August Heat

by Andrea Camilleri

  All at once, half of the pagliaro collapsed on top of him, covering him.

  He stayed there, immobile, feeling cleansed by every blade of straw that had come to rest on his skin.

  Once, as a child, he had done the same thing, and his aunt, no longer seeing him anywhere, had started to call him. 'Salvo! Where are you? Salvo?'

  But that wasn't his aunt's voice — Adriana was calling him, from just a few yards away!

  He felt lost. He couldn't let her see him naked. What the hell had got into him? Why had he gone and done such a silly thing? Was he insane? Was the intense heat making him fuck up? How was he going to find a way out of this ridiculous situation?

  'Salvo? Where are you? Sal—'

  She must have spotted his clothes on the ground! He realized she was drawing closer.

  She'd found him. Matre santa, how embarrassing! He closed his eyes, hoping to become invisible. He heard her laughing wildly, surely throwing back her beautiful head as she had done at the station. His heart was pounding with increased pressure. Now that was an idea: why couldn't he have a nice little heart attack? Then, more strongly than the scent of old straw, more strongly than the sea breeze, he smelled the overwhelming fragrance of her clean skin. She had had a shower. She must now be only inches away.

  'If you stick out your arm, I'll hand you your things,' said Adriana.

  Montalbano obeyed.

  'All right, don't worry, I'm turning my back now,' she continued.

  The only problem was that she kept laughing, humiliating him, the whole time he was clumsily getting dressed.

  'I'm late’ Adriana said, as they were getting into the car. 'Would you let me drive?' She had realized that when it came to driving fast Montalbano was a lost cause.

  For the entire journey — which was over quickly, with them pulling up in the restaurant's car park in the twinkling of an eye — she kept her right hand on his knee, driving with only her left. Was it her method of driving or the heat that had left the inspector bathed in sweat?

  'Are you married?'

  'No.'

  'Do you have a girlfriend?'

  'Yes, but she doesn't live in Vigata.' Why had he blurted that out?

  'What's her name?' 'Livia.'

  'Where do you live?' 'In Marinella.'

  'Give me your home phone number.' Montalbano said it, and she repeated it. 'Already memorized.'

  They arrived. The inspector got out of the car. She too. They found themselves standing in front of each other. Adriana put her hands on his hips and kissed him lightly. 'Thanks,' she said.

  The inspector watched her drive away, tyres screeching.

  He decided not to drop in at the station but to go straight home. It was almost six o'clock when, in his swimming trunks, he opened the french windows giving on to the veranda. And there he found three youngsters sitting down, two boys and a girl, all about twenty. It was clear they had made his veranda their home for the entire day; they had eaten, drunk and taken off their clothes to go swimming there. Dozens of people were still on the beach, taking in the sun's last rays.

  But scattered across the sand there were scraps of paper, leftovers, empty boxes and bottles. In short, it was a veritable dump. The veranda itself had been turned into a dump, the deck obscured with a hotch-potch of cigarette butts, roaches, cans of beer and Coca-Cola.

  'Before you leave, I want you to clean all this up,' he said, descending the short flight of steps and heading towards the water.

  'Okay, but you clean your arsehole first,' said one of the boys behind him.

  The other two laughed.

  He could have ignored it, but instead he turned and slowly approached them. 'Who said that?'

  'Me,' said the huskier of the two in an arrogant tone. 'Come down here.'

  He looked at his friends. 'Let's go and help the old man. I'll be back in a minute.'

  The boy plonked himself in front of him, legs spread, then reached out and shoved him twice. 'Go and have your swim, Grandpa.'

  Montalbano started him off with a left, which he dodged, while his right, just as planned, got him square in the face and dropped him to the ground, half unconscious.

  It wasn't so much a punch as a wallop. The other two quickly stopped laughing. 'When I get back, I want it all cleaned up.'

  He had to swim out quite a way to find clear water: closer to shore all manner of foreign objects, from turds to plastic cups, were floating on the surface. A pigsty.

