im6 The Scent of the Night (2005)

by Andrea Camilleri

  'So then why go through the whole song and dance of the plane tickets?' Fazio insisted.

  'To protect himself, just in case. Protect himself from everyone: from Gargano and from us. Believe me, Giacomo planned it all very carefully. But then the unexpected happened.'

  'What?' asked Mimi.

  Is a bullet in the face unexpected enough for you?' said the inspector.

  FOURTEEN

  'Shall we continue tomorrow with part two? You know, I'm beginning to realize as I go along that, more than a novel, this is a TV script. If I'd written and published this novel, that's probably what some reviewer would have said about it, adding something like, "Yes, a TV script, and not a particularly good one." So, what now?'

  Montalbano's suggestion elicited protests from his two listeners. He certainly couldn't complain about his audience ratings. He was forced to go on, after having asked for, and been granted, a brief coffee break.

  'Lately, however, Gargano and Pellegrino's relationship appears to be deteriorating,' he resumed, 'though we can't know this with any certainty.'

  'We could,' asserted Augello.

  'How?'

  'By asking the same person who gave you all the other information.'

  'I don't know where she is. She's gone to Palermo.'

  'Then ask Miss Cosentino'

  "That I could do. But she never caught on to anything, even when Gargano and Pellegrino were necking right under her nose.'

  'OK. Let's assume their relationship deteriorated. Why?'

  'I didn't say it deteriorated, I said it appeared to be deteriorating.'

  'What's the difference?' asked Fazio.

  'The difference is a big one. If they're quarrelling in front of everyone, if they're acting cold and distant to each other, it's because they've agreed in advance to do so. It's all a put-on.'

  'That seems a little far-fetched, even for a TV film made from a novel,' Mimi said sarcastically.

  If you want, we can cut those scenes from the script. But that would be a mistake. You see, I think the kid, when he sees that the scam is drawing to its conclusion, decides to make his blackmail explicit. He wants to get the most out of it before Gargano disappears. So he asks for more money. Gargano, however, won't hand it over, and this we know for a fact because you, Fazio, said that there were no more deposits made. And what does the ragioniere do then, knowing that a blackmailer's hunger is never satisfied? He pretends to give in, and he even ups the ante, making the kid an offer while declaring his undying love for him in spite of everything. He says they'll run away together with the money and live happily ever after in some foreign country. Giacomo, deep down, doesn't trust him, but he accepts on one condition: Gargano must tell him in which foreign banks the King Midas money was deposited.

  'Gargano gives him the names, along with all the access codes, and at the same time tells him that it would be better if they pretended to have a falling-out in front of the others, that way when the police start looking for him after the scam is discovered, they won't have any reason to think they fled together. And for the same reason, says Gargano, they should arrive at their foreign destination separately. They may have even chosen the city where they would meet'

  'Now I understand Gargano's game!' Mimi interjected. 'He actually gave Giacomo the real access codes to the accounts. The kid checks them and is able to see that the ragioniere is not setting a trap for him. Whereas in fact Gargano is planning to transfer the money somewhere else just a few hours before making his getaway, since nowadays you can do these things in a matter of minutes. And he's also planning not to show up for their appointment in that foreign city.'

  'Right on the mark, Mimi But we've established that our little Giacomo is no fool in these matters. He's wise to Gargano's plan and keeps him under surveillance with his mobile, calling him nonstop. Then, when the moment comes -- that is, when the thirty-first of August arrives -- he calls Gargano at the crack of dawn and, threatening to tell the whole story to the police, he forces him to come straight to Vigata. Which means that they'll skip the country together, says Giacomo. He's willing to risk it. Gargano at this point knows he has no choice. He gets in his car and leaves, not using his highway pass, so as not to leave any tracks. He arrives at the appointed place. It's already night, Giacomo shows up a little later on his motorbike, which he's been keeping at his new house. He doesn't give a damn about the two big suitcases anymore; the important thing is the briefcase, in which he's carrying the proof of the scam. So the two men meet.'

  'Can I tell the rest?' Fazio butted in. And he continued: 'They have an argument, Gargano at this point knows he's done for, since the kid's got him in the palm of his hand, so he whips out the pistol and shoots him.'

  In the face,' adds Augello, to be precise.

  Is that so important?'

  'Yes. When somebody shoots somebody in the face, it's almost always out of hatred, like they want to blot them out'

  'I don't think there was any argument,' said Montalbano. 'On his drive down from Bologna, Gargano had all the time he needed to think about the dangerous predicament he was in, and to reach the conclusion that the kid had to go. I realize, of course, that a violent scuffle, preferably at the edge of the cliff, with first one, then the other protagonist in danger of falling off, with Giacomo trying to disarm Gargano and a raging sea in the background, might work well on TV, if you could come up with the right musical soundtrack as commentary. Unfortunately I think Gargano shot Giacomo as soon as he saw him. He didn't have any time to lose'

  'So in your opinion he killed him outside the car?'

