“I’ll try to keep it brief. She told me two things that seem important to me. The first is that on the first of May this year—which was a holiday—Anna went with a friend of hers to Taormina, where they happened to see a couple kissing passionately inside a fancy car. When the two people got out of the car, Anna, to her great surprise, recognized the woman as Luigia. And she also recognized the man, because he was a customer at the bank. And do you know who this man was?”
“Marcello Di Carlo,” said Montalbano.
Mimì got upset, since the inspector always ruined his surprises.
“Well, if you know everything already, there’s no need for me to say any more,” he said, frowning and looking resentful.
Montalbano tried to defuse the situation. He hadn’t purposely tried to upset him; the name had simply come out by itself.
“Come on, Mimì, don’t be childish. I don’t know anything. I swear I was going by sense of smell.”
“So the last affair he had, before the one with the girl in Lanzarote, was with Luigia?” Fazio intervened.
“So it would seem,” said Augello. “And there’s more. But, before telling you guys, I want some ironclad assurance that our dear Inspector Montalbano, here present—the Eternal Father of all police inspectors—doesn’t already know it; otherwise, I’ll just shut up and let him talk.”
“Mimì. Stop being a pain in the ass. What, you want it in writing that I don’t know any of what you’re saying?”
“Oh, all right . . . So, around mid-June, the checking account Di Carlo had at the bank was blocked by a court injunction, after a complaint by a creditor. The bank alerted Di Carlo, who didn’t even protest. A week later the injunction was lifted.”
“Apparently he’d managed to find the money to pay off his debt,” said Fazio.
“Let me finish,” Augello said impatiently. “Naturally, the creditor’s name was never mentioned. But, purely by chance, Anna found out who it was. The person who’d blocked his account was Luigia Jacono.”
This time, Mimì got the desired effect of surprise he’d been seeking. Montalbano and Fazio were momentarily speechless.
“And this explains the young woman’s behavior when I spoke to her,” said the inspector. “I got the impression that she’d thought she was the only one who’d been abducted and subjected to that torture, and that she thought she knew the reason for it. But now we know the reason, too. Luigia believed she was the victim of a delayed vendetta on Di Carlo’s part. Carried out not by Di Carlo himself, but by a hired hand. Which is a step forward for us, though it rather complicates the whole picture.”
“Meaning?” asked Augello.
“Meaning that Luigia recognized the car at the side of the road as Di Carlo’s Porsche Cayenne.”
“So then why didn’t she step on the gas and run away?”
“Maybe the kidnapper stood right in front of her car and she didn’t have the nerve to run him over.”
“Wait a second,” said Fazio. “If that’s the way it is, does it mean the two prior kidnappings were also ordered by Di Carlo, though using a stolen car? And for what purpose?”
Fazio’s argument was nothing to take lightly. And in fact Montalbano preferred not to answer his question.
10
“But we can also venture another, completely different hypothesis,” Augello cut in. “Which is that there are actually two kidnappers. The first goes about his business using a stolen car, but then these two abductions give Di Carlo the idea to get revenge on Luigia by abducting her likewise. That way we’ll be led to think it’s a third kidnapping by the same culprit when in fact it’s a totally separate case. And since he can’t carry out the action himself, he hires an accomplice to do it, lending him his car.”
“Mind if I venture yet another hypothesis?” asked Montalbano.
“What would that be?” said Mimì.
“That would be that the kidnapper is always the same person, but what has changed is that now he’s using Di Carlo’s car, which is in his possession either because he’s stolen it or because Di Carlo can’t use it. In fact, as things now stand, Di Carlo is nowhere to be found, either because he wants to scam the insurance company or because he is not free to move about.”
Fazio, feeling confused, buried his face in his hands.
“We’re inside a labyrinth,” he said.
“But we should be able to find our way out of it without getting too discouraged, even if so many of our tries come to nothing,” Montalbano commented. Then, turning to Fazio:
“Find out if Luigia’s still in the hospital,” he said.
Fazio grabbed the phone and called.
“Yeah, she’s still there,” he said when he’d finished. “They’re releasing her tomorrow morning.”
“I’m going to go and question her this afternoon. Fazio, be sure to be back here at three-thirty. We’ll take my car. See you after lunch.”
* * *
Once again he ate lightly at the restaurant. Enzo immediately got worried.
“You feeling all right, Inspector?”
“I’m feeling fine, don’t worry. It’ll pass. I’ll be better soon.”
Since he didn’t have much time, he took his walk along the jetty at a marching pace.
At half past three he headed to Montelusa with Fazio. Who’d brought with him a lawyer’s-style briefcase.
“What you got in the briefcase?” the inspector asked him.
“What I need to write a report.”
“You don’t need to write a report.”
“Are we going to do any playacting?”
“No, we’re not going to do any playacting.”
“Am I supposed to be a witness?”
“No.”
“So what do you need me for?”
