‘And what’s that?’
‘She said that her father didn’t always make his bed. He would simply pull up the sheet or the blanket and then would leave it that way until the housekeeper came the next day. So it’s not certain that the blonde hair was from the night between Saturday and Sunday.’
‘That seems to make sense.’
‘Right. However, despite Giovanna’s observation, one thing remains certain. That whoever killed him with poison at six in the morning is the same person who spent the night with him, I don’t care if she’s blonde or raven-haired. They drank their morning coffee together, after they got up.’
‘But do you really believe that the person who poisoned him was the one who wrote the letters – who, don’t forget, would be not only his long-time lover but also the mother of his child?’
‘Yes. And I’ll explain. You yourself were wondering why Barletta, though madly in love with Alina, would spend the night with another woman. There is only one possible answer to this question: it wasn’t just any woman, but her, the one with whom he’d had a long, authentically passionate relationship until he met Alina.’
‘So what do you think happened?’
‘Here’s my theory. The old mistress discovers that Barletta has flipped irretrievably for Alina. This is tragic news to her, since up to then Barletta had only had brief affairs. But, mind you, she has always been jealous of these affairs, and she even repays him in kind, as she says in one letter. Are you with me so far?’
‘I’m with you.’
‘This time, however, it’s not some passing fancy we’re talking about, but love, infatuation, senile dementia, call it what you will. The unknown woman’s jealousy must have become unbearable, blinding. She says and does what she needs to do to get Barletta to allow her to come to his house on Saturday night. And she probably cries and despairs, but Barletta won’t budge.’
‘There’s an inconsistency here, Salvo. If Barletta didn’t want to have anything more to do with her, how is it she ends up in bed with him?’
‘Because it’s inevitable. Don’t forget what she wrote, though in different words. As soon as their bodies come into contact with each other, their passions are triggered. And they overpower everything else. That’s what happened that night. But it’s meaningless. The unknown woman knows that she’ll have to leave the following morning, there are no two ways about it. She’s brought her poison along with her, in case she should fail to change his mind. And she did fail, so she uses it. Make sense to you?’
‘Makes sense to me,’ said Mimì Augello. ‘But what kind of poison was it?’
‘Pasquano told me. It’s a poison that paralyses. Wait a second.’
He dug around in all his pockets but didn’t find the scrap of paper with the name the doctor had given him. The only hope was to ring Pasquano. He turned on the speakerphone.
‘What’s your latest excuse for bothering me?’ asked an angry Pasquano.
‘I’m sorry, Doctor, but I lost the piece of paper I wrote the name of that poison on.’
‘Can’t you see you’re getting more senile with each day that goes by? Let’s call it curanine. It’s a by-product of curare. Haven’t you ever read any adventure stories about the savages in the Amazon rainforest?’
‘Yes, but why did you say “let’s call it”?’
‘Because though it is derived from curare – which, as I’m sure you don’t know, paralyses nerve endings – it’s in very high concentration and can affect the respiratory system if ingested.’
‘Why? Does curare have no effect when ingested?’
‘No. You can drink a whole glass of it. But if you’re pricked with it – something I hope happens to you soon – you’re a goner. And on that note, I wish you a pleasant evening,’ he concluded, and then hung up.
‘You forgot to ask him something,’ said Mimì. ‘Whether it’s easy to find.’
‘I’d already asked him. He said it’s used in hospitals for treating things like rabies and epilepsy . . .’
All of a sudden he started laughing. Augello looked at him, perplexed.
‘What’s up with you?’
‘It’s just that Arturo, by shooting his father, must have sent the real killer’s plans up in smoke. She used a special poison that leaves no outward signs. It’s quite possible she was counting on the fact that the doctor who eventually declared him dead would attribute it to natural causes. And so nobody would ever have known that he was murdered. But then along comes Arturo and, not knowing he’s already dead, he shoots him, thereby making a post-mortem necessary. With the result that the coroner discovers cyanurine or whatever it’s called in the body. And the killer, who was hoping to remain in the shadows, is screwed.’
