IM4 The Voice of the Violin (2003)

by Andrea Camilleri

  'Perfectly.'

  'Think your brother-in-law'd be willing to help us?' Gallo started laughing.

  'Chief, for you, the guy would go on TV and say the moon is made out of Swiss cheese. Don't you know he's just dying of envy?'

  'Who does he envy?'

  'Nicolo Zito, that's who. Says you make special considerations for Zito.'

  It's true. Last night Zito did me a favour and now he's in trouble.'

  'And now you want the same to happen to my brother-in-law?'

  If he's game.'

  Tell me what you want from him, it's no problem.' 'All right, you tell him what he's supposed to do. Here, take this. It's a photograph of Michela Licalzi' 'Man, what a beauty!'

  'Now, your brother-in-law must have a photo of Maurizio Di Blasi somewhere in the studio. I think I saw them broadcast one when they reported his death. I want him to show both photos, one next to the other, on the one p.m. news, and on the evening report. I want him to say that since there's a five-hour gap between when she left her friend at seven thirty on Wednesday night and when she was seen going into her house with a man shortly after midnight, your brother-in-law would like to know if anyone has any information on the movements of Michela Licalzi during that period. Better yet, if anyone saw her during that period in the company of Maurizio, and where. Is that dear?'

  'Clear as day'

  'You, from this moment on, will bivouac at Tele-Vigata.'

  'What do you mean?'

  'I mean you'll be there all the time, as if you were an editor. As soon as somebody comes forward with information, you show him in and talk to him. Then you report back to me.'

  'Salvo? It's Nicolo. I'm going to have to disturb you again.' 'Any news? Did they send the carabinieri for you?' Apparendy Nicolo was in no mood for jokes. 'Can you come to the studio immediately?'

  Montalbano was stunned to find Orazio Guttadauro, the controversial defence lawyer, legal counsel to every mafioso in the province and even outside the province, at the Free Channel studios.

  Well, if it isn't Inspector Montalbano, what a lovely sight!' said the lawyer as soon as he saw him come in. Nicolo looked a tad uncomfortable.

  The inspector eyed the newsman enquiringly. Why had he summoned him there with Guttadauro? Zito responded verbally, 'Mr Guttadauro was the gentleman who phoned yesterday, the one who was hunting.'

  'Ah,' said the inspector. With Guttadauro, the less one spoke, the better. He was not the kind of man one would want to break bread with.

  'The words that the distinguished journalist here present,' began the lawyer in the same tone of voice he employed in court, 'used to describe me on television made me feel like a worm!'

  'Good God, what did I say?' asked Nicolo, concerned.

  'You used these exact words, and I quote: "unknown hunter" and "anonymous caller".'

  'What's so offensive about that? There's the Unknown Soldier..

  '...and the Anonymous Venetian' Montalbano chimed in, beginning to enjoy himself.

  'What? What?' The lawyer went on as if he hadn't heard them, 'Orazio Guttadauro, implicitly accused of cowardice? I couldn't bear it, and so, here I am.'

  'But why did you come to us? It was your duty to go to Captain Panzacchi in Montelusa and tell him--'

  'Are we kidding ourselves, boys? Panzacchi was twenty yards away from me and told a completely different story! Given the choice between me and him, people will believe him! Do you know how many of my clients, upright citizens all, have been implicated and charged on the basis of the lying words of a policeman or carabiniere? Hundreds!'

  'Excuse me, sir, but in what way is your version different from Captain Panzacchi's?' asked Zito, finally giving in to curiosity.

  'In one detail, my good man.'

  'Which?'

  "Young Di Blasi was unarmed.'

  'No, no, I don't believe it. Are you trying to tell us that the Flying Squad shot him down in cold blood, for the sheer pleasure of killing a man?'

  'I said simply that Di Blasi was unarmed. The others, however, thought he was armed since he did have something in his hand It was a terrible misunderstanding.'

  'What did he have in his hand?' Nicolo Zito's voice had risen in pitch.

  'One of his shoes, my friend'

  While the journalist was collapsing into his chair, the lawyer continued,

  'I feel it is my duty to make this fact known to the public I believe that my solemn civic duty requires...'

  Montalbano began to understand Guttadauro's game. Since it wasn't a Mafia killing, and he wouldn't, by testifying, be harming any of his clients, he had a perfect opportunity to publicize himself as a model citizen and at the same time stick it to the police.

  'I'd also seen him the previous day,' the lawyer said

  'Who?' Zito and Montalbano asked together, both lost in thought until that moment.

  'The Di Blasi kid who else? The hunting's good in that area. I saw him from a distance, I didn't have binoculars. He was limping. Then he went inside the mouth of the cave, sat down in the sun, and began eating.'

  'Wait a minute,' said Zito. 'Are you saying the man was hiding there and not at his own house, which was a stone's throw away?'