  Before going back, he looked shorewards, searching for a spot where there were fewer people and therefore the water was probably less filthy. This meant, however, that he had to walk for half an hour along the beach to get back to his house.

  The kids were gone. And the veranda was clean.

  In the shower, which was still warm, he thought of the punch that had almost knocked the kid out. How could he possibly be still capable of such strength? Then he realized it hadn't been down only to strength, but to the violent release of the tension that had built up inside him on that 15 August.

  FIFTEEN

  Late that evening, the families with little kids crying one minute and screaming the next, the drunken, brawling parties of friends, the young couples stuck so tightly together you couldn't have separated them with a knife, the solitary males with mobile phones glued to their ears, the other young couples with radios, CD players and other noise-making gadgets finally vacated the beach.

  They went away, but their rubbish remained.

  Rubbish, the inspector thought, had become the unmistakable sign that man had passed through any given place. In fact, they said Mount Everest had become a dump, and even outer space. Ten thousand years from now, the sole proof that man had once lived on the earth would be the discovery of enormous car cemeteries, the only surviving monument of a former, ahem, civilization.

  After he'd been sitting awhile on the veranda, he noticed that the air stank. The rubbish covering the beach was no longer visible in the darkness, yet the stench of swift putrefaction in the extreme heat still wafted up to his nostrils.

  There was no point in remaining outside. But neither was it possible to stay in with all the windows closed to keep out the stink, because the heat that the walls had absorbed during the day would never have a chance to dispel.

  He got dressed, took the car and headed for Pizzo. Arriving at the house, he pulled up, got out and made for the staircase that led down to the beach.

  He sat on the first step and lit a cigarette. He'd been right. The spot was too high up to be affected by the smell of rot from the rubbish that must surely lie across that beach, too.

  He tried not to think of Adriana, but didn't succeed.

  He stayed there for two hours, and by the time he got up to go home, he had come to the conclusion that the less he saw of the girl, the better.

  'So, what did Miss Adriana tell you yesterday?' Fazio asked.

  'Something I hadn't known for certain but had imagined. Do you remember when Dipasquale told us, and Adriana confirmed, that Rina had been assaulted by Ralf and that Spitaleri had saved her?'

  'Of course.'

  The inspector then recounted the whole story of how from that moment on Spitaleri had been constantly after Rina until finally he had groped her in his car, and the girl was saved when a peasant appeared on the scene. And he also mentioned how the peasant had been made to run the gauntlet by police when one of Adriana's earrings was found in his house even though the poor man had had nothing to do with the crime.

  He said not a word about the fact that he had gone back to the house in Pizzo with Adriana or about what had happened there.

  'In conclusion,' said Fazio, 'we've got nothing to work with. It can't have been Ralf, because he was impotent, it can't have been Spitaleri because he was gone, and it can't have been Dipasquale because he's got an alibi.'

  'Dipasquale's position is the weakest,' said the inspector. 'His alibi may have been made up.'

  'Yes, but try to prove that.'

 
'Chief, iss Porxecutor Dommaseo.' 'Put 'im on.'

  'Montalbano? I've made a decision.' 'Tell me.'

  'I'm going to do it.'

  And he was telling him about it? 'You're going to do what?'

  'Hold a press conference.'

  'But what need is there for that?'

  'Oh, there's need, Montalbano, there's need.' The only need was Tommaseo's to appear on television.

  'The newsmen,' the prosecutor continued, 'have got wind of something and are asking questions. I don't want to run the risk of them giving a distorted image of the overall picture.'

  What overall picture? 'It's true that's a pretty big risk.'

  'So you agree?'

  'Have you already set it up?'

  'Yes, for tomorrow morning at eleven. Will you be there?'

  'No. And what will you say?' 'I'll talk about the crime.' 'Will you say she was raped?' 'Well, I'll suggest it.'

  Great! It took less than a suggestion to have the journalists jump all over that sort of subject! 'And what if they ask if you have any idea as to the murderer?'

  'Well, one has to be adroit in these situations.'

  'As you are.'