‘She won’t be screwed till we catch her,’ said Mimì. And he continued: ‘In conclusion, all we can do is hope Fazio comes through.’
‘There may be another way.’
‘How?’
‘For me to talk to Giovanna. It’s possible the unknown woman was a childhood friend of hers. It’s possible they remained friends and still see each other.’
‘So why don’t you talk to her?’
‘Mimì, does this seem like the right moment to you? The very day we’ve arrested her brother? It’s true she herself didn’t refrain from casting suspicion on Arturo, but, come on . . .’
‘I’d do it anyway . . .’ said Augello, going out.
*
The inspector sat there for a few minutes, thinking, weighing the pros and cons, then decided to take Mimì’s advice. It was half-past four. He dialled the number. She answered.
‘Montalbano here. How are you?’
‘How do you expect? How would you be if this . . . this terrible thing happened to you? My father murdered by my brother, his son! No . . . I really didn’t think Arturo could ever do such a thing!’
‘Listen, Giovanna, I realize it’s not the best time to call, but—’
‘Why? Do you mean because Arturo was arrested?’
‘Well, yes.’
‘You were only doing your job. Why did you call?’
‘Are you busy at the moment?’
‘Not at all. I sent the children to their grandparents’ house for lunch, and my husband is out. I just wanted to be alone. What is it?’
‘I need to talk to you.’
She seemed to hesitate ever so slightly. ‘Then come.’
‘Thank you. Please give me the address.’ He’d just hung up when the phone rang.
Ahh, Chief! ’Ere’d be yer lady goilfrenn’ onna line ’oo wants a talk t’yiz poissonally in poisson!’
Livia was calling him at the office at this hour?
‘Did you see Mario? I called in case you haven’t gone yet . . .’
Damn! He’d forgotten yet again! And he didn’t know if he would find the time to go. The only way out was to lie. ‘Come on, I promised you I’d go! Is that how you think of me? As someone who doesn’t keep his word?’
‘All right then, I’m sorry. How was he?’
‘Just fine. He’s completely recovered. And he sends you his warmest regards.’
Some ten minutes later he was able to leave for Giovanna’s.
*
When he saw her he felt uneasy. She wasn’t the same Giovanna as last time. She was dishevelled and hadn’t made herself up, and she had dark circles under her eyes and lines on both sides of her unsmiling lips. It was clear that the sort of Greek tragedy that had occurred in her family had left its mark on her.
‘It’s been a terrible day,’ she said as she was showing the inspector into the living room. ‘These journalists are a plague! They’re vultures, hyenas! They won’t stop calling! They won’t even let me catch my breath! They’re running me into the ground!’
‘And now it’s my turn,’ said Montalbano.
‘No, you’re different,’ said Giovanna, with no hint of a smile.
She sat down in an armchair opposite him.
‘I’ll try my best to
bother you as little as possible,’ the inspector began.
He took the unknown woman’s letters out of his jacket pocket.
‘These letters were found in a secret drawer of your father’s desk. I want you to look at them.’
‘I’ve already seen them,’ she said.
Montalbano was astonished. ‘When?’
‘That evening I came to the police station, remember? You had them on your desk. Actually, one of them fell to the floor and—’
‘But did you have a chance to read them?’
‘No.’
‘Can I ask you to do so now?’
‘All right. Would you like some whisky?’
‘Yes, thanks.’
She read as he drank. At a certain point large tears started rolling down her face. She wept in silence.
‘If it’s too painful for you . . .’
She shook her head. When she’d finished, she put the letters down on the coffee table and stood up.
‘Excuse me just a minute.’
She returned several minutes later, having washed her face and combed her hair.
‘Do you feel up to talking?’
‘Yes.’
‘What do you think?’
‘That that was the only woman who truly loved Papa.’
‘Any ideas?’
