'What I was going to say, well, the boy just said it,' said Franca. 'And, mind you, both Aldo and I have done nothing but talk to him about Livia and you, and how eventually he's going to live with the two of you, and how much you all love each other, and how much more you'll all love each other one day. But there was nothing doing. The idea entered his head without warning one night about a month ago. I was sleeping, and then I felt something touch my arm. It was him.
'"You feel sick?"
'"No."
'"Then what's wrong?" ' "I'm afraid." '"Afraid of what?"
' "That Salvo's going to come and take me away."
'And every now and then, when he's playing, when he's eating, the thought will pop into his head, and he'll turn all gloomy and even start misbehaving.'
Franca kept on talking, but Montalbano was no longer listening. He was lost in a memory from the time he was the same age as Francois, actually one year younger. His grandmother was dying, his mother had fallen gravely ill (though he didn't realize these things until later), and his father, to take better care of them, had taken him to the house of his sister Carmela, who was married to the owner of a chaotic shop, a kind, mild man named Pippo Sciortino. They didn't have any children. Sometime later, his father came back to get him, wearing a black tie and, he remembered very clearly, a broad black band around his left arm. He refused to go.
'I'm not coming. I'm staying with Carmela and Pippo. My name is Sciortino now.'
He could still see the sorrowful look on his father's face, and the embarrassed expressions of Pippo and Carmela.
'... because children aren't just parcels that you can deposit here or there whenever you feel like it,' Franca concluded.
On the way home he took the easier route and was already back in Vigata by nine o'clock. He decided to drop in on Mimi Augello.
'You look better.'
'This afternoon I managed to get some sleep. So, you couldn't pull the wool over Franca's eyes, eh? She called me all worried.'
'She's a very, very intelligent woman.'
'What did she want to talk to you about?'
'Francois. There's a problem.'
'The kid's grown attached to them?'
'How did you know? Did your sister tell you?'
'She hasn't said a thing about it to me. But is it so hard to figure out? I kind of imagined it would turn out this way.'
Montalbano made a dark face.
'I can understand how you might feel hurt' said Mimi, 'but who's to say it's not actually a stroke of luck?' Tor Francois?'
'For Francois, too. But, above all, for you, Salvo. You're not cut out to be a father, not even an adoptive father.'
Just past the bridge, he noticed that the lights were on in Anna's house. He pulled up and got out of the car.
'Who is it?'
'Salvo.'
Anna opened the door and showed him into the dining room. She was watching a movie, but immediately turned off the television.
'Want a little whisky?'
'Sure. Neat'
'You down?'
'A little'
'It's not easy to stomach.' 'No, it's not.'
He thought a moment about what Anna had just said to him: it's not easy to stomach. How on earth did she know about Francois.'
'But, Anna, how did you find out?'
'It was on TV, on the evening report.'
What was she talking about?
'What station?'
'TeleVigata. They said the commissioner had assigned the Licalzi murder case to the captain of the Flying Squad.' Montalbano started laughing.
'You think I give a shit about that? I was talking about something else.'' '
"Then tell me why you're feeling down.' 'I'll tell you another time. I'm sorry.' 'Did you ever meet Michela's husband?' 'Yeah, yesterday afternoon.'
'Did he tell you about his unconsummated marriage?' 'You knew?'
'Yes, Michela had told me about it. She was very fond of him, you know. But in those circumstances, taking a lover wasn't really a betrayal. The doctor knew about it.'
The phone rang in another room. Anna went and answered, then returned in an agitated state.
' 'That was a friend. She heard that about half an hour ago, this captain of the Flying Squad went to the home of Engineer Di Blasi and brought him into Montelusa headquarters. What do they want from him?'
'Simple. They want to know where Maurizio is.'
'So they already suspect him!'
'It's the most obvious thing, Anna. And Captain Ernesto Panzacchi, chief of the Flying Squad, is an utterly obvious man. Well, thanks for the whisky. Goodnight.'
'What, you're going to leave just like that?'
Tm sorry, I'm tired. I'll see you tomorrow.'
A dense, heavy gloom had suddenly come over him.
He opened the door to his home with a kick and ran to answer the telephone.
'What the fuck, Salvo! Some friend!'
He recognized the voice of Nicolo Zito, newsman for the Free Channel, with whom he had a genuine friendship.
Is it true you're no longer on the case? I didn't report it because I wanted to check it with you first. But if it's true, why didn't you tell me?'
'I'm sorry, Nicolo, it happened late last night, and I left the house early this morning. I went to see Francois.'
'Want me to do anything on television?'
'No! that's all right, thanks. Oh, but here's something you don't already know that'll make up for everything. Captain Panzacchi brought Aurelio Di Blasi, the construction engineer from Vigata, into Montelusa headquarters for questioning.'
'Did he kill her?'