  'In all modesty ... I'll say that we're following two leads: the first is that we're checking the masons' alibis, and the second is that we're investigating a maniac drifter who forced the girl to go with him into the underground apartment. Are you in agreement?'

  'Perfectly.' A maniac drifter! And how would a maniac

  drifter have known about the secret illegal apartment if the construction site was fenced off ?

  'For today, I've called Adriana back in for questioning,' Tommaseo said. 'I want to break down any residual defences she may have, to interrogate her thoroughly — thoroughly and at great length — and lay her completely bare.'

  His voice had turned shrill. Montalbano was afraid that with two more words the guy would start moaning and saying, Ah, ah, ah, like in a porn flick.

  It was already becoming a habit. Before going to Enzo's trattoria, he changed his clothes and gave the sweaty ones to Catarella. Then, after eating — though he ate sparingly, having little appetite — he felt listless and decided to go home to Marinella.

  Miracle of miracles! Four dustmen had nearly finished cleaning the beach! He put on his trunks and dived into the sea in search of relief from the heat. Afterwards he dozed for an hour.

  By four o'clock he was back at the station. But he didn't feel like doing anything. 'Catarella!'

  'Whattaya need, Chief ?'

  'Don't let anyone into my office without alerting me first. Is that clear?' 'Yessir.'

  'Oh, and did anyone call from Montelusa about the questionnaire?'

  'Yessir, Chief, I sennit over to 'em.'

  He locked the door to his room, stripped down to his underpants, threw the papers that were on the armchair on to the floor, pulled this up next to the mini-fan, which he turned in such a way that it blew onto his chest, then sat down, hoping to survive.

  An hour later the telephone rang. 'Chief, iss a marshal called La Cana says 'e's wit' da Finance Police.' 'Put him on.'

  'I can't put 'im on, seeing as how the beforementioned marshal is 'ere poissonally in poisson.'

  God, and he was practically naked!

  'Tell him I'm on the phone, wait five minutes, then let him in.'

  He got dressed in a hurry. His clothes were exactly the same as when he'd just stretched them out to dry, still saturated with heat. He opened the door and went out to meet Lagana, brought him into the office, sat him down, and locked the door. He felt embarrassed to find the marshal dressed in a suit that looked as if he'd just picked it up from the cleaners.

  'Would you like anything to drink, Marshal?' 'No, thanks, Inspector. Whatever I drink only makes me sweat.'

  'Why did you put yourself out? You could have phoned...'

  'Inspector, nowadays it's better not to say certain things over the phone.'

  'Maybe we ought to use little folded-up pieces of paper, like Provenzano.'

  'They'd probably be intercepted, too. The only way is to talk in person and, if possible, in a safe place.'

  'I think it's safe here.'

  'Let's hope so.'

  The marshal slipped a hand into his jacket pocket, extracted a sheet of paper folded in four and handed it to Montalbano. 'Is this what you were interested in?'

  It was the receipt from Ribaudo Enterprises for some innocent pipes and some safety railings, delivered on 27 July to the Spitaleri construction site in Montelusa. It was signed by Filiberto Attanasio, the watchman. Montalbano felt heartened. 'Thank you, this is exactly what I was looking for. Did anyone notice?'

  'I don't think so. This morning we seized two crates of documents. As soon as I found that receipt, I had it photocopied and brought it here to you.'

  'I don't know how to thank you.'

  Marshal Lagana stood up. So did Montalbano.

  I'll see you out.'

  As they were shaking hands in the main entrance to the station, Lagana said, with a smile, 'There's no point in my insisting that you say nothing to anyone about how that document was obtained.'

  'Marshal, you're offending me.'

  Lagana hesitated a moment, turned serious, then said in a low voice, 'Be careful how you deal with Spitaleri.'

  'Federico? Montalbano here.'

  Inspector Lozupone seemed truly happy to hear from him. 'Salvo! What a pleasant surprise! How are you?'

  'Fine. And you?'

  'Fine, thanks. Do you need anything?'

  'I'd like to talk to you.'

  'Of course. Fire away.'

  'In person.'

  'Is it urgent?'

  'Fairly.'

