'Sort of,' replied Montalbano, feeling the shit spill out over his collar. 'Please come in'
She led him into a large, tastefully furnished living room, pointed him towards an armchair, while she herself sat down in a plain chair, rocking her upper body back and forth, silent and desperate. The shutters were dosed, some miserly shafts of light filtering through the slats. Montalbano felt as if he were attending a wake. He even thought the deceased was there, though invisible, and that his name was Maurizio. Scattered on the coffee table were a dozen or so photos that all showed the same face, but in the shadowy room one couldn't make out the features. The inspector heaved a long sigh, the way one does before holding one's breath to go underwater, for he was about to dive into the abyss of sorrow that was the mind of Mrs Di Blasi.
'Have you heard from your son?'
It was clear as day that things were exactly as Fazio had said.
'No. Everyone's been looking for him over land and sea. My husband, his friends ... Everyone.'
She started weeping quietly, tears running down her face, falling onto her skirt.
'Did he have much money on him?'
'Half a million lire, for certain. He also had a card, how's it called? An ATM card.'
'Let me get you a glass of water,' said Montalbano, standing up.
'Please don't bother, I'll get it myself,' the woman said, standing up in turn and leaving the room. In a flash Montalbano seized one of the photos, glanced at it -- a horse-faced kid with expressionless eyes -- and stuck it in his jacket pocket. Apparently Mr Di Blasi had had them made to be passed around. Mrs Di Blasi returned, but instead of sitting back down, she remained standing in the arch of the doorway. She'd become suspicious.
'You're quite a bit older than my son. What did you say your name was?'
'Actually, Maurizio is friends with my younger brother, Giuseppe.'
He'd chosen one of the most common names in Sicily. But the signora's thoughts were already elsewhere. She sat down and resumed rocking back and forth.
'So you've, had no news of him since Wednesday evening?'
'None whatsoever. He didn't come home that night.
He'd never done that before. He's a simple boy, good-hearted. If you tell him dogs can fly, he'll believe you. At some point that morning, my husband got worried and started making phone calls. A friend of his had seen him walking by in the direction of the Bar Italia. It was probably nine in the evening.'
'Did he have a mobile phone?'
'Yes. But who are you, anyway?'
'Well,' the inspector said. 'I think I'll go now.'
He headed quickly for the door, opened it, then turned round.
'When was the last time Michela came here?' Mrs Di Blasi turned red in the face. 'Don't you mention that slut's name to me!' And she slammed the door behind him.
The Bar Italia was practically next door to police headquarters. Everyone, Montalbano included, was family there. The owner was sitting at the cash register. He was a big man with ferocious eyes that contrasted with his innate kind-heartedness. His name was Gelsomino Patti. 'What'11 it be, Inspector?'
'Nothing, Gelso. I need some information. Do you know this Maurizio Di Blasi?' 'Did they find him?' 'Not yet.'
'His dad, poor guy, has come by here at least ten times to ask if there's any news. But what kind of news could there be? If he comes back, he's going to go home, he ain't going to come and sit down at the bar.'
'Listen, Pasquale Corso--'
Inspector, the father told me the same thing, that Maurizio came here round nine that night. But the fact is, he stopped on the street, right here in front, and I seen him real good from the register. He was about to come in, and then he stopped, pulled out his mobile phone, and started talking. A little while later he was gone. On Wednesday evening, he didn't come in here, that much I know for sure. What reason would I have for savin' something that wasn't true?'
'Thanks, Gelso. So long.'
'Chief! Dr Latte called from Montelusa.'
'Lattes, Cat, with an s at the end.'
'Chief, one s more or less don' make no difference. He said as how you should call 'im 'mediately. And then Guito Sarah Valli called after 'im. Left me 'is number in Bolonia. I wrote it on this here piece a paper.'
It was time, to eat, but he could squeeze in one call.
'Hello? Who's this?'
'Inspector Montalbano. I'm calling from Vigata. Are you Mr Guido Serravalle?'
'Yes. Inspector. IVe been trying to reach you all morning, because when I called the Jolly to talk to Michela I found out...'
A warm, mature voice, like a crooner's.
'Are you a relative?'
He'd always found it to be a good tactic to pretend, during an investigation, that he knew nothing about the relationships between the various persons involved.
'No. Actually, I...'
'Friend?'
'Yes, a friend.'
'How much?'
I'm sorry, I don't understand.' 'How much of a friend?'
Guido Serravalle hesitated before answering. Montalbano came to his aid. 'An intimate friend?' 'Well, yes.'
'So, what can I do for you?'
More hesitation. Apparently the inspector's manner was throwing him off.