  'Of course. Then he grabbed him and put him behind the steering wheel. But the body probably slid to one side, so he laid it down over the two seats. That's why when Tommasino walked by he didn't see the body and thought the car was empty. Gargano then opens the boot, pulls out his suitcase -- which he probably brought along for good measure, as a prop, in case he needed to show that he was ready to leave - then puts the motorbike in its place, not forgetting, of course, to remove the briefcase with the documents from the bike's little baggage box. His own suitcase he puts on the back seat of the car. This is when Tommasino shows up. Gargano plays hide-and-seek with the schoolteacher, waits till he's a safe distance away, closes the car's doors, and proceeds to push the vehicle off the edge of the cliff. He's imagining -- correctly, I might add -- that some idiot will start looking for his body, convinced that the whole crime is a vendetta on the part of the Mafia. Briefcase in hand, he begins walking, and in less than half an hour he's on a road with cars driving by. He hitches a ride with somebody, whom he probably pays handsomely not to talk.'

  The finish,' said Mimi 'Final shot. Music We see a long, straight road--'

  'Are there any in Sicily?' asked Montalbano.

  It doesn't matter. We film the scene on the mainland and pretend, with a little montage, that it's here. The car drives farther and farther away, till it becomes a tiny little dot The frame freezes. On the screen appear the words: "And thus evil triumphs and the forces of justice get fucked." Credits'

  'I don t like that ending,' Fazio said very seriously.

  'I don't either' Montalbano chimed in. 'But you'll have to resign yourself, Fazio. That's exactly the way it is. Justice, nowadays, can go and fuck itself. Bah. Let's forget about it.'

  Fazio scowled even more grimly.

  'But is there really nothing we can do to get Gargano?'

  'Go and tell our screenplay to Guarnotta and see what he says.'

  Fazio got up and was about to leave the room when he ran straight into Catarella, who was rushing in, out of breath and palefaced.

  'Oh my god, Chief! The c'mishner just called just now! Oh my god, what a scare he gives me whenever he calls!'

  'Did he want me?'

  'No, Chief'

  'Who'd he want, then?'

  'Me, Chief, me! Oh my god, I'm feelin' all weak in the knees-like! Can I sit down?'

  'Sit down, Cat. Why'd he want you?'

&n
bsp; 'Well, it happened like so. The tiliphone rings. I pick up and answer h'lo. And then I hear the c'mishner's voice. "Is that you, Santarella?" he says. "Poissonally in poisson," I says. "I want you to tell something to the inspector," he says. "He ain't here," I says, 'cause I knew you dint feel like talking to him. "That doesn't matter," he says. "Tell him I acknowledge receipt." An' he hangs up. Inspector, what's this receipt the c'mishner s talking about? I don't know anything about any receipt!'

  'Skip it, don't worry about it. And relax.'

  Was the c'mishner trying to offer him peace with honour? If so, the c'mishner would have to ask for it straight out. Offering it wasn't enough.

  Back home at Marinella, he found the sweater Livia had given him on the table, and beside it a note from Adelina saying that, having come by in the afternoon to clean up the house, she'd found the sweater on top of the armoire. She added that, having found some nice hake at the market, she'd boiled a few of them for him. He needed only add oil, lemon, and salt

  What to do with the sweater? God, was it ever hard to hide a corpus delicti! He thought he'd got that sweater safely out of the way; it could have remained for all eternity where he'd thrown it And yet here it was again. The only solution was to bury it in the sand. But he felt tired. So he grabbed the sweater and flung it back where it had been before. It was unlikely that Adelina in the coming days would sniff it out again. The telephone rang. It was Nicolo, telling him to turn on the television. There was going to be a special edition of the news at nme-thirty. He looked at his watch. Nine-fifteen. He went into the bathroom, got undressed, washed himself quickly, then settled into the armchair. He would eat the hake after the news.

  After the opening credits, an image that looked like something out of an American film appeared. A large, mangled car rose slowly out of the water as Zito's voiceover explained that this difficult dredging operation had taken place shortly before sunset. Next they showed the car resting on the deck of a pontoon while some men freed it from the steel cables with which it had been hoisted. Then Guarnotta's face appeared.

  Inspector Guarnotta, could you please tell us what you found inside Mr Gargano's car?'

  'On the back seat we found a suitcase containing Gargano's personal effects'

  'Anything else?'

  'Nothing else'

  This confirmed that the ragioniere had taken Giacomo's precious briefcase away with him.

  'Are you going to continue to search for Gargano's body?'

  'I can officially announce that the search for Gargano has ended. We're more than convinced that his body was dragged out to sea by the current.'

  And this proved that Gargano had been right in his calculations. There had indeed been an idiot ready to believe the whole set-up. There he was, the illustrious Inspector Guamotta.

