IM4 The Voice of the Violin (2003)

by Andrea Camilleri

  'So, in short, Mrs Licalzi was faithful to her husband.' 'I didn't say that.' 'What does that mean?' It means what I said.'

  'Had you known each other a long time?' 'No.'

  Montalbano looked at her, stood up, and walked over to the window. Anna, almost angrily, lit up another cigarette.

  'I don't like the tone you've assumed in the last part of our dialogue,' the inspector said with his back to her. 'I don't either.'

  'Peace?' 'Peace.'

  Montalbano turned around and smiled at her. Anna smiled back. But only for an instant. Then she raised a finger like a schoolgirl, wanting to ask a question.

  'Can you tell me, if it's not a secret, how she was killed?'

  "They didn't say so on TV?'

  'No. Neither the Free Channel nor Tele Vigata said anything. They only said the body had been found.'

  'I shouldn't be telling you. But I'll make an exception. She was suffocated.'

  'With a pillow?'

  'No, with her face pressed down against the mattress.'

  Anna began to sway, the way treetops sway in strong wind. The inspector left the room and returned a moment later with a bottle of water and a glass. Anna drank as if she had just come out of the desert.

  'But what was she doing there at the house, for God's sake?' she asked, as if to herself.

  'Have you ever been to that house?'

  'Of course. Almost daily, with her.'

  'Did she ever sleep there?'

  'No, not that I know of.'

  'But there was a bathrobe in the bathroom, and towels and creams--'

  'I know. Michela put those things there on purpose. Whenever she went to work on the house, she ended up all covered in dust and cement. So, before leaving, she would take a shower'

  Montalbano decided it was time to hit below the belt. But he felt reluctant; he didn't want to injure her too badly.

  'She was completely naked.'

  Anna looked as if a high-voltage charge had passed through her. Eyes popping out of her head, she tried to say something but couldn't. Montalbano refilled her glass.

  'Was she ... was she raped?'

  'I don't know. The pathologist hasn't told me yet.'

  'But why didn't she go back to her hotel instead of going to that goddamned house?' Anna asked herself again in despair.

  'Whoever killed her also took all her clothes, underwear and shoes.'

  Anna looked at him in disbelief, as though the inspector had just told her a big lie.

  'For what reason?'

  Montalbano didn't answer. He continued, 'He even made off with her handbag and everything that was in it'

  'That's a little more understandable. Michela used to keep all her jewellery in it, and she had a lot, all very valuable. If the person who suffocated her was a thief--'

  'Wait Mr Vassallo told me that when Michela didn't show up to dinner at his place, they got worried and phoned you.'

  'That's true. I thought she was at their house. When Michela left me, she'd said she was stopping off at the hotel to change her clothes.'

  'Speaking of which, how was she dressed?'

  'Entirely in denim -- jeans and jacket -- and casual shoes.'

  'She never went back to the hotel. Somebody or something made her change her mind. Did she have a mobile phone?'

  'Yes, she kept it in her bag.'

  'So it's possible that someone phoned Mrs Licalzi as she was going back to the hotel. And that as a result of this phone call, she went out to the house.'

  'Maybe it was a trap.'

  'Set by whom? Certainly not by a thief. Have you ever heard of a burglar summoning the owner of the house he's about to rob?'

  'Did you notice if anything was missing from the house?'

  'Her Piaget, for certain. As for everything else, I'm not sure. I don't know what things of value she had in the house. Everything looked to be in order, except for the bathroom, which was a mess.'

  'A mess?'

  'Yes. The pink bathrobe was thrown on the floor. She'd just finished taking a shower.'

  Inspector, I find the picture you're presenting totally unconvincing.'

  'What do you mean?'

  'I mean, the idea that Michela would go to the house to meet a man and be in such a rush to go to bed with him that she would throw off her bathrobe and let it fall wherever it happened to fall.'

  'That's plausible, isn't it?'

  'Maybe for other women, but not Michela.'

  'Do you know somebody named Guido who called her every night from Bologna?'

  He'd fired blindly, but hit the mark. Anna Tropeano looked away, embarrassed.

  'You said a few minutes ago that Mrs Licalzi was faithful,' he continued.

  'Yes.'

  'Faithful to her one infidelity?' Anna nodded yes.

  'Could you tell me his name? You see, you'll be doing me a favour. It'll save me time. Because, don't worry, I'll find out eventually anyway. Well?'

  'His name is Guido Serravalle. He's an antique dealer. I don't know his telephone number or address.'

  'Thanks, that's good enough. Her husband will be here around midday. Would you like to see him?'

  'Me? Why? I don't even know him.'

  The inspector didn't need to ask any more questions. Anna went on talking of her own accord.

  'Michela married Dr Licalzi two and a half years ago. It was her idea to come to Sicily for their honeymoon. But that's not when we met. That happened later, when she returned by herself with the intention of having a house built. I was on my way to Montelusa one day and a Twingo was coming from the opposite direction, we were both distracted, and we narrowly avoided a head-on collision. We both pulled over and got out to apologize, and took an immediate liking to each other. Every time Michela came down after that, she always came alone.'