  'What do you want me to say, my dear Zito? The day before that, when passing in front of the Di Blasi house, I saw that the front door was bolted with a padlock the size of a trunk. I am positive that at no point did he hide out at his house. Maybe he didn't want to compromise his family'

  Montalbano was convinced of two things: the lawyer was prepared to belie the assertions of the Flying Squad captain even as concerned the young man's hideout, which meant that the charge against the father would have to be dropped, with grave prejudice to Panzacchi. As for the second thing, he needed confirmation.

  'Would you tell me something, sir?'

  'At your orders, Inspector'

  'Are you always out hunting? Aren't you ever in court?'

  Guttadauro smiled at him. Montalbano smiled back. They had understood each other. In all likelihood, the lawyer had never gone hunting in his life. Those who'd seen the incident and sent him on this mission must have been friends of the people Guttadauro called his clients. And the objective was to create a scandal for the Montelusa police department. The inspector had to play shrewdly; he didn't like having these people as allies.

  'Was it Mr Guttadauro who told you to call me?' the inspector asked Nicolo.

  'Yes.'

  Therefore they knew everything. They were aware he'd been wronged, they imagined he was determined to avenge himself, and they were ready to use him.

  'You, sir, must certainly have heard that I am no longer in charge of the case, which in any event should be considered closed'

  'Yes, but--'

  'There are no buts, sir. If you really want to do your duty as a citizen, go to Judge Tommaseo and tell him your version of the events. Good day.'

  He turned around and walked out. Nicolo came running after him and grabbed him by the arm.

  'You knew! You knew about the shoe! That's why you told me to ask Panzacchi what the weapon was!'

  'Yeah, Nicolo, I knew. But I advise you not to mention it on your news programme. There's no proof that things went the way Guttadauro says, even though it's probably the truth. Be very careful'

  'But you yourself are telling me it's the truth!'

  Try to understand, Nicolo. I'd be willing to bet that our good lawyer doesn't even know where the fuck the cave that Maurizio hid in is located. He's a puppet, and his strings are pulled by the Mafia. His friends found something out and decided they could take advantage of it. They cast a net into the sea and they're hoping to catch Panzacchi, the commissioner and Judge Tommaseo in it. That would make some pretty big waves. However, to haul the net back into the boat, they need somebody strong, that is, me, who they think is blinded by the desire for revenge. Now do you get the picture?'

  Yes. What line should I take with the lawyer?'

  'Repeat the same things I said
Let him go and tell it to the judge. He'll refuse, you'll see. But it's you who will repeat to Tommaseo, word for word, what Guttadauro said If he's not a fool, and he's not, he'll realize that he, too, is in danger.'

  'But he had nothing to do with the killing of Di Blasi.'

  'But he signed the indictment against his father. And those guys are prepared to testify that Maurizio never hid in his father's house at Raffadali. Tommaseo, if he wants to save his arse, has to disarm Guttadauro and his friends.'

  'How?'

  'How should I know?'

  Since he was in Montelusa anyway, the inspector decided to go to Montelusa Central Police Station, hoping not to run into Panzacchi. Once there, he headed immediately to the basement, where forensics was located He walked straight into the office of the chief. 'Hello, Arqua.'

  'Hello,' the other said, iceberg-cold 'What can I do for you?'

  'I was just passing by, and I became curious about something.'

  'I'm very busy.'

  'Of course you are, but I'll only steal a minute of your time. I want some information about the grenade Di Blasi tried to throw at those police officers.'

  Arqua didn't move a muscle.

  'I'm not required to tell you anything.'

  How could he be so self-controlled?

  'Come on, colleague, be a sport. I need only three things: colour, size and make.'

  Arqua looked sincerely baffled. His eyes were clearly asking whether Montalbano hadn't gone completely mad.

  'What the hell are you saying?'

  'Let me help you. Black? Brown? Forty-three? Forty-four? Moccasin? Superga? Varese?'

  'Calm down,' said Arqui, though there was no need. He was sticking to the rule that one should try to humour madmen.'Come with me.'

  Montalbano followed behind him. They entered a room with a big, white half-moon table around which stood three busy men in white smocks.

  'Caruana,' Arqua said to one of the three men, 'show our colleague Montalbano the grenade.'

  As this man was opening a metal cabinet, Arqua continued talking.

  It's dismantled now, but when they brought it here it was live and dangerous.'

  He took the plastic bag that Caruana held out to him, and showed it to the inspector.

  'An old OTO, issued to our army in 1940.'

  Montalbano was unable to speak. He studied the pieces of the grenade as if looking at the fragments of a Ming vase that had just fallen to the floor.

  'Did you take fingerprints?'

  'They were very blurry for the most part, but two of Maurizio Di Blast's came out very clearly, the thumb and index finger of the right hand.'

  Arqua set the bag on the table, put his hand on Montalbano's shoulder, and pushed him out into the corridor.

