IM8 The Patience of the Spider (2007)

by Andrea Camilleri

  what was he driving at with this phone call?

  Well, heres the thing . . . Id like you to come back to active dutyjust for the moment, of course, and assuming, also, that youre up to ...Sooner or later, Inspector Augello will have to go out in the field to coordinate the searches, and I havent got anyone to replace him in Vig ...Do you understand?

  Of course.

  Excellent. So Im officially informing you that the kidnapping investigation will be handled by Inspector Minutolo, who, being a Calabrian . . .What? Minutolo was from Al in Messina province. . . should know a lot about kidnappings.

  Thusstrictly applying Commissioner Bonetti-Alderighis logicone needed only to be Chinese to know a lot about Chinese checkers.

  Now you, the commissioner went on, dont go treading on other peoples turf the way you always do. I mean it. I want you only to lend support, or, at most, to carry on some minor side investigations that wont wear you out but will converge with Minutolos central investigation.

  Could you give me a practical example?

  Of what?

  Of how I might converge with Inspector Minutolo.

  He enjoyed acting like a complete idiot with the commissioner. The only problem was that the commissioner really believed he was a complete idiot. Bonetti-Alderighi sighed so loudly that Montalbano heard him. Perhaps it was better not to take the game too far.

  Sorry, sorry, I think I understand. If Inspector Minutolos conducting the main investigation, that would make him the

  Po, whereas I would be the Dora, the Riparia, or the Baltea, it

  makes no difference. Right?

  Right, the commissioner said wearily. Then he hung up.

  The only positive thing to come out of all this was that the investigation had been turned over to Filippo Minutolo, known as Fifan intelligent man with whom one could reason.

  Montalbano phoned Livia to tell her hed been called back to duty, if only in the role of Dora Riparia (or was it Baltea?). But she didnt answer. No doubt shed taken the car and gone to the museum or for a stroll in the Valley of the Temples, as she always did when she came to Vig. He rang her cell phone, but it was turned off. More precisely, the recording said the person he was calling could not be reached. And it advised him to try again later. But how can one reach somebody who cant be reached? Just by trying again later? As a rule, the telephone people tended toward absurdity. They said, for example: The number you have reached does not exist ... How could they possibly say such a thing? Every number that one can think of exists. If a number, even one, in the infinite sequence of numbers were missing, the entire universe would be plunged into chaos. Didnt the telephone companies realize this?

  Whatever the case, it was now time to eat, but there was no point in going back to Marinella. He wouldnt find anything made by Adelina in the fridge or the oven. Informed that Livia was staying at the house, the housekeeper would not show up again until Livia was certifiably gone. The two women disliked each other too much.

  He was getting up to go eat at the Trattoria Da Enzo when Catarella told him Inspector Minutolo was on the line.

  Any news, Fif

  Nothing, Salvo. Im calling about Fazio.

  Whats up?

  Could I borrow him? Because the commissioner hasnt given me a single man for this investigation, only technicians, who just bugged the Lofaros phone and then left. He said I should be able to go it alone.

  Because youre Calabrian and therefore an expert in kidnappings. Thats what he told me. Minutolo muttered something that didnt sound like unmitigated praise for his superior.

  So, can I borrow him at least until this evening?

  If he doesnt collapse first. Listen, dont you think its strange the kidnappers havent made contact yet?

  No, not at all. I once had a case, in Sardinia, where they didnt deign to send a message until a week after the kidnapping, and then another time

  You see? You are an expert, after all, just as the commissioner said. Go fuck yourselves, both of you!

  Montalbano disgracefully took advantage of the free time and the fact that Livia was incommunicado.

  Welcome back, Inspector! You picked the right day to come! said Enzo.

  As an exceptional treat, Enzo had made couscous with eight different kinds of fish, but only for his favorite customers. These, of course, included the inspector, who, the moment he saw the dish in front of him and inhaled its aroma,

  was overcome with emotion. Enzo noticed but, luckily, misunderstood.