‘Who she might be? No, none whatsoever. Anyway, how could I?’
‘Well, that’s just it, you see. Since the woman, in one letter, remembers your father taking her to the circus when she was still a little girl, I thought maybe you might have known her when you were a child.’
‘Wait . . . I do remember a time . . . when Papa took me to the circus too. I was . . . yes, I was four years old. Now that you’ve got me thinking about it . . .’
She trailed off, and a line appeared in the middle of her forehead.
‘Yes, there was another girl, the same age as me, but I can’t seem to . . .’
‘Please try to remember. We really need to know.’
‘Why?’
‘Because I’m convinced that this little girl, after she grew up and became your father’s mistress, is the one who poisoned him.’
‘Why would she have done that if she loved him so much?’
‘You just said it yourself: because she loved him, and she couldn’t stand the idea that your father—’
‘Fell head over heels for a twenty-year-old. I get it.’
Something didn’t quite add up for Montalbano.
‘Who told you your father fell head over heels for a young girl?’
She answered without hesitation.
‘My father’s lawyer told me when I talked to him on the phone. Listen, I’m sorry I can’t help you with this, but—’
‘Wait, just one minute more. I’ve ordered Fazio, whom you’ve met, to draw up a list of your father’s friends, the ones who used to come to see him at home. If you could give me a few names, that would save us some time.’
‘I’d be glad to. The first names that come to mind are Piscopo the notary, Di Stefano the lawyer, and Lamantia the engineer. But . . .’
‘But?’
‘Piscopo never married, Di Stefano has two sons, and only Lamantia has a daughter my age. Her name is Anna. Listen . . .’
‘Yes?’
‘Can I keep these letters? I would like to look at them more closely. They might help jog my memory . . .’
‘All right, but . . .’
‘Don’t worry, I’ll give them back.’
As he was leaving Giovanna’s apartment, he sensed that the investigation had finally arrived at something concrete. And he also felt, for no apparent reason, that he had no time to waste. He had his mobile phone in his pocket and used it to call Fazio.
‘See you in twenty minutes, at the office.’
*
‘What is it, Chief?’
‘Did you find out who Barletta’s close friends—’
‘Chief, there was nothing to find out. Arturo had already listed them for Tommaseo. Piscopo, Di Stefano, Fallace, Lamantia – who he said was his sister Giovanna’s lover.’
‘Right, Lamantia. He has a daughter named Anna who—’
‘Lamantia is the very person I started with.’
‘Were you able to find out anything about this Anna?’
‘Yeah, Chief. She’s gravely ill and has been in a Palermo clinic for almost a month.’
Montalbano was crestfallen. Yet another lead gone to the dogs.
Then why had Giovanna mentioned her name to him?
*
On his way back to Marinella, he stopped the car at the beginning of the path that led up to the tramp’s cave, got out, and began climbing. But the man wasn’t there; apparently he wasn’t back yet. So if he’d gone out, it meant he felt all right. The lie Montalbano had told Livia tallied with the truth. With his heart at peace, he went back to the car, turned it around, and went home. Naturally, as he was unlocking the door, he heard the phone ringing.
‘Hi, Salvo, it’s Mimì.’
‘What is it?’
‘We just got a call from Tommaseo’s office. Arturo has confessed. It all happened the way you thought it did. He knew that the notary was coming to the house that morning to change the will, because Barletta – who was also a sadist on top of everything else – had told him. Or, actually, it wasn’t to change the will, but to make a final version of the draft that Barletta had already prepared.’
‘He’d prepared a draft?’
‘That’s what he said. And so he wanted to prevent him. He got there at a quarter to seven, unlocked the door with his own key, saw his father sitting in the kitchen drinking his morning coffee, and shot him. Then he started looking for the draft of the new will. But he couldn’t find it. We couldn’t find it either, for that matter. And that’s the story. Ah, I almost forgot: Arturo had buried the gun, and so a team went to dig it up.’
