IM8 The Patience of the Spider (2007)

by Andrea Camilleri

  Susannas boyfriend ...whats his name?

  Francesco Lipari.

  Where is he?

  I sent him home. He was exhausted and worried to death.

  I was thinking. You dont think maybe it was Lipari himself who moved the motorbike? Maybe he found it on the ground, in the middle of the road

  No, Salvo. He swore up and down that he found it exactly the way you see it there.

  Post a guard next to it. And dont let anybody touch it, or forensics will go ballistic. Have you found anything?

  Not a thing. And to think the girl had a small knapsack with her books and things, a cell phone, a wallet she always kept in the back pocket of her jeans, the housekeys ...But nothing. Its as if she ran into somebody she knew and propped the motorbike against the wall so she could talk to him.

  Montalbano seemed not to be listening, and Mimoticed.

  What is it, Salvo?

  I dont know, but something doesnt look right to me, Montalbano muttered.

  And he started taking a few steps backward, as one does to get a better look at something, to take it all in from the right angle. Augello also stepped back, but only mechanically, because the inspector had done so.

  Its backwards, Montalbano concluded a moment later.

  What is?

  The motorbike. Look at it, MimThe way we see it right now, at a standstill, we should think it was going to Vig.

  Mimooked, then shook his head.

  Thats true. But on that side of the road, it would be going the wrong way. If it was going in the direction of Vig, it should be on the other side, leaning against the wall opposite.

  As if a moped cared if it was going the wrong way! Hell, you find those things on the landing outside your apartment! Theyll drive right through your legs if they can! Forget about

  it. But if the girl was coming from Vig, the front wheel of the motorbike should be pointed in the opposite direction. So my question is: Why is the bike positioned the way it is?

  Jesus, Salvo, there could be a lot of reasons for that. Maybe she turned the bike around to prop it up a little better against the wall . . . Or maybe she herself turned around after she saw someone she recognized . . .

  Anything is possible, Montalbano cut him off. Im going over to the house. Come and join me after youve finished searching here. And dont forget to post a guard.

  The villa was a two-storey building and must have once been rather beautiful. Now, however, it showed signs of neglect. And when one loses interest in a house, it can tell, and it seems to plunge into a kind of premature old age. The sturdy wrought-iron gate was ajar.

  The inspector entered a large living room furnished with dark, massive nineteenth-century antiques, but at first glance it looked like a museum, as it was full of small Pre-Columbian statues and African masks. Travel souvenirs of the geologist, Salvatore Mistretta. In one corner of the room there were two armchairs, a small table with a telephone on top, and a television. Fazio and a man who must have been Mistretta were sitting in the armchairs, eyes glued to the television screen. When Montalbano entered, the man gave Fazio a questioning look.

  This is Inspector Montalbano. And this is Signor Mistretta.

  The man came forward with his hand extended. Montalbano shook it without speaking. The geologist was a thin man

  of about sixty, with a face as baked as one of those South American statuettes, stooped shoulders, a mop of white hair, and a pair of blue eyes that wandered around the room like a drug addicts. Apparently the tension was eating away at him.

  No news? asked Montalbano.

  The geologist threw his hands up disconsolately.

  Id like to have a word with you, the inspector went on. Could we go outside?

  For no apparent reason he felt like he couldnt breathe. It was stuffy in the living room, and not a ray of light filtered in, despite two big French doors. Mistretta hesitated, then turned to Fazio.

  If somebody rings the bell upstairs, could you please let me know?

  Of course, said Fazio.

  They went out. The garden surrounding the villa was in a state of utter abandon, now little more than a field of wild, yellowing plants.

  This way, said the geologist.

  He led the inspector to a hemicycle of wooden benches at the center of a kind of orderly, well-tended oasis of green.

  This is where Susanna comes to stu

  Unable to continue, he collapsed onto a bench. The inspector sat down beside him and pulled out a pack of cigarettes.

  Do you smoke?

