as well.

At home, he phoned headquarters.

‘I want Galluzzo here at five with the squad car,’ he said.

He dialled Livia’s number, and it rang and rang to no avail He dialled the number of her friend in Genoa.

‘Montalbano here. Listen, I’m starting to get seriously worried. It’s been days since—’

‘Don’t worry. Livia just phoned me a little while ago to let me know she was OK.’ ‘Where on earth is she?’

‘I don’t know. All I know is she called personnel and asked for another day off.’

He hung up and the phone rang. ‘Inspector Montalbano?’ ‘Yes, who’s this?’

‘Guttadauro. My compliments, Inspector.’

Montalbano hung up, undressed, got into the shower, then came out and threw himself down, still naked, on the bed. He fell asleep immediately.

‘Riing riiing! a faraway sound chimed in his head. He realized it was the doorbell He got up with effort, and went and opened the door. Seeing him naked, Galluzzo leaped backwards.

‘What’s the matter, Gallu?

Think I’m going to drag you inside and make you do lewd things?’

‘I’ve been ringing for the last half hour, Inspector. I was about to break down the door.’

‘Do that and you’ll have to pay for a new one. I’ll be back in a second.’

The petrol-station attendant was a young man of about thirty with tight curls, dark, sparkling eyes and a solid, slender body. Though he was wearing overalls, the inspector could easily imagine him as a lifeguard on the beach at Rimini, playing havoc with the German girls.

‘You say the lady was on her way from Montelusa, and it was eight o’clock.’

‘Sure as death. I was closing up at the end of my shift. She rolled down her window and asked me if I could fill it up for her, “For you, I’ll stay open all night if you want,” I said. She got out of the car. Jesus, was she ever a beauty.’

‘Do you remember how she was dressed?’

‘All in denim.’

‘Did she have any luggage?’

‘She had a kind of large handbag on the back seat of the car.’ ‘Go on.’

‘I finished filling up her tank, I told her how much she owed me, and she paid me with a one-hundred-thousand-lire bill, which she took from her purse. As I was giving her change — I like to kid around with the ladies, you see — I asked her, “Anything special I can do for you?” I sort of expected her to answer with an insult, but she just smiled and said, “For the special things I’ve already got someone.” And she continued on her way.’

‘She didn’t turn back towards Montelusa? Are you sure of that?’

‘Absolutely certain. The poor thing, when I think of how she ended up!’

‘OK. Thanks’

‘Oh, one more thing, Inspector. She was in a hurry. After I filled up her tank, she drove off”

really fast. See down there? It’s all straight, I watched her car till she rounded the bend. She was really speeding’

‘I’d planned to come home tomorrow’ said Gillo Jacono, ‘but as I got back today, I thought I’d check in with you right away’

A distinguished man in his thirties, with a pleasant face.

‘Thanks for coming.’

‘I wanted to tell you that with something like this, you think about it again and again.’

‘Do you want to change the statement you made over the phone?’

‘Absolutely not. Although, after playing the thing over and over in my head, I would like to add one detail But just to be safe, you probably ought to preface what I’m about to say with a very big “maybe”’

‘Go ahead and talk.’

‘Well, the man was carrying his suitcase without effort, in his left hand, and that’s why I had the impression it wasn’t very full Whereas with his right arm he was supporting the woman’

‘Did he have his arm around her?’

‘Not exactly. She was resting her hand on his arm. It seemed to me — seemed. I repeat — as if she was limping slightly.’

‘Dr Pasquano? Montalbano here. Am I disturbing you?’

‘I was making a Y-shaped incision in a corpse. I don’t think he’ll mind if I stop for a few minutes.’

‘Did you notice any signs on Mrs Licalzi’s body that might indicate that she fell sometime before her death?’

‘I don’t remember. Let me take a look at the report.’

He returned before the inspector could light his cigarette.

Yes. She’d fallen on one knee. But she was clothed at the time. In the abrasion on her left knee we found microscopic fibres from the jeans she was wearing.’

There was no need for further confirmation. At 8 p.m., Michela Licalzi fills her tank and heads inland. Three and a half hours later she’s on her way back with a man. Sometime after midnight she’s seen with a man again, certainly the same man, walking towards her house outside Vigata.

‘Hi, Anna. Salvo here. I dropped by your place early this afternoon, but you weren’t there.’

‘Mr Di Blasi called and said his wife was unwell’

‘I hope soon to have good news for them.’

Anna said nothing, and Montalbano realized he’d said something stupid The only news the Di Blastis might consider good was the resurrection of Maurizio.

‘Anna, I wanted to tell you something I discovered about Michela.’

‘Why don’t you come over?’

No, he shouldn’t. He realized that if Anna brought her lips to his another time, no good would come of it.

‘I can’t, Anna. I have an engagement.’