  'Look, I'll definitely be in my office until—' 'Better outside somewhere.' 'Ah. We could meet at the Caffe Marino at—' 'Not in public'

  'You're frightening me, Salvo. Where, then?' 'Either at my place or yours.' 'I have a curious wife.'

  'Then come to my house in Marinella. You know where it is. Ten o'clock tonight okay with you?'

  At eight, as the inspector was leaving the office, Tommaseo called. He sounded disappointed. 'I want confirmation from you.' 'I confirm.'

  'Excuse me, Montalbano, but what are you confirming?'

  'Ah, well, I don't know what, but if you're asking me for confirmation, I'm ready to give it.'

  'Even if you don't know what you're supposed to confirm?'

  'I see. You don't want generic confirmation but specific'

  'I'd say so!'

  Every now and then he liked to mess with Tommaseo's head. 'Then tell me what it is.'

  'That girl, Adriana, today ... Among other things, she was even more beautiful. I don't know how she does it. She's like the essence of woman. Whatever she says, whatever she does, one is left utterly charmed and ... Ah, never mind, what was I saying?'

  'That one is left utterly charmed.'

  'My God, no, I was just saying that incidentally. Ah, yes. Adriana told me her sister had been assaulted, luckily without consequences, by a young German who later died in a railway disaster in Germany. I'm going to mention this at the press conference.'

  Railway disaster? What the hell had Tommaseo understood?

  'But no matter how much pressure I put on her,' the prosecutor continued, 'she couldn't or wouldn't tell me any more, claiming it was pointless for me to continue interrogating her, since she and her twin sister never confided in each other and, she added, often quarrelled so violently that their parents did all they could to keep them apart. In fact, the day Rina was murdered, Adriana wasn't even in Vigata. So, since the girl told me you questioned her yesterday, my question to you is, did she also tell you she didn't get on with her sister?'

  'Absolutely! She said they even came to blows two or three times a day.'

  'So it's useless to call her in for further questioning?'

  'I'm afraid so.'

  Obviously Adriana had grown sick and tired of Tommaseo and made up that lie, knowing sh
e could count on the inspector's complicity.

  Adriana phoned him at home around nine that evening. 'Can I drop round in about an hour?'

  ‘I’m sorry, but I have an engagement.' And if he hadn't, what would he have answered?

  'What a shame. I wanted to take advantage of the fact that my aunt and uncle are here from Milan. I told you about them. They were the ones who lived in Montelusa.'

  'I remember.'

  'They came for the funeral.'

  He'd completely forgotten about it. 'When is it?'

  'Tomorrow morning. They're leaving immediately afterwards. Don't make any engagements for tomorrow evening. I'm hoping my nurse friend can come.'

  'Adriana, I have a job that—'

  'Try to do your best. Oh, Tommaseo called me in for questioning today. He was positively drooling as he stared at my tits. And to think that I'd put on a reinforced bra for the occasion. I told him a lie to get him out of my hair once and for all.'

  'I know what you said to him. He phoned me to ask if it was true that you and Rina couldn't stand one another.'

  'What did you say?'

  'I confirmed it.'

  'I knew I could count on you. I love you. See you tomorrow.'

  He ran into the bathroom and got into the shower before Lozupone arrived. Those three words, I love you, had immediately made him break out in a drenching sweat.

  Lozupone was five years his junior, a man of powerful build and pithy speech. Not the sort to set tongues wagging, he was honest and had always done his duty. Montalbano, therefore, had to proceed carefully with him and choose the right words. He offered him a whisky and sat him down on the veranda. Luckily a light wind was blowing.

  'Salvo, get to the point. What do you have to tell me?' It's a delicate matter, and before I make any moves, I want to talk to you about it.' 'Here I am.'

  'I've been working on the murder of a girl...' 'Yes, I've heard about it.'

  'And I happened to interrogate a builder named Spitaleri, whom you also know.'

  Lozupone seemed to react defensively. 'What do you mean, I know him? I only know him because I investigated the accidental death of a mason at one of his construction sites in Montelusa.'