  What had Dr. Strazzera advised him to do? Try to stop smoking, if possible.

  At the moment, it was not possible.

  Id stopped, but in these circumstances . . .said Mistretta.

  You see, dear distinguished Dr. Strazzera? Sometimes one simply cannot do without it.

  The inspector held out a cigarette for him and then lit it. They smoked awhile in silence, then Montalbano asked:

  Is your wife sick?

  Shes dying.

  Does she know whats happened?

  No. Shes on tranquilizers and sedatives. My brother Carlo, whos a doctor, spent last night with her. He just left, in fact. But . . .

  But?

  But my wife, even in this induced state of sleep, keeps calling for Susanna, as if she mysteriously understands that something...

  The inspector felt himself sweating. How was he ever going to talk to the man about his daughters kidnapping when his wife was dying? The only way, perhaps, was to adopt an official, bureaucratic tone, the kind of tone that precludes, by its very nature, any form of humanity.

  Mr. Mistretta, I have to inform those in charge about the kidnapping. The judge, the commissioner, my colleagues in Montelusa ...And you can rest assured that the news will also reach the ears of some newsman who will race here with the inevitable camera crew ...The reason Im stalling is that I want to be absolutely certain.

  Certain of what?

  That its really a kidnapping were dealing with.

  3

  The geologist gave him a puzzled look. What else could it be? Let me first say that I have no choice but to make con

  jectures, however unpleasant. I understand. One question. Does your wife need a lot of care? Nonstop, day and night. Who looks after her? Susanna and I take turns. How long has she been in this condition? Things got worse about six months ago. Is it possible that after being frayed for so long, Susannas

  nerves finally gave out? What are you trying to say? Isnt it possible that, seeing her mother always in that state,

  your daughter got so worn out from all the sleepless nights and study that she ran away of her own free will from what had become an unbearable situation?

  The reply didnt come immediately.

  Thats out of the question. Susanna is strong and generous. She would never do that to me. Never. And anyway, where would she hide?

  Did she have any money on her? I dunno, maybe thirty euros, at the most. Doesnt she have any relatives or friends shes particularly

  fond of?

  Theres only my brother, whom she would go visit at his house, but not very often. And she would meet with that boy who helped me in my search. Theyd often go to the movies together or out for pizza. But theres nobody else she was close to.

  What about the girl she was studying with? Shes just a study companion, I think. Now they came to the difficult part, and the inspector had

  to be careful not to further offend this wounded man with his questions. He took a deep breath. The morning air was, in spite of everything, sweet and fragrant.

  Listen, your daughters boyfriend ...whats his name? Francesco. Francesco Lipari. Did Susan get along well with Francesco? As far as I could tell, yes, basically. What do you mean by basically? I mean that, sometimes, I would hear her arguing with

  him over the telephone ...But just silly stuff, the kind of things young lovers quarrel about. You dont think that Susanna perhaps met someone who secretly lured her, persuading her tor />
  To go with him, you mean? Inspector, Susanna has always been a sincere, forthright girl. If shed started up a relationship with someone else, she would certainly have told Francesco and broken off with him.

  So youre sure were dealing with a kidnapping.

  Unfortunately, yes. Fazio suddenly appeared in the doorway of the villa. What is it? asked the geologist. I heard the bell ring upstairs. Mistretta rushed inside. Montalbano followed slowly be

  hind him, lost in thought. He went back into the living room and sat down in the empty armchair in front of the telephone. Poor guy, said Fazio. I feel sorry for this Mistretta, I really do. Doesnt it seem strange to you that the kidnappers

  havent called yet? Its almost ten oclock. I dont know much about kidnappings, said Fazio. Me neither. And Mimoesnt either. Speak of the devil. At that very moment Mimugello

  walked in. We didnt find anything. What do we do now? Inform everyone were supposed to inform about the

  kidnapping. Give me Susannas boyfriends address, and the address of the girl she was studying with. What are you going to do? asked Mims he was writing these things down on a piece of paper. As soon as he returns, Im going to say goodbye to Mr. Mistretta and go to the office. But arent you convalescing? asked MimI only had you come here to give advice, not to And do you feel confident leaving the station in

  Catarellas hands? There was no answer, only a troubled silence. If the kidnappers get in touch soon, as Im hoping theyll

  do, let me know at once, the inspector said in a decisive tone.