“I need you to keep me from getting lost in the hospital.”
Fazio just gawked at him, wide-eyed in wonder.
* * *
When Montalbano walked into the room with Fazio he had the impression that the young woman wasn’t the least bit surprised. Apparently she’d been expecting just such a visit.
Luigia had recovered nicely. She had good color, and above all seemed no longer agitated.
The inspector sat down in the chair at the foot of her bed. Fazio remained standing.
“How do you feel today?”
“Much better, thank you. I’ve been told I can finally go home tomorrow.”
“How’s your father? Is he all right?”
“Yes, he’s feeling better, especially since I spoke to him over the phone. I didn’t tell him I’d been abducted; that would upset him too much. I just told him I’d had a minor accident.”
Montalbano now had two roads before him for continuing the interrogation: the roundabout route, slowly zeroing in on what interested him most; or going straight to the point with questions that would trip up the person being interrogated.
With Luigia he decided to take the second route. During their first encounter, the young woman had shown herself to be a pretty tough nut to crack.
“Did the fact of learning that yours wasn’t the only recent case of abduction, but the third in a series of abductions, help you to recover from the trauma?”
“Why should that have helped me recover?”
Luigia had parried the blow readily. Montalbano was starting to like her.
It really was like a fencing match with her. She knew she was at his level, and had no need to overdo it.
“Luigia, you are very intelligent and quick to understand things.”
“Thank you.”
“But you often pretend not to understand. Let me speak to you quite frankly, to avoid any misunderstandings. Let me preface by saying that I consider this conversation between us personal and confidential, and it will remain such because it will not be written down.
Is that clear?”
“Yes.”
“All I want you to do is answer my questions sincerely. Is that all right with you?”
“Yes, that’s fine with me.”
She said these words in a confident tone. The inspector’s statement had convinced her.
“During the period between April of this year and June, did you have an affair with Marcello Di Carlo?”
As the last thing the woman was expecting was a question so direct and precise, her face first turned pale then immediately fire red. She didn’t answer.
“Luigia, you have nothing to be ashamed of. Unfortunately, in spite of my better nature I’ll have to ask you still other questions of this sort, because it’s my job. So, please answer the question.”
Her reply was barely a breath.
“Yes,” she said.
“Did Di Carlo ask you to lend him money?”
“Yes.”
“How much?”
“Fifty thousand euros.”
“Did you agree to do it?”
“Yes.”
She was about to say something else, but then stopped, undecided. Then she seemed to summon her courage and make up her mind.
“He begged me with tears in his eyes,” she said.
“Do you remember by any chance when he told you he intended to break off your relationship?”
“On the fifth of June. It would be hard for me to forget the date.”
“What did he say?”
“He said he’d fallen in love with another woman.”
“Did he tell you her name?”
“No.”
“And you haven’t managed to find out by other means?”
“No.”
“So you still don’t know who this other woman is?”
“No, I don’t, and I don’t care.”
“When Di Carlo told you your affair was over, how did you react? Did you passively accept it, or did you . . .”
Luigia practically covered her face with the bedsheet, feeling suddenly embarrassed.
“I reacted badly. I was petty and mean.”
“Tell me what you did.”
“I’m so ashamed.”
Montalbano came to her aid.
“Did you ask him to return the money you’d lent him?”
“Yes.”
“And what did he do?”
“He said he couldn’t.”
“So you had his bank account blocked?”
“Yes. I had a copy of the wire transfer as proof of the loan, and I turned to a friend of mine who’s a judge. But since there were only thirty thousand euros in his account, it was blocked. Just a few days later, however, fifty thousand euros were wired in from the Credito Marittimo, and so his account was unblocked.”
“Let’s move on to the abduction. The car you saw parked at the side of the road with the hood up: Was it Marcello Di Carlo’s Porsche Cayenne?”
“Yes.”
“Since it would have been logical to fear some kind of reaction on Di Carlo’s part, why did you pull over?”
“But at that moment I wasn’t fearing any violent reaction on Mar—on Di Carlo’s part!”
“Why not?”
“Because enough time had gone by, and I didn’t really think, and still don’t think, he was capable of violent behavior.”
“How tall was the man who abducted you?”
“About five-foot-eleven, I would say.”
“And how tall is Di Carlo?”
Luigia looked at him uncomprehendingly.
“Why are you asking me that? Have you never had a chance to meet him?”
“He’s gone missing and can’t be located. Please answer my question.”
“About five-foot-eight.”
“You’ve already said the abductor seemed like an older man.”
“Yes.”
“So you were immediately aware that that man was not Di Carlo?”
“Of course.”
“Was he sweating?”
“Yes. He smelled bad.”
“The last time we spoke you told me that the whole time you were with him, the man didn’t once open his mouth. Do you confirm that?”
“Yes.”
“Was Di Carlo in the habit of lending his car?”
“No. He was very jealous of his possessions. The only person he made exceptions for was his friend Giorgio Bonfiglio.”