*
He hardly touched the food Adelina had cooked for him. He sat out on the veranda, smoking and thinking, feeling quite uneasy. Deep inside he felt he’d missed something in the overall picture, some detail that merited greater attention. But what? And at what moment of the investigation?
He felt like drinking a little whisky, but wouldn’t allow himself. His head had to remain clear.
All at once, and without knowing why, something Augello had said to him on the phone came back to him – namely, that Arturo had known about the change in the will because his father himself had told him, out of sheer sadism. And he must have also told him the reason for the change: that he’d fallen in love with a twenty-year-old girl. His sister Giovanna, on the other hand, based on what she’d told him, only knew about her father’s affair with the girl because the lawyer, Alfano, had just told her that same day. And in so saying she implied that she’d been in the dark about both the change in the will and the reason for the change.
But this was the very thing that didn’t make sense! Even assuming that Giovanna hadn’t known the reason, she couldn’t not have known about the change. How could her father have communicated it to Arturo without also telling his daughter, with whom he was on closer terms?
And even if he didn’t tell her, how was it possible Arturo wouldn’t have told her of their father’s intentions? And it was Giovanna herself, the first time the inspector had seen her, who told him that Arturo feared this exact scenario! Therefore her brother would have immediately called her up and said something to the effect of ‘You see? I was right!’
No, he was absolutely certain that Giovanna, too, was aware of the situation. And therefore, if she knew, how was it possible she hadn’t talked about it with her father, in the hope of making him change his mind?
OK, but so what? So she talked to him about it and he remained firm in his intentions.
He was going round in circles. It was best to banish Giovanna from his thoughts and go back to thinking about the unknown woman’s letters.
EIGHTEEN
But at that moment the te
lephone rang. It was Livia, calling to say good night. She asked him how the investigation was going, and he told her that Arturo had confessed.
‘What a relief!’
‘Why?’
‘Because now you’ll have no more reason to meet with that woman, who’s in the habit of saying goodbye a little too affectionately.’
He didn’t tell her he’d actually gone out to dinner with her and was still meeting with her, though she was no longer in the habit of kissing him. After a brief chat they said good night, miraculously without having quarrelled.
When he sat back down on the veranda, he remembered the scene when Livia slapped him. He started laughing, but suddenly stopped.
Just one second, Montalbà! Hold it right there!
You can’t just shut Giovanna out of your thoughts! In fact, let’s backtrack a little.
Why had Giovanna been so insistent about going back to her father’s house?
She’d pulled out that story of wanting to recover the diamond ring before the house was reopened . . .
Maybe the best thing was to try to remember everything they did when they were there. So, he removed the seals, she unlocked the door, they went inside, the light switch didn’t work, she opened the shutters to one window, they went upstairs, she went into the bathroom and opened the shutter, and she realized the ring wasn’t on the washbasin as Mimì had said. And so he rang Mimì, who explained that he’d been mistaken; he’d actually put the ring under some shirts in the top drawer of the wardrobe. Giovanna, who’d overheard the exchange, quickly ran out of the room while he stayed behind to wipe his forehead and close the shutter. Then he went into the guest room, but Giovanna wasn’t there, because Mimì had meant the wardrobe in Barletta’s bedroom. When he went in, he saw the wardrobe open, the drawer with the shirts half pulled out, and Giovanna holding the little box with the ring. And what, by the way, was the jeweller’s name? Ah, yes: Marco Falzone. From Montelusa.
At this point he could venture a hypothesis. Giovanna learns from her brother that there’s a draft of a new will. A highly dangerous document, which must be got rid of. She also knows that neither Arturo nor the police have been able to find it. She thinks about this and has an idea where her father may have hidden it in the house. But she can’t get inside. So, using the ring as an excuse, she asks him to remove the seals, goes inside, and taking advantage of the moment she’s left alone, she picks up not only the ring, but also the old will, if it’s still there, and the draft of the new one. And farewell to one and all.
A Nest of Vipers Page 17