  Why are you hoping the kidnappers get in touch soon? asked Fazio. Before answering, the inspector read the piece of paper Augello had handed to him, then put it in his pocket.

  Because that way well know that they kidnapped her for money. Lets be frank. A girl like Susanna gets kidnapped for one of two reasons: for money or for rape. Gallo told me shes a very attractive girl. In the latter case, the chances shed be killed after being raped are very high.

  A chill. In the silence they could hear the geologists shuffling footsteps as he approached. He looked at Augello.

  Did you find any...?

  Mimhook his head.

  Mistretta staggered as though dizzy, but Mimuickly steadied him. But why did they do it? Why?! he said, burying his face in his hands.

  Why? said Augello, hoping to console him with words. Youll see, theyll probably demand a ransom, the judge very probably will allow you to pay, and

  What will I pay with? How can I pay? the man cried in desperation. Doesnt everyone know that we get by on my pension? And that the only thing we own is this house?

  Montalbano was standing near Fazio. He heard him whisper under his breath: Matre santa! So ...

  He had Gallo drop him off at Susannas study-companions place. The girl went by the name of Tina Lofaro and lived on

  the towns main street in a three-storey building that, like most of the buildings in the center of town, was rather old. As the inspector was about to ring the intercom, the front door opened and out came a woman of about fifty, trailing an empty shopping cart behind her.

  Please leave the door open, Montalbano said to her.

  The woman hesitated a moment, reaching behind her with one arm to hold the door open, torn between courtesy and caution. But after looking him up and down, she made up her mind and walked away. The inspector went in and closed the door behind him. There was no elevator. On the mailboxes, the Lofaro familys residence corresponded to apartment number six, and since there were two flats per floor, that meant that he would have to climb up three flights of stairs. He had purposely avoided letting them know he was coming. He knew from experience that an unannounced visit from a man of the law always provokes at least a little unease, even in the most honest of people, who immediately wonder: What have I done wrong? Because all honest people believe that at one time or another they have done something wrong, perhaps without even realizing, whereas dishonest people are always convinced theyve acted honestly. Therefore all of them, honest and dishonest, feel uneasy. And this helps one find the chinks in everyones armor.

  The inspector thus hoped, when ringing the doorbell, that Tina herself would answer. Caught by surprise, the girl would certainly reveal whether or not Susanna had told her some little secret that might help the investigation.

  The door opened, and there appeared a short, homely girl of about twenty, dark as a crow, chubby and wearing thick

  eyeglasses. Tina, surely. The element of surprise worked. But

  in reverse.

  Im Inspector Mon

  talbano! said Tina, a big smile cleaving her face from ear to ear. Wow! How cool! I never thought Id meet you! Cool! Im so excited Im starting to sweat! Im so happy!

  Montalbano couldnt move. He looked like hed turned into a puppet without strings. To his bewilderment, he noticed a strange phenomenon. The girl before him had started to evaporate. A cloud of steam was enveloping her. Tina was melting like a pat of butter in the summer sun. The girl then extended a sweaty hand, grabbed the inspector by the wrist, pulled him inside, and closed the door. Then she stood there in front of him, speechless and ecstatic, face red as a ripe watermelon, hands joined in prayer, eyes glistening. For a brief moment, Montalbano felt exactly like the Blessed Virgin of Pompeii.

  I would like he ventured.

  Of course! Im so sorry! Come! said Tina, rousing herself from her ecstasy and leading him into the inevitable sitting room. Boy, the moment I saw you there before me in the flesh, I nearly fainted! How are you? Have you recovered? This is amazing! I always see you when you appear on TV, you know. And I read a lot of detective novels, I just love them, but you, Inspector, youre a lot better than Maigret, or Poirot, or...You want a coffee?