'Uh, I just wanted to tell you ... to make myself available. I own an antique shop in Bologna that I can close whenever I want. If you need me for anything, 'I'll get on a plane and come down. I wanted ... I was very close to Michela.'
'I understand. If I need you for anything, I'll have someone ring you.'
He hung up. He hated people who made useless phone calls. What could Guido Serravalle tell him that he didn't already know?
He headed out on foot to have lunch at the Trattoria San Calogero, where the fish was always the freshest. All of a sudden he stopped, cursing the saints. He'd forgotten that the trattoria was closed for six days for kitchen renovations. He went back, got in his car, and drove towards Marinella. Just past the bridge, he noticed the house that he now knew belonged to Anna Tropeano. The urge got the better of him and he pulled up, stopped the car and got out.
It was a two-storey house, very well maintained, with a little garden all around. He approached the gate and pressed the button on the intercom.
'Who is it?'
'Inspector Montalbano. Am I disturbing you?' 'No, please come in.'
The gate opened, and at the same time, so did the front door of the house. Anna had changed her clothes and recovered her normal skin tone.
'You know something, Inspector? I was sure I would see you again before the day was over.'
SEVEN
'Were you eating lunch?'
'No, I'm not hungry. And anyway, all alone like this ... Michela used to come and eat here almost every day. She hardly ever had lunch at the hotel'
'May I make a suggestion?'
'Come inside, in the meantime.'
'Would you like to come to my house? It's right here, just a stone's throw away.'
'Maybe your wife doesn't like surprise visitors...' 'I live alone.'
Anna Tropeano didn't have to think twice about it. 'I'll meet you in your car.'
They rode in silence: Montalbano still surprised at having invited her, Anna clearly amazed with herself for having accepted.
Saturday was the day Adelina, the. housekeeper, customarily devoted to a fastidious clean-up.of the whole house. Seeing it so spick and span, Montalbano took comfort. Once on a Saturday he'd invited a married couple over, before Adelina had been. In the end, his friend's wife, just to set the table, had to clear away the mountain of dirty socks and underwear he'd left there for the housekeeper to wash.
As if she were already long familiar with the house, Anna went directly to the veranda, sat down on the bench, and looked out at the sea a short distance away. Montalbano set a folding table and an ashtray in front of her and went into the kitchen. Adelina had left him a large serving of haddock; in the refrigerator he found a sauce of anchovies and vinegar t
o add to it
He went back out on the veranda. Anna was smoking and seemed more and more relaxed with each passing minute.
It's so beautiful here.'
'Listen, would you like a little baked haddock?'
Inspector, please don't be offended, but my stomach's in a knot Let's do this: while you're eating, I'll have a glass of wine.'
Half an hour later, the inspector had gobbled up the "triple serving of haddock and Anna had knocked back two glasses of wine.
'This is really good,' said Anna, refilling her glass.
'My father makes it ... used to make it Would you like some coffee?'
'I won't turn down a coffee.'
Hie inspector opened a can of Yaucono, prepared the napoletona, and put it on the gas burner. He returned to the veranda.
'Please take this bottle away from me or I'll drink the whole thing.' said Anna.
Montalbano complied. The coffee was ready. He served it. Anna drank, savouring it in little sips.
'This is delicious. So strong. Where do you buy it?'
'I don't. A friend sends me a tin now and then from Puerto Rico.'
Anna pushed the cup away and lit her twentieth cigarette.
'What do you have to tell me?' 'There are some new developments.' 'What?'
'Maurizio Di Blasi.'
'You see? I didn't give you his name this morning because I knew you'd find it out with ease. He was the laughing stock of the whole town.'
Tell head over heels for her?'
'Worse. Michela had become an obsession for him. I don't know if anyone told you, but Maurizio isn't right in the head. He's on the borderline between normal and mentally unstable. You know, there were two episodes where...'
'Tell me about them.'
'Once Michela and I went but to eat at a restaurant. A little while later Maurizio arrived He said hi and sat down at the table next to ours. But he ate very little and just stared at Michela the whole time. Then he suddenly started drooling and I nearly threw up. He was really drooling, believe me; he had a string of saliva hanging out of the side of his mouth. We had to leave.' 'And the other episode?'
'I'd gone up to the house to give Michela a hand. At the end of the day, she went to take a shower and afterwards came downstairs into the living room naked. It was very hot. She liked to go around the house with nothing on. Then she sat down in an armchair and we started talking. At a certain point, I heard a kind of moan coming from outside. I turned around to look. There was Maurizio, his face practically pasted against the window. Before I could say a word, he took a few steps back, bending over. And that's when I realized he was masturbating.'
She paused a moment, looked at the sea, and sighed.
'Poor kid,' she said under her breath.