  Your eyes are shining, Inspector! Got a touch of fever, by chance?

  Yes, he lied without hesitation.

  He scarfed down two helpings. Afterwards, he shamelessly declared that a few little mullets might be a nice idea. A stroll out to the lighthouse at the end of the jetty thus became a digestive necessity.

  Back at the station, he phoned Livia again. The recording repeated that the person could not be reached. Oh well.

  Galluzzo came in to report on a case involving a supermarket robbery.

  Excuse me, but isnt Inspector Augello here?

  Yes, Chief, hes over there.

  Well, then go over there and tell him about it. Before he gets called into the field, as the commissioner put it.

  There was no getting around it, Susannas disappearance was beginning to worry him in earnest. His real fear was that the girl had been kidnapped by a sex maniac. Maybe it was best to advise Minutolo to organize a search team immediately, without waiting for a phone call that might never come.

  He took the scrap of paper Mimad given him out of his pocket and dialed the number of Susannas boyfriend.

  Hello, is this the Lipari home? This is Inspector Montalbano. Id like to speak with Francesco.

  Oh, its you? This is Francesco, Inspector.

  There was a note of disappointment in his voice. Appar

  ently he was hoping it would be Susanna calling. Listen, could you come see me? When? Right now, if possible. Is there any news? This time anxiety had replaced disappointment. No, but Id like to talk with you a little. Ill be right over.

  4

  Francesco arrived barely ten minutes later.

  Its pretty quick with a motorbike, he said.

  A good-looking kid, tall, well-dressed, with a clear, open gaze. But one could see that he was being eaten alive by worry. He sat down on the edge of a chair, nerves taut.

  Were you already questioned by my colleague Minutolo?

  I havent been questioned by anybody. I phoned Su- sannas father late this morning to find out if ...but unfortunately . . .

  He stopped and looked the inspector straight in the eye.

  And this silence makes me imagine the worst.

  Such as?

  That maybe shes been kidnapped by someone who wants to abuse her. And that shes either still in his hands or else hes already . . .

  What makes you think this?

  Inspector, everyone knows that Susannas father doesnt have a cent. He used to be rich, but he had to sell everything.

  Why? Did his business go bad?

  I dont know why. But he wasnt a businessman. He

  earned a good salary and had put a lot of money aside. And I think Susannas mother also inherited a ...well, I dont know, frankly.

  Go on.

  As I was saying, do you really think the kidnappers would be unaware of the victims economic situation? Would they make that kind of mistake? Come on! They know more about us than the tax collectors!

  The argument made sense.

  And theres another thing, the kid went on. Ive waited for Susanna outside Tinas place at least four or five different times. After she came out, we would head back to her house on our motorbikes. Now and then we would stop, then wed continue on our way. When we arrived at the gate we would say goodbye and Id go home. We always took the same route. The most direct one, which Susanna always took. Whereas last night she took a different road, more out of the way. Its full of holes, almost impassable. You need a four-by- four to get through there
. Theres hardly any light, and its much longer than our usual route. I have no idea why she would go that way. But its an ideal place for a kidnapping. Maybe it was a chance encounter that went bad.

  The boy had a good head on his shoulders.

  How old are you, young man?

  Twenty-three. You can call me Francesco, if you want. Youre old enough to be my father.

  With a pang to the heart, Montalbano realized that, at this stage of his life, he would never be the father of a kid that age.

  Are you a student?

  Yes, in law. I graduate next year.

  What do you want to do in life? He asked only to relieve the tension. The same thing you do. Montalbano thought he hadnt heard right. You want to join the police force? Yes. Why? Because I like it. I wish you the best of luck. Listen, to get back to your

  rapist hypothesis...which, mind you, is only a hypothesis. Which Im sure youd already thought of. Of course. Did Susanna ever mention people making

  lewd propositions, obscene phone calls, things like that?

  Susannas very reserved. She certainly got a lot of compliments, wherever she went. Shes a beautiful girl. Sometimes she would repeat them to me, and we would laugh about it. If there was any cause for worry, Im sure she would have mentioned it to me.