  'There's a rumour circulating -- which it is our journalistic duty to mention here -- that relations between Pellegrino and Gargano were somewhat unusual Can you confirm this?

  'We too have heard this rumour and are investigating the matter. If it proves to be true, it could be important.' 'Why, Inspector?

  'Because it would explain why Gargano and Pellegrino met late at night in this secluded, seldom frequented place. They came here to -- how shall I say? -- to be alone. And they were followed here and killed.'

  It was hopeless. Guamotta was besotted with his theory. It had to be the Mafia, therefore it was the Mafia.

  'About an hour ago we had a chance to talk on the phone to Dr Pasquano, the coroner, who has just completed the autopsy on the body of Giacomo Pellegrino. He said the young man was killed by a single gunshot wound, right between the eyes, fired at close range. The bullet, which did not exit the body, has been recovered. Dr Pasquano says it is from a small-calibre weapon.'

  Zito stopped, saying no more. Guarnotta looked puzzled.

  'So?

  'Well, wouldn't that be a rather unusual weapon for the Mafia?

  Guamotta chuckled condescendingly.

  'The Mafia uses whatever weapon it wants. It has no preferences. From a bazooka to the tip of a toothpick. Never forget that'

  Zito's face looked visibly dumbfounded. Apparently he did not understand how a toothpick could become a lethal weapon.

  Montalbano turned off the television.

  Among these weapons, my good Guarnotta, he said to himself, there are also people like you. Judges, policemen, and carabinieri who see the Mafia when it's not there, and do not see it when it is.

  But he didn't want to give in to anger. The little hakes were waiting for him.

  He decided to go to bed early so he could read a little. He'd just lain down when the phone rang.

  'Darling? Everything's all set at this end. I'll be flying out tomorrow afternoon. I should be in Vigata by around eight o'clock.'

  If you tell me what time you get in, I'll come and pick you up at Punta Raisi. I don't have much going on. I'm happy to do it'

  'The fact is I've still got some hassles at the office. I don't know exactly what time 'I'll be able to leave. So don't worry about it, I'll just take the bus. I'll be there when you get home from work.'

  'OK'

  'But try to come home early, don t do as you usually do. I really want to be with you.'

  'Why, don't you think I do, too?'

  Instinctively, his eye wandered up to the top of the armoire where the sweater lay hidden. He would have to bury it the next morning, before going to work. But what if Livia asked what had happened to her present? He would feign surprise, and thus Livia would end up suspecting Adelina, whom she detested and who repaid her in kind. Then, almost without realizing what he was doing, he grabbed a chair, pushed it against the armoire, climbed up on it, felt around with his hand until he found the sweater, seized it, stepped down from the chair, put it back, took the sweater in both hands and with great effort managed to rip it and start tearing it apart, making one, two, three holes in it; then he armed himself with a knife, stabbed it five or six times, threw it down on the ground, and began stamping on it with both feet. A genuine murderer in the throes of a homicidal frenzy. In the end he left it on the kitchen table so he would remember to bury it the following morning. And all at once he felt profoundly ridiculous. Why had he let himself succumb to such stupid, uncontrolled rage? Perhaps because he'd completely repressed it, and then lo, the sweater had so brutally reappeared before his eyes? Well, now that he'd got it out of his system, not only did he find himself ridiculous, but he fell prey to a kind of melancholy remorse. Poor Livia, who'd so lovingly chosen that very sweater as a present for him. Then an absurd, impossible comparison occurred to him. How would Mariastella Cosentino have behaved in the grips of a sweater given her by Gargano, the man she loved? Or, rather, adored -- to the point that she couldn't see, or wouldn't see, that the ragioniere was nothing more than a rogue and con artist who'd run off with the money and who, to avoid having to share it, had murdered a man in cold blood. Why hadn't she reacted when, to calm down the old man Garzullo, he'd concocted that story about the TV announcing that Gargano'd been arrested? She had no television at home, so it seemed logical to assume that she would have believed what Montalbano said. Whereas, nothing. Not a move, not a start, not even a sigh. It was more or less the same reaction she had when he told her that Pellegrino's corpse had been found. She should have fallen into despair, imagining that her beloved ragioniere had suffered a similar fate. Whereas, that time, too, she'd behaved the same way. He'd felt as if he was talking to something rather like a statue with its eyes popping out. Miss Mariastella Cosentino behaved as if--

  The telephone rang. Was it possible that one could never fall asleep in peace in that house? Anyway, it was late, almost one o'clock. Cursing the saints, he picked up the receiver.

  'Hello? Who is this?' he asked in a voice that would have frightened a highwayman.

  'Did I wake you up? It's Nicolo.' 'No, I was still awake. Any news?'

  'No, but I wanted to tell you something that'll cheer you up.'

&nb
sp; 'I'm in need of it'

  'You want to know what theory Prosecutor Tommaseo came up with in