  Who? asked Montalbano, dazed.

  Since the girl had spoken almost without interruption, the inspector had heard only something like Uwanakafi,

  thinking this might be the protagonist detective of some African

  writer with whom he was unfamiliar.

  So, will you have some coffee?

  Maybe it was just the thing.

  Yes, if it isnt a bother...

  Not at all! Mama went out shopping about five minutes ago and Im all alone because the housekeepers not coming today, but I can have it ready for you in a jiffy!

  She disappeared. So they were alone in the house? The inspector got worried. This girl was capable of anything. From the kitchen he heard a clinking of demitasses and saucers and a sort of low murmur. Who was she talking to, since shed said there was nobody else in the house? Herself? He got up and went out of the living room. The kitchen was the second door on the left. He approached slowly, on tiptoe. Tina was talking in a low voice on her cell phone.

  . . . hes here, I tell you! Im not kidding! All of a sudden, there he was, right in front of me! If you can get here within ten minutes, hell still be here, I promise. Oh and, listen, Sandra, be sure to tell Manuela, Im sure shell want to come, too. And bring a camera, so we can all take our pictures with him.

  Montalbano retraced his steps. This was all he needed! Three twenty-year-old girls attacking him like some rock star! He decided he would shake free of Tina in less than ten minutes. He drank the coffee boiling hot, scalding his lips, and began his questioning. But the element of surprise hadnt worked, and the inspector gained little or nothing from the conversation.

  No, I wouldnt say friends as in real friends. We met at the

  university, and when we found out we both lived in Vig, we decided to study together for our first exam, and now for the last month or so shes been coming to my house every evening from five to eight . . .

  Yes, I think shes very fond of Francesco . . .

  No, she never mentioned any other boys to me . . .

  No, she never said anything to me about any other guys coming on to her...

  Susanna is generous and sincere, but I wouldnt say shes very expansive. She tends to hold everything inside . . .

  No, yesterday she went away lik
e every other day. And we agreed to meet again today at five . . .

  Lately shes been the same as usual. Her mothers health has been a constant worry. Normally around seven we would take a break from our study, and Susanna would phone home and find out how her mother was doing...Yes, she did the same yesterday . . .

  Inspector, I really dont think she was kidnapped. I feel pretty good about that. Oh God, its so cool being interrogated by you! You want to know what I think? Jesus, this is so fabulous! The inspector wants to know what I think! Okay, I think Susanna went away of her own accord and will come back in a few days. She probably needed a little rest and couldnt handle watching her mother die that way, day after day, night after night . . .

  What, are you leaving already? Dont you want to interrogate me some more? Couldnt you wait another five minutes, so we can take our picture together? Arent you going to summon me down to the station? Youre not?

  She suddenly stood up, seeing the inspector do the same.

  Then she made a move that Montalbano mistakenly interpreted as the start of a belly dance. Okay, okay, Ill summon you down to the station, he said, racing toward the door.

  Seeing the inspector appear unexpectedly before him, Catarella nearly fainted. Jesus, what a pleasant sprise! Jesus, iss so nice tsee you all over again, Chief!

  No sooner had Montalbano entered his office than the door slammed violently against the wall. Since he was no longer used to this, the inspector took fright.

  Whats going on? A panting Catarella stood in the doorway. Nuttin, Chief. My hand slipped. What do you want? Ahh, Chief! Im so ixcited tsee you that I forgot ta tell

  ya that the cmishner called looking for you. Iss rilly rilly

  urgint! Okay, ring him up and put him through to me. Hello, Montalbano? First of all, how are you? Pretty well, thanks. I took the liberty of calling you at home, but your . . .

  the lady told me ...and so I... What can I do for you, sir? I heard about the kidnapping. A nasty business, it seems. Very nasty. Hyperbole always worked with the commissioner. But