'No, the real suspect is his son Maurizio, who disappeared the same night that Mrs Licalzi was killed. He, the kid, was madly in love with her. Oh, and another thing. The victim's husband is in Montelusa at the moment, at the Hotel Jolly.'
'Salvo, if they kick you off the police force, I'll hire you here. Watch the midnight news. And thanks. Really.'
The gloom lifted as Montalbano set down the receiver.
That would fix Captain Ernesto Panzacchi. At midnight all his moves would enter the public domain.
He really didn't feel like eating. He undressed, got into the shower, and stayed there a long time. Emerging, he put on a clean pair of briefs and undershirt. Now came the hard part. 'Livia.'
'Oh, Salvo, I've been waiting so long for your call! How is Francois?'
'He's great. He's grown a lot.'
'Did you notice the progress he's made? Every week, when I call, his Italian gets better and better. He's become so good at making himself understood, don't you think?'
'Even too good.'
Livia paid no attention; she had another pressing question.
'What did Franca want?'
'She wanted to talk to me about Francois.'
'Why, is he too energetic? Disobedient?'
'Livia, that's not the problem. Maybe we made a mistake keeping him so long with Franca and her husband. The boy has grown attached to them. He told me he doesn't want to leave them.'
'He told you himself?'
'Yes, of his own free will.'
'Of his own free will! You're such an idiot!'
'Why?'
'Because they told him to say that to you! They want to take him away from us! They need free labour for their farm, the rascals!'
'Livia, you're talking nonsense.'
'No, it's true, I tell you! They want to keep him for themselves! And you're happy to turn him over to them!' 'Livia, try to be rational.'
'Oh, I'm rational, all right, I'm very rational! And I'll show you and those two kidnappers just how rational I am!'
She hung up. Without putting on any additional clothing, the inspector went and sat out on the veranda, lit a cigarette, and finally gave free rein to his melancholy. Francois, by now, was a lost cause, despite the fact that Franca was leaving the decision up to Livia and him. The truth of the matter, plain and unvarnished, was what Mimi's sister had sa
id to him: children aren't parcels that you can deposit here or there whenever you feel like it. You can't not take their feelings into account. Rapisardi, the lawyer who was following the adoption proceedings for the inspector, had told him it would take another six months at least. And that would give Francois all the time in the world to put down roots at the Gagliardo home. Livia was crazy if she thought Franca could ever put words in the child's mouth. He, Montalbano, had got a good look at Francois's expression when he ran up to embrace him. He remembered those eyes well now: there was fear in them, and childish hatred. Besides, he could understand how the kid felt. He'd already lost his mother and was afraid to lose his new family. In the end, he and Livia had spent very little time with the boy; their images hadn't taken long to fade in his mind. Montalbano felt that he would never, ever have the courage to inflict another trauma on Francois. He had no right. Nor did Livia. The kid was lost to them for ever. For his part, he would consent to the child's remaining with Aldo and Franca, who were happy to adopt him. But now he felt cold, so he got up and went inside.
'Were you sleeping, Chief? Fazio here. I wanted to inform you that we held a meeting this afternoon. And we wrote a letter of protest to the commissioner. Everybody signed it, starting with Inspector Augello. Let me read it to you: "We the undersigned, as members of Central Police Headquarters of Vigata, deplore--'" 'Wait. Did you send it?'
'Yes, Chief.'
'What a bunch of fucking idiots! You could at least have let me know before sending it!'
'Why? Before or after, what's the difference?'
'I would have talked you out of making such a stupid move!'
He cut off the connection, enraged.
It took him a while to fall asleep. Then an hour later he woke up, turned on the light, and sat up in bed. Something like a flash had made him open his eyes. During his visit to the crime scene with Dr Licalzi, something -- a word, a sound -- had seemed, well, dissonant. What was it? He lashed out at himself. 'What the fuck do you care? The case isn't yours any more.'
He turned off the light and lay back down.
'And neither is Francois,' he added bitterly.
TEN
The next morning, at headquarters, the staff was almost at full strength: Augello, Fazio, Germana, Gallo, Galluzzo, Giallombardo, Tortorella and Grasso. The only one missing was Catarella, who had a legitimate excuse for his absence, attending the first class in his computer training course. Everyone was wearing a long face fit for the Day of the Dead, avoiding Montalbano as if he were contagious, not looking him in the eye. They'd been doubly offended: first by the commissioner, who'd taken the investigation away from their chief just to spite him, and, second, by their chief himself, who had reacted meanly to their letter of protest to the commissioner. Not only had he not thanked them -- what can you do, the inspector was just that way -- but he had called them a bunch of fucking idiots, and Fazio had told them this.