Good thing he was on the phone, because if he’d been right in front of her, she would have immediately realized he was lying.

‘What did you want to tell me?’

‘I have worked out, with a convincing degree of certainty, that at eight o’clock on Wednesday evening, Michela took the Enna—Palermo road. She may have been going to a town in the Montelusa province. Now, think hard before answering: as far as you know, did she have any other acquaintances in the area, aside from the people she knew in Montelusa and Vigata?’

The answer didn’t come immediately. Anna was thinking about it, as the inspector had asked

‘Look — friends, I doubt it. She’d have told me. Acquaintances, on the other hand, yes, a few.’

‘Where?’

‘For example, in Aragona and Comitini, which are both along that road’

‘What kind of acquaintances?’

‘She bought her floor tiles in Aragona. And she got some other supplies that I can’t remember now in Comitini.’

‘Therefore only business dealings.’

‘I’d say so. But, you see, Salvo, you can go just about anywhere from that road. There’s a turn that goes to Raffadali, for one; the captain of the Flying Squad could have spun something out of that, too.’

‘Another thing: sometime after midnight, she was seen in her drive, after getting out of her car. She was leaning on a man.’

‘Are you sure?’

I’m sure.’

The pause this time was very long. So long that the inspector thought they’d been cut off. ‘Are you still there, Anna?’

‘Yes. Salvo, I want to repeat, clearly, once and for all, what I said before. Michela was not the kind of woman who went in for fly-by-night affairs. She confided to me that she was physically incapable of it. Will you understand that? She loved her husband.

And she was very, very attached to Serravalle. She could not have consented, I don’t care what the coroner thinks. She was horribly raped.’

‘How do you explain that she didn’t phone to let the Vassallos know she wouldn’t be coming to dinner at their house? She had a mobile phone, didn’t she?’

‘I don’t understand what you’re getting at.’

‘I’ll explain. When Michela left you at seven thirty, saying she was going back to the hotel, she was telling you the absolute truth at that moment. But then something happened that made her change her mind. And it can only have been a call to her mobile, since when she was travelling up the Enna—Palermo road, she was still alone.’

‘You think she was on her way to an appointment?’

‘There’s no other explanation. It was unexpected, but she didn’t want to miss that appointment.

That’s why she didn’t call the Vassallos. She had no plausible excuse that might justify her not coming, and so the best thing was to give them the slip.

Let’s set aside, if you want, the possibility of an amorous rendezvous; maybe it was a work-related appointment that somehow turned tragic. I’ll grant you that for the moment. But in that case I ask you: what could have been of such importance as to make her behave so rudely towards the Vassallos?’

‘I don’t know,’ Anna said dejectedly.

_FIFTEEN

What could have been so important? the inspector asked himself again after saying goodbye to his friend. If not love or sex, which in Anna’s opinion were out of the question, that left only money. During the construction of the house, Michela must have handled some money, and a fair amount at that. Might the key lie hidden there? The conjecture, however, immediately seemed to him without substance, a thread in a spider’s web. But he was duty-bound to investigate all the same. ‘Anna? Salvo again.’

‘Did your engagement fall through? Can you come over?’

There was such happiness and eagerness in the girl’s voice, the inspector didn’t want a note of disappointment to spoil it.

‘Well, I won’t say I can’t make it at all.’

‘Come whenever you like.’

‘OK, but there’s something I wanted to ask you.

Do you know if Michela opened a bank account in Vigata?’

‘Yes, it was more convenient for paying bills. It was with the Banca Popolare. But I don’t know how much she had in it.’

It was too late to dash over to the bank. He opened a drawer in which he’d put all the papers he’d taken from the hotel room, and selected the dozens of bills and the little notebook of expenses. The diary and the rest of the papers he put back in the drawer. It was going to be a long, boring task, and 90 per cent certain to prove utterly useless. Besides, he was no good at numbers.

He carefully examined all the invoices. As far as he could tell at a glance, they did not appear inflated; the prices seemed to correspond to the market rates and were even occasionally a little lower. Apparently Michela knew how to bargain and save.

No dice, therefore. A useless task, as he had expected. Then, by chance, he noticed a discrepancy between the amount on one bill and the round figure recorded in the notebook; the cost had been increased by five million lire.

Could Michela, normally so well organized and precise, have possibly made so obvious a mistake? He started over from the top, with the patience of a saint.

The end result he arrived at was that the difference between the amounts registered in the notebook and the money actually spent was one hundred and fifteen million lire.

A mistake was therefore out of the question. But if there hadn’t been a mistake, it made no sense, because it meant that Michela was taking a cut of her own money. Unless …

‘Hello, Dr Licalzi?

Inspector Montalbano here. Excuse me for calling you at home after work.’