“Do you know this Bonfiglio well?”
“If one is with Marcello Di Carlo, one inevitably gets to know Bonfiglio, unfortunately.”
“Why ‘unfortunately’?”
“I really don’t like him.”
“Is there any specific reason?”
Before speaking, Luigia took a deep breath.
“On the afternoon of June the fifth, after leaving the bank, I went to Marcello’s house, where he was supposed to be waiting for me. But he wasn’t there. In his place was Bonfiglio. Who immediately tried to hit on me, putting his hands all over me. Over an hour later, Marcello finally arrived and Bonfiglio left. Not long after, Marcello told me he wanted to leave me. So I came to the conclusion that they had conspired together. If the plan worked, Marcello would have caught me in Bonfiglio’s arms, made a scene, and called me a slut. And he would have had a reason for postponing repayment of the loan.”
“What was the nature of your encounters with Bonfiglio?”
“Aside from that one afternoon, he was always with Marcello when I saw him. We would often go out to dinner together.”
“And would Bonfiglio come alone?”
“No, he would bring along a girlfriend about my age, very pretty, by the name of Silvana.”
“Do you know her surname?”
“No. Bonfiglio introduced her to me simply as his girlfriend. But Silvana didn’t come to our last two dinners together.”
“Did these two dinners take place in early June?”
“Yes. Noticing she wasn’t there, I asked Bonfiglio about her, but he answered me evasively on both occasions.”
“Did Di Carlo ask Bonfiglio about Silvana?”
“Not in my presence, no.”
“Can you tell me anything else about this Silvana?”
“She’s a very beautiful girl. She had very long hair, with a big streak dyed purple. She didn’t talk much about herself. She had a job at some kind of business consulting firm, but I could be wrong.”
“Now, try to think carefully. Based on what you have told me about the complicity between Di Carlo and Bonfiglio, and the fact that Di Carlo never lent his car to anyone except him, when you saw that the person beside the Porsche was not Di Carlo but someone else, did you have any sense of who it might be?”
Luigia answered the question, but her reply was not what the inspector had been expecting.
“I’m not going to say the name you’re indirectly suggesting to me and want to hear me say.”
“Will you tell me why?”
“Because I can’t be absolutely certain.”
“But did you think, even if only for a second, that it might be that person?”
“Yes.”
“Merely because he was tinkering with the engine of the Porsche?”
“No, it was also his height, his gait . . .”
“So, what is the reason for your uncertainty?”
“Inspector, in order to press the chloroform pad against my face, that man had to hold me tight from behind. His only moves were ones he couldn’t avoid making. I’m more than convinced that Bonfiglio would not have behaved so correctly. And he would certainly have taken advantage of me while I was unconscious.”
“Thank you for your cooperation. Your testimony is very valuable to me,” said Montalbano, standing up.
* * *
“This Luigia impressed me quite a bit,” said Fazio as they were driving back to Vigàta. “She only says things she’s sure about. She doesn’t let her imagination run away with her.”
“Are you telling me—with a good dose of Vaseline to make it easier—that Luigia will never officially admit that the man who abducted her could have been Bonfiglio?”
“Well, yeah. But do you really think it was him? After all this time?”
“People don’t always act according to logic and timing. Anyway, the guy’s got a lot stacked against him. The fact that Di Carlo would lend him the car, that the abductor was an older man, five-foot-eleven, and that he didn’t say a word to Luigia, who would have recognized his voice . . . And there’s another thing, too: He abducts Luigia as a favor to Di Carlo, who he’s hand in glove with, but he also has a personal motive: to avenge himself on the woman who resisted his advances.”
“But then, as Luigia said, he should have raped her.”
“Don’t forget what Augello told us about him: He’s a poker player, a master bluffer. Raping her would have given us a card leading us straight to him.”
“So how do you want us to proceed?”
“It would be a mistake to question him about the kidnapping. Summon him for nine-thirty tomorrow morning, and if he asks why, tell him we want to know more about Di Carlo.”
“All right.”
Montalbano sat there for a moment in thoughtful silence. Then he asked:
“Listen, do you know anyone who works at the Credito Marittimo?”
“No, but I can probably manage to find someone.”
“I want to know who sent the wire for fifty thousand euros to Luigia Jacono during the month of June.”
“Let me get something straight. So you’re of the opinion that Di Carlo had Bonfiglio kidnap the girl so that we would think it was the third in a series?”
“Yeah, that’s the way I see it now.”
“So that means we still have to solve the problem of who carried out the first two kidnappings?”
“Unfortunately, yes.”
* * *
After eating the pasta ’ncasciata and the mullet with Adelina’s special sauce, he cleared the table on the veranda and then phoned Livia. When she asked him how the kidnapping investigation was coming along, he brought her up to date and even went into the details. Livia’s reaction caught him by surprise.
The Overnight Kidnapper Page 11