  Her friend Tina is convinced Susanna ran away of her

  own volition. Francesco gave him an astonished look, mouth open. Why would she do that? A sudden breakdown. The pain and tension caused by

  her mothers illness, the physical strain of caring for her, the stress of studying for exams. Is Susanna a fragile girl?

  So thats what Tina thinks? She obviously doesnt know Susanna! Susannas nerves are bound to give out, that much is certain, but its equally certain the breakdown wont come until after her mother dies! Until that moment, she will stay at her bedside. Because once she gets something in her head, and shes

  convinced shes right, she becomes so determined that . . . Shes anything but fragile! No, believe me, thats an absurd hypothesis.

  Speaking of which, what is Susannas mother sick with?

  To be perfectly honest, Inspector, I dont know whats wrong with her. A couple of weeks ago, Susannas uncle, Carlo, the doctor, had some sort of consultation with two doctorsone whod come down from Rome, the other from Milanand in the end they all threw their hands up. Susanna explained to me that her mother is dying of an incurable disease: the refusal to live. A kind of fatal depression. When I asked the reason for this depressionsince I believe there always has to be a reasonshe answered evasively.

  Montalbano steered the conversation back to the girl. How did you meet Susanna? Purely by chance, in a bar. She was with a girl I used to

  go out with. When was this? About six months ago. And you hit it off straightaway? Francesco gave a broad smile. It was love at first sight. Do you do it? Do what? Make love. Yes. Where? At my place. Do you live alone? I live with my father. But hes away a lot, often travels

  abroad. Hes a wholesaler in lumber. Right now hes in

  Russia.

  What about your mother?

  Theyre divorced. My mothers remarried and lives in Siracusa.

  Francesco opened and then closed his mouth, as if he wanted to add something.

  Go on, Montalbano prodded him.

  But we dont . . .

  Say it.

  The kid hesitated. It was clear he felt embarrassed talking about something so private.

  Youll see, the inspector continued, when you become a policeman yourself, you too will have to ask indiscreet questions.

  I know. I merely wanted to say that we dont do it very often.

  She doesnt want to?

  No, not exactly. Im always the one who asks her to come to my place. But every time Ive felt as though, I dont know, she seemed distant, or absent. It was like she went along with it just to please me. I realized that shes very affected by her mothers illness. And I felt ashamed to ask her...Just yesterday afternoon . . .

  He broke off, then made a strange face, as though perplexed.

  How strange . . . Francesco muttered.

  The inspector pricked his ears.

  Just yesterday afternoon? he pressed.

  She was the one who suggested we go to my place. And

  I said yes. We didnt have much time, since shed been at the

  bank and then had to go to Tinas to study.

  The kid still looked bewildered.

  Maybe she wanted to reward you for your patience, said Montalbano.

  Yeah, youre probably right. Because this time, for the first time, Susanna was present. Entirely present. With me. Do you understand?

  Yes. Sorry, but you said that before meeting you, shed been to the bank. Do you know why she went?

  She had to withdraw some money.

  And did she?

  Of course.

  Do you know how much?

  No.

  So why had Susannas father said that she had only thirty euros, at the most, in her pocket? Maybe he didnt know shed been to the bank? The inspector stood up, and the young man did the same.

  Okay, Francesco, you can go. Its been a real pleasure to meet you. Ill give you a ring if I need you.

  He held out his hand, and Francesco shook it.

  Could I ask you one thing? the boy asked.

  Of course.

  Why, in your opinion, was Susannas motorbike parked that way?

  This Francesco Lipari would make a good cop, no doubt about it.

  He phoned Marinella. Livia had just come in and was happy.

  You know what? she said. Ive just discovered a fabulous place. Its called Kolymbetra. Just think, it used to be a great big pool, originally carved out by Carthaginian prisoners.

  Where is it? Its right there, near the temples. Now its a kind of vast

  garden of Eden, just recently opened to the public. Did you have lunch? No, just a panino at Kolymbetra. How about you? Nah, all I had was a panino, too. The lie had come out spontaneously, without warning.