‘Yes, it’s been a bad day, in fact.’

I’d like to know something about your… Let me put it another way: did you and your wife have a joint bank account?’

Inspector, weren’t you—’

Taken off the case? Yes, I was, but now everything is back to how it was before.’

‘No, we didn’t have a joint account. Michela had hers and I had mine.’

‘Your wife had no income of her own, did she?’

‘No, she didn’t. We had an arrangement where every six months I would transfer a certain sum from my account into hers. If her expenses exceeded that amount, she would tell me and I’d take care of it.’

‘I see. Did she ever show you the invoices concerning the house?’

‘No, and I wasn’t interested, really. At any rate, she recorded her expenditures one by one in a notebook. Every now and then I’d give it a look.’

Doctor, thank you and—’

‘Did you take care of it?’

What was he supposed to have taken care of? He didn’t know how to answer.

‘The Twingo’ the doctor helped him.

‘Oh, yes, it’s already been done.’

It certainly was easy to lie on the phone. They said goodbye and made an appointment to see each other on Friday morning, the day of the funeral.

Now it all made more sense.

The wife was taking a cut of the money she was getting from her husband to build the house. Once the invoices were destroyed (which Michela certainly would have done had she remained alive), only the figures logged into her notebook would have remained. Just like that, one hundred and fifteen million lire had slipped into the shadows, and she had used them however she wished.

But what did she need that money for? Was somebody blackmailing her? And if so, what did Michela Licalzi have to hide?

The following morning, as he was about to get in his car and drive to work, the telephone rang. For a moment he was tempted not to answer. A phone call to his home at that hour could only have been an annoying, pain-in-the-arse call from headquarters.

Then the unquestionable power that the telephone has over man won out.

‘Salvo?’

He. immediately recognized Livia’s voice and felt his legs turn to jelly.

‘Livia.’ Finally! Where are you?’ In Montelusa’

What was she doing in Montelusa? When did she get there?

‘I’ll come and get you. Are you at the station?’ ‘No. If you wait for me, I’ll be at your place in half an hour at the most,’ ‘I’ll wait for you.’

What was going on? What the hell was going on? He called headquarters.

‘Don’t pass any calls on to me at home.’

In half an hour he downed four cups of coffee. He put the napoletana back on the burner. Then he heard a car pull up and stop. It must be Livia’s taxi. He opened the door. It wasn’t a taxi, it was Mimi Augello’s car. Livia got out, the car turned around and left,

Montalbano began to understand.

She looked slovenly and dishevelled, with dark circles round her eyes, which were swollen from crying.

But most of all, how had she become so tiny and fragile? A plucked sparrow.

Montalbano felt overcome with tenderness and emotion.

‘Come,’ he said, taking her hand, leading her into the house, and sitting her down in the dining room. He saw her shudder.

‘Are you cold?’

‘Yes’

He went into the bedroom, got a jacket and put it over her shoulders. ‘Want some coffee?’ ‘All right.’

It had just boiled, and he served it piping hot. Livia drank it down as if it was cold.

They were sitting on the bench on the veranda. Livia had wanted to go outside. The day was so serene it looked fake. No wind, only a few light waves. Livia gazed long at the sea in silence, then rested her head on Salvo’s shoulder and started crying, without sobbing. The tears streamed down her face and wet the little table. Montalbano took one of her hands; she surrendered it lifelessly to him. The inspector needed desperately to light a cigarette, but didn’t.

‘I went to see Francois,’

Livia said suddenly.

‘I guessed.’

‘I decided not to tell Franca I was coming. I got on a plane, grabbed a taxi, and descended on them out of the blue. As soon as he saw me, Francois ran into my arms. He was truly happy to see me. And I was so happy to hold him and furious at Franca and her husband, and especially at you. I was convinced that everything was as I’d suspected: that you and they had been conspiring to take him away from me. And, well, I started railing against them and insulting them. All of a sudden, as I was trying to calm down, I realized that Francois was no longer beside me. I began to suspect they’d hidden him from me, locked him in a room somewhere, and I started to scream. I screamed so loudly that they all came running, Franca’s children, Aldo, the three labourers. And they all started asking each other where Francois was, but nobody’d seen him Now worried, they all went outside, calling his name. I remained alone inside, crying. Suddenly I heard a voice.

“Livia, I’m here.” It was him. He’d hidden somewhere inside the house, and they were all looking for him outside. See how clever and intelligent he is?’

She broke out in tears again, having held them too long inside.

Just relax. Lie down a bit.

You can tell me the rest later,’ said Montalbano, who couldn’t bear Livia’s torment. With some effort he refrained from embracing her, sensing that this would have been the wrong move.

‘But I’m leaving,’ said Livia. ‘My flight leaves Palermo at two this afternoon.’

‘I’ll drive you there.’