  She was tired. Montalbano took pity on her.

  'You ve been very helpful to me. Thank you.'

  'Can I go?'

  'Of course.'

  He extended his hand to her. Anna Tropeano took it and held it between both of hers.

  The inspector felt a wave of heat rise up inside him. 'Thank you,' said Anna. 'For what?'

  'For letting me talk about Michela. I don't have anybody to ... Thanks. I feel calmer now.'

  SIX

  No sooner had Anna Tropeano left than the door to the inspector's office flew open, slamming into the wall, and Catarella came barrelling into the room

  'The next time you come in here like that, I'm going to shoot you. And you know I mean it,' Montalbano said calmly.

  Catarella, however, was too excited to worry about this.

  'Chief, I just wanna say I got a call from the c'mis-sioner's office. Remember the concourse in pewters I tof you 'bout? Well, it starts Monday morning an' I gotta be there. Whatcha gonna do witout me onna phone?'

  'We'll survive, Cat.'

  'Oh, Chief, Chief! You said you dint wanna be distroubled when you was talking wit da lady an' I did what you said! But inna meantime you gotta lotta phone calls! I wrote 'em all down on dis li'l piece a paper.'

  'Give it to me and get out of here.'

  On a poorly torn-out piece of notebook paper was written, 'Phone calls: Vizzallo Guito, Sarah Valli Losconti yer frend Zito Rotono Totano Ficuccio Cangialosi Sarah Valli of Bolonia agin Cipollina Pinissi Cacamo.'

  Montalbano started scratching himself all over. It must have been some mysterious form of allergy, but every time he was forced to read something Catarella had written, an irresistible itch came over him. With the patience of a saint, he deciphered: Vassallo, Guido Serravalle (Michela's Bolognese lover), Loconte (who sold fabric for curtains), his friend Nicolo Zito, Rotondo (the furniture salesman), Todaro (the plant and garden man), Riguccio (the electrician), Cangelosi (who'd invited Michela to dinner) and Serravalle again. Cipollina, Pinissi and Cacamo, assuming that those were their real names, were unfamiliar to him, but in all likelihood they had phoned because they were friends or acquaintances of the murder victim.r />
  'May I?' asked Fazio, sticking his head inside the door.

  'Come on in. Did you get the low-down on the engineer Di Blasi?'

  'Of course. Why else would I be here?'

  Fazio was apparently expecting to be praised for having taken such a short time to gather the information.

  'See? You did it in less than an hour,' the inspector said instead.

  Fazio darkened.

  Is that the kind of thanks I get?' 'Why do you want to be thanked just for doing your duty?'

  Inspector, may I say something, with all due respect? This morning you re downright obnoxious.'

  'By the way, why haven't I yet had the honour and pleasure, so to speak, of seeing Inspector Augello at the office this morning?'

  'He's out today with Germana and Galluzzo looking into that business at the cement works.'

  What's this about?'

  'You don't know? Yesterday, about thirty-five workers at the cement factory were given pink slips. This morning they started raising hell, shouting, throwing stones. The manager got scared and called, us up.'

  'And why did Mimi Augello go?'

  Tie manager asked him for help!'

  Jesus Christ' If I've said it once, I've said it a thousand times. I don't want anyone from my station getting mixed up in these things!'

  'But what was Augello supposed to do?'

  'He should have passed the phone call on to the carabinieri, who get off on that kind of thing! Mr Manager's always going to find another position when the going gets tough. The ones who get thrown out on their arses are the workers. And we're supposed to club them over the head?'

  'Chief, excuse me again, but you're really and truly a communist, a hotheaded communist'

  'Fazio, you're stuck on this communist crap. I'm not a communist, will you get that in your head once and for all?'

  'OK, but you really do sound like one.' 'Are we going to drop the politics?' 'Yessir. Anyway: Aurelio Di Blasi, son of Giacomo and Maria Antonietta nee Carlentini, born in Vigata on April'-1937--'

  'You get on my nerves when you talk that way. You sound like a clerk at the records office.'

  'You don't like it, Chief ? What do you want me to do, sing it? Recite it like poetry?'

  'You know, as for being obnoxious, you're doing a pretty good job yourself this morning.'

  The telephone rang,

  'At this rate we'll be here till midnight,' Fazio sighed.

  'H'lo, Chief? I got that Signor Cacano that called before onna line. Whaddo I do?' 'Let me talk to him.'

  Inspector Montalbano? This is Gillo Jacono. I had the pleasure of meeting you at Mrs Vasile Cozzo's house once. I'm a former student of hers.'

  Over the receiver, in the background, Montalbano heard a female voice announcing the last call for the flight to Rome.

  'I remember very well. What can I do for you?' 'Excuse me for being so brief, but I'm at the airport and have only a few seconds.'