  Why hadnt he told her hed gorged himself on couscous and mullets, violating the sort of diet that Livia was forcing him to follow? For what reason? Perhaps a combination of shame, cowardice, and a desire to avoid a quarrel.

  Poor thing! Will you be back late? I really dont think so. Then Ill cook something. Here was the instant punishment for his lie. He would ex

  piate his sin by eating a dinner prepared by Livia. Not that she was a terrible cook, but her dishes tended toward the flavorless, the spiceless, the lightest of light, the I-can-but-I-cant-really- taste-it. Instead of actually cooking, Livia hinted at cooking.

  He decided to drop in at the villa to see how things were going. He drove off, and then, as he drew near, he noticed that traffic was getting heavy. In fact there were a good ten cars parked along the road that ran along one side of the villa, and in front of the closed gate six or seven people jostled about, videocams on their shoulders, trying to get a good shot of the lane and the garden. Montalbano closed the windows of his

  car and drove forward, wildly honking his horn, until he nearly

  crashed into the gate.

  Inspector! Inspector Montalbano!

  Muffled voices called out to him; some asshole photographer blinded him with a burst of flashes. Luckily the Montelusa policeman standing guard recognized him and opened the gate. The inspector drove his car inside, pulled up, and got out.

  He found Fazio sitting in the usual armchair in the living room, pale-faced, hollow-eyed, and looking generally very tired. His eyes were closed, head thrown back and resting against the back of the chair. A variety of gadgets were now attached to the phone, including a tape recorder and headset. A uniformed policeman, not from the Vig force, was standing near a French door, thumbing through a magazine. The moment the inspector entered, the telephone rang. Fazio leapt up, and in the twinkling of an eye had donned the headset, started the tape recorder, and picked up the receiver.

  Hello?

  He listened for a
moment.

  No, Mr. Mistretta is not at home ...No, please dont insist.

  He hung up and saw the inspector. He removed the headset and stood up.

  Oh, Chief! The phones been ringing nonstop for the last three hours! My head is numb! I dont know how it happened, but everybody, all over Italy, knows about this disappearance, and theyre all calling to interview the poor father!

  Wheres Inspector Minutolo?

  Hes back in Montelusa, packing an overnight bag. Hes gonna sleep here tonight. He just left.

  What about Mistretta?

  He just went upstairs to be with his wife. He woke up about an hour ago.

  He was able to sleep?

  Not for long, but he was given something. At lunchtime his brother the doctor showed up with a nurse whos going to spend the night with the sick wife. Then the doctor gave his brother a shot of sedative. You know,Chief, there was some kind of argument between the two brothers.

  He didnt want the shot?

  Well, that too, but first Mr. Mistretta got upset when he saw the nurse. He told his brother he didnt have the money to pay her, to which his brother replied that he would pay for it himself. Then Mistretta started crying, saying he was reduced to living on other peoples charity ...Poor man, I really do feel sorry for him.

  Listen Fazio, sorry or not, tonight youre going to clock out, go home and get some rest. Okay?

  Okay, okay. Heres Mr. Mistretta.

  The sleep hadnt done him any good. He was swaying as he walked, weak-kneed and hands trembling. Seeing Montalbano, he became alarmed.

  Oh my God! Whats happened?

  Nothing, I assure you. Please dont get excited. But since Im here, Id like to ask you a question. Do you feel up to answering?

  Ill try.

  Thank you. Do you remember that this morning you told me Susanna could only have had thirty euros, at the most, on her? Was that the amount your daughter usually went around with?

  Yes, I can confirm that. Thats more or less how much she usually had on her. Did you know that she went to the bank yesterday afternoon?

  Mistretta looked stunned.

  In the afternoon? No, I didnt know. Who told you that?

  Francesco, Susannas boyfriend.

  Mr. Mistretta looked sincerely bewildered. He sat down in the first chair that came within reach and ran a hand over his brow. He was trying very hard to understand.