All present, therefore, but all bored to death, because, except for the Licalzi homicide, it had been two months since anything substantial had happened. For example, the Cuffaro and Sinagra families, two criminal gangs perpetually engaged in a turf war who were in the custom of leaving behind, with near-perfect regularity, one corpse per month (one month a Cuffaro, the next month a Sinagra), seemed to have lost their enthusiasm a while back. Such indeed had been the case ever since Giosue Cuffaro, after being arrested and having suddenly repented of his crimes, had helped lock up Peppuccio Sinagra, who, after being arrested and having suddenly repented of his crimes, had helped put away Antonio Smecca, a cousin of the Cuffaros, who, after suddenly repenting of his crimes, had pulled the plug on Cicco Lo Carmine, of the Sinagra gang, who.
The only noise to be heard in Vigata had been made the previous month, at the San Gerlando festival, by the firework display.
'The number-one bosses are all in jaili' Commissioner Bonetri-Alderighi had triumphantly exclaimed at a jam-packed press conference.
And the five star bosses are still in place, the inspector had thought.
That morning Grasso, who had taken Catarella's place at the switchboard, was doing crossword puzzles, Gallo and Galluzzo were testing each other's mettle at the card game of scopa, Giallombardo and Tortorella were engrossed in a game of draughts, and the others were either reading or contemplating the wall. The place, in short, was buzzing with activity.
On his desk Montalbano found a mountain of papers to be signed and various other matters to be dealt with. Subde revenge on the part of his men?
The bomb, unexpectedly, exploded at one, when the inspector, his right arm stiffening, was considering going out to eat.
'Chief, there's a lady, Anna Tropeano, asking for you. She seems upset,' said Grasso.
'Salvo! My God! On the TV news headlines they said Maurizio's been killed!'
As there weren't any television sets at the police station, Montalbano shot out of his office, on his way down to the Bar Italia.
Fazio intercepted him.
'Chief, what's happening?'
'They killed Maurizio Di Blasi.'
Gelsomino, the owner of the bar, along with two clients, were staring open-mouthed at the television screen, where a TeleVigata reporter was talking about the incident.
'... and during this night-long interrogation of the engineer Aurelio Di Blasi, Ernesto Panzacchi, captain of the Flying Squad, surmised that Di Blasi's son, Maurizio, a prime suspect in the Michela Licalzi murder case, might be hiding out at a country house belonging to the Di Blasi family in the Raffadali area. The father, however, maintained that his son had not taken refuge there, since he'd gone there himself to look for him the previous day. At ten o'clock this niorning, Captain Panzacchi went to Raffadali with six other police officers and began a detailed search of the house, which is rather large. Suddenly one of the policemen spotted a man running along one of the slopes of the barren hill that stands almost directly behind the house. Giving chase, Captain Panzacchi and his men found the cave into which young Di Blasi had fled. After properly positioning his men outside, Captain Panzacchi ordered the suspect to come out with his hands up. Suddenly, Di Blasi came forward shouting, "Punish me! Punish me!" and brandishing a weapon in a threatening manner. One of the police officers immediately opened fire and young Maurizio Di Blasi fell to the ground, killed by a burst of automatic-weapons fire to the chest. The young man's almost Dostoyevskian entreaty of "punish me" was tantamount to a confession. Meanwhile, Aurelio Di Blasi, the father, has been enjoined to appoint himself a defence lawyer. He is expected to be charged with complicity in his son's escape, which came to such a tragic end'
When a photo of the poor kid's horsey face appeared on the screen, Montalbano left the bar and returned to headquarters.
If the commissioner hadn't taken the case away from you, that poor wretch would surely still be alive!' Mimi shouted angrily.
Saying nothing, Montalbano went into his office and closed the door. There was a contradiction, big as a house, in the newsman's account. If Maurizio Di Blasi had wanted to be punished, and if he was so eager for this punishment, why was he threatening the policemen with a weapon? An armed man aiming a pistol at the people who want to arrest him doesn't want to be punished, he's trying to avoid being arrested, to escape.
It's Fazio. Can I come in, Chief?'
To his amazement, the inspector saw Augello, Germana, Gallo, Galluzzo, Giallombardo, Tortorella and even Grasso, enter behind Fazio.
Tazio just talked to a friend of his on the Montelusa Flying Squad,' said Miml Augello. Then he gestured to Fazio to continue.
'You know what he said the weapon was the kid threatened Panzacchi and his men with?'
'No.'
'A shoe. His right shoe. Before he fell, he managed to throw it at Panzacchi.'
'Anna? Montalbano here.'
'It couldn't have been him, Salvo! I'm sure of it! It's all a tragic mistake! You must do something!'
'Listen, that's not why I called. Do you know Mrs Di Blasi?'
/>
'Yes. We've spoken a few times.'
'Go and see her at once. I'm very worried. I don't want, her left alone with her husband in jail and her son just killed.'
I'll go right away.'
'Chief, can I tell you something? That friend of mine from the Frying Squad just called back.'
IM4 The Voice of the Violin (2003) Page 10