  Brevity was something the inspector was always ready to excuse, at any time and under any circumstance. 'I'm calling about the woman who was murdered.' 'Did you know her?'

  'No, but on Wednesday evening, about midnight, I was on my way from Montelusa to Vigata in my car when the motor started acting up, and so I began driving very slowly. When I was in the Tre Fontane district, a dark Twingo passed me and then stopped in front of a house a short distance ahead. A man and a woman got out and walked up the drive. I didn't see anything else, but I'm sure about what I saw.'

  'When will you be back in Vigita?'

  'Next Thursday.'

  'Come in and see me. Thanks.'

  Montalbano drifted off. That is, his body remained seated, but his mind was elsewhere.

  'What should I do, come back in a little bit?' Fazio asked in resignation.

  'No, no. Go ahead and talk.'

  'Where was I? Ah, yes. Construction engineer, but not a builder himself. Resides in Vigata, Via Laporta number eight, married to Teresa Dalli Cardillo, housewife, but a well-to-do housewife. Husband owns a large plot of farmland at Raffadali in Montelusa province, complete with farmhouse, which he refurbished. He's got two cars, a Mercedes and a Tempra, two children, male and female. The female's name is Manuela, thirty years old, married to a businessman and living in Holland. They've got two children, Giuliano, age three, and Domenico, age one. They live--*'

  'Now I'm going to break your head,' said Montalbano.

  'Why? What did I do?' Fazio asked disingenuously. 'I thought you said you wanted to know everything about everything!'

  The phone rang. Fazio could only groan and look up at the ceiling.

  Inspector. This is Emanuele Licalzi. I'm calling from Rome. My flight was two hours late leaving Bologna and so I missed the connection to Palermo. I'll be there at about three this afternoon.'

  'No problem, I'll be expecting you.'

  He looked at Fazio and Fazio looked at him.

  'How much more of this bullshit have you got?'

  'I'm almost done. The son's name is Maurizio.'

  Montalbano sat up in his chair and pricked up his ears.

  'He's thirty-one years old. and a university student,' 'At thirty-one?'

  'At thirty-one. Seems he's a little slow in the head. He lives with his parents. End of story.'

  'No, I'm sure that is not the end of the story. Go on.' 'Well, they're only rumours 'Doesn't matter.'

  Fazio was obviously having a great time playing this game with his boss, since he held all the cards.

  'Well, Engineer Di Blasi is the second cousin of Dr Emanuele Licalzi. Michela became like one of the Di Blasi family. And Maurizio lost his head over her. For everyone in town, it turned into a farce: whenever Mrs Licalzi went walking around Vigata, there he was, following behind her, with his tongue hanging out.'

  So it was Maurizio's name Anna didn't want to give him.

  'Everyone I spoke to,' Fazio continued, 'told me he's a gentle soul, and a little dense.' 'All right, thanks.'

  'There's one more thing,' said Fazio, and it was clear he was about to fire the final blast, the biggest in the fireworks display. 'Apparently the kid has been missing since Wednesday evening. Got that?'

  'Hello, Pasquano? Montalbano here. Got any news for me?'

  'A few things. I was about to call you myself.' 'Tell me everything.'

  'The victim hadn't eaten dinner. Or very little, at least, maybe a sandwich. She had a gorgeous body, inside and out. In perfect health, a splendid machine. She hadn't drunk anything or taken any drugs. Death was caused by asphyxiation.'

  Is that it?'

  'No. She'd clearly had sexual intercourse.'

  'Was she raped?'

  'I don't think so. She'd had very rough vaginal intercourse, intense, I suppose you could say. But there was no trace of seminal fluid there. Then she'd had anal intercourse, also very rough, and again no seminal fluid.'

  'But how can you know she wasn't raped?'

  'Quite simple. To prepare for anal penetration an emollient cream was used, probably one of those moisturizing creams women keep in the bathroom. Have you ever heard of a rapist worried about minimizing his victim's pain? No, trust me: the lady consented. And now I have to let you go. I'll give you more details as soon as possible.'

  The inspector had an exceptional photographic memory. Closing his eyes, he put his head in his hands and concentrated. A moment later he could clearly see the little jar of moisturizing cream with the lid lying beside it, the last item on the right-hand side of the messy bathroom's shelf.

  The nameplate next to the intercom outside Via Laporta 8 said only, 'Eng. Aurelio Di Blasi'. He rang, and a woman's voice answered. 'Who is it?'

  Better not put her on her guard. They were probably already on pins and needles. Is Engineer Di Blasi there?' 'No, but he'll be back soon. Who is this?'

  'I'm a friend of Maurizio's. Could I come in?' For a moment he felt like a piece of shit, but it was his job.

  'Top floor,' said the voice.

  The li
ft door was opened by a woman of about sixty, dishevelled and looking very upset.

  'You're a friend of Maurizio's?' the woman asked anxiously.