Montalbano, for a moment, felt moved. That astonishing, wholly feminine capacity for deep understanding, for penetrating one's feelings, for being at once mother and lover, daughter and wife. He placed his hand on top of Anna's and she did not pull it away.
'Do you know he's disappeared?'
'Yes, I know. The same night as Michela. But...'
'But?'
Inspector, can I speak to you frankly?' 'Why, what have we been doing up to now? But do me a favour, please call me Salvo' If you call me Anna.' 'OK'
'You know, you're wrong if you think Maurizio could ever have murdered Michela.' 'Give me one good reason.'
'Reason's got nothing to do with it. You know, people don't talk very willingly to the police. But if you, Salvo, were to conduct a poll, all of Vigata would tell you Maurizio's not a murderer.'
'Anna, there's another development I haven't mentioned.'
Anna closed her eyes. She'd intuited that what the inspector was about to tell her would be hard to say and hard to hear.
He told her, without looking her in the face, gazing out at the sea. He didn't spare her any details.
Anna listened with her face in her hands, her elbows on the folding table. When the inspector had finished, she stood up, pale as a ghost.
'I need a bathroom.'
'I'll show you where it is.'
'I can find it myself.'
A few moments later, Montalbano heard her vomiting. He glanced at his watch,' he still had an hour before
Emanuele Licalzi's visit And, anyway, Mr Orthopedist from Bologna could certainly wait
She returned with an air of determination and sat back down beside Montalbano.
'Salvo, what does the word "consent" mean to this pathologist?'
'The same thing it means to you or me: to agree to something.'
'But in certain cases one might appear to consent to something because there's no chance of resistance.' 'I know.'
'So I ask you: couldn't the murderer have done what he did to Michela without her wanting him to?' 'But there are certain details--'
'Forget them. First of all, we don't even know whether the killer abused a living woman or a corpse. Anyway, he had all the time in the world to arrange things in such a way that the police would lose their heads over it'
Neither of them seemed to notice how familiar they'd become with each other.
'You're thinking something but not saying it' said Anna.
'No, I have no problem saying it' said Montalbano. 'At the moment everything points to Maurizio. He was last seen at nine pm. in front of the Bar Italia. Calling someone on his mobile phone.'
'Me,' said Anna.
The inspector literally jumped up from the bench. 'What did he want?'
'He was asking about Michela. I told him we'd parted shortly after seven, and that she would be stopping at the hotel before going to dinner at the Vassallos.'
'And what did he say?'
'He hung up without even saying goodbye.'
'That could be another point against him. He must have phoned the Vassallos next. Not finding her there, he guessed where she might be and caught up with her.'
'At the house.'
'No. They didn't arrive at the house until just after midnight.'
This time it was Anna's turn to jump.
'A witness told me,' Montalbano continued.
'He recognized Maurizio?'
'It was dark. He only saw a man and a woman get out of the Twingo and walk towards the house. Once inside, Maurizio and Michela make love. At a certain point Maurizio, who you say is a bit psycho, has an attack.'
'Never in a million years would Michela--'
'How did your friend react to Maurizio's stalking?'
'It bothered her. Sometimes she felt deeply sorry for...'
She stopped, realizing what Montalbano meant. Suddenly her face lost its freshness, and wrinkles appeared at the corners of her mouth.
'There are, however, a few things that don't make sense' said Montalbano, who suffered seeing her suffer. 'For example: would Maurizio have been capable, immediately after killing her, of coolly conceiving of stealing her clothes and bag to throw the police off the scent?' 'Are you kidding?'
'The real problem isn't finding out the details of the murder, but knowing where Michela was and what she did between the moment you left her and when the witness saw her. That's almost five hours, a pretty long time. And now we have to go because Dr Emanuele Licalzi is coming.'
As they were getting in the car, Montalbano, like a squid, squirted a black cloud over the whole picture.
'I'm not so sure your public opinion poll would be so unanimous on Maurizio's innocence. One person, at least, would have serious doubts.'
'Who?'
'His father, Engineer Di Blasi. Otherwise he would have had us out searching for his son.'
It's natural for you to follow every lead. Oh, I just remembered something. When Maurizio rang me to ask about Michela, I told him to call her directly on her mobile phone. He said he'd already tried, but her phone was turned off.'
In the doorway to headquarters, he practically ran into Galluzzo, who was coming out.'Back from your heroic exploit?' 'Yessir,' Galluzzo said uneasily. Fazio must have
told him about his morning outburst. Is Inspector Augello in his office?' 'No sir.'
Galluzzo's uneasiness visibly increased.
'And where is he? Out clubbing other strikers?'
IM4 The Voice of the Violin (2003) Page 7