  I'm sorry, it's all my fault. I had no idea the commissioner would take you off the case.'

  He was attributing what he thought was a momentary lapse of Montalbano's mental abilities to the shock of his removal A good kid, deep down, Dr Arqua.

  The chief of the crime lab had undoubtedly been sincere, Montalbano thought as he drove down to Vigata. He couldn't possibly be that brilliant an actor. But how can one throw a hand grenade gripping it only with the thumb and index finger? The best thing that might happen if you threw it that way is that you'd blow your balls to bits. Arqua should have been able to get a print of much of the right palm as well Given all this, where had the Flying Squad performed the feat of taking two of the already dead Maurizio's fingers and pressing them by force against the grenade? No sooner had he posed the question, than he turned around and headed back to Montelusa.

  TWELVE

  'What do you want?' asked Pasquano as soon as he saw him enter his office.

  'I need to appeal to our friendship' Montalbano began.

  'Friendship? You and I are friends? Do we ever dine together? Do we confide in each other?'

  Dr Pasquano was like that, and the inspector didn't feel the least bit upset by his words. It was merely a matter of finding the right formula.

  'Well, if not friendship, then mutual esteem.'

  'That, yes.'

  He'd guessed right. It would be smooth sailing from here.

  'Doctor, what other tests do you have to run on Michela Licalzi? Are there any new developments?'

  'New developments? I told the judge and the commissioner long ago that as far as I was concerned, we could turn the body over to the husband.'

  'Oh, really? Because, see, the husband himself told me he got a call from the commissioner's office saying that the funeral couldn't be held until Friday morning.'

  'That's their goddamn business.'

  'Excuse me, Doctor, for taking advantage of your patience. Was everything normal with the body of MaurizioDi Blasi?'

  'What do you mean?'

  'Well, how did he die?'

  'What a stupid question. A burst of machine-gun fire. They practically cut him in two. They could've made a bust of him and put it on a column.'

  'And the right foot?'

  Dr Pasquano narrowed his beady eyes.

  'Why are you asking me about the right foot?'

  'Because I don't find the left one very interesting.'

  'Right. He hurt himself, a sprain or something, couldn't get his shoe back on. But he'd hurt himself a few days before he was killed His face was all swollen from some kind of blow.'

  Montalbano gave a start.

  'Had he been beaten?'

  'I don't know. He was either hit hard in the face with a stick or club or ran into something. But it wasn't the policemen. The contusion dated from some time before that.'

  'From when he hurt his foot?' 'More or less, I suppose.'

  Montalbano stood up and held out his hand to the doctor.

  'Thank you. I'll be on my way. One last tiling. Did they inform you immediately?'

  Inform me of what?'

  'Of the fact they'd shot Di Blasi.' Dr Pasquano squinted his eyes so far that he looked as if he'd suddenly fallen asleep. He didn't answer immediately.

  'Do you dream these things up at night? Do the crows whisper them in your ear? Do you talk to ghosts? No, they shot the kid at six in the morning. They didn't inform me until around ten. Said they wanted to finish searching the house first,'

  'One final question.'

  With all your final questions, you're going to keep me here till nightfall'

  'After they turned Di Blasi's body over to you, did anyone from the Flying Squad ask for your permission to examine it alone?'

  Dr Pasquano looked surprised.

  'No. Why would they do that?'

  Montalbano returned to the Free Channel. He had to bring Nicolo Zito up to date on the latest developments. He was sure Guttadauro the lawyer would be gone by now.

  'Why'd you come back?'

  'Tell you in a second, Nicolo. How'd it go with the lawyer?'

  'I did what you told me to do. I suggested he go and talk to the judge. He said he'd think about it. Then he added something curious, that had nothing to do with anything. Or so it seemed. You never know with these people. He said, "Lucky you, who live among images! Nowadays only images matter, not words." That's what he said. What's it mean?'

  'I don't know. You know, Nicolo, they've got the grenade.'

  'God! So what Guttadauro told us is untrue!'

  'No, it's true. Panzacchi's a shrewd one, he's covered himself very cleverly. The crime lab's examining a grenade that Panzacchi gave them, and it's got Di Blasi's fingerprints on it'

  'Jesus, what a mess! Panzacchi's covered himself from every angle! What am I going to tell Tommaseo?'

  'Exactly what we agreed on. Except you shouldn't appear too sceptical about the existence of the grenade. Understood?'

  To get to Vigata from Montelusa there was, aside from the usual route, a little abandoned road the inspector was very fond of. He turned onto it, and when he'd reached a small bridge spanning a torrent that had ceased being a torrent centuries ago and was now merely a depression of
stones and pebbles, he stopped the car, got out, and wended his way into a thicket at the centre of which stood a gigantic Saracen olive tree, one of those twisted, gnarled ones that creep along the ground like snakes before ascending to the sky. He sat down on a branch, lit a cigarette, and started meditating on the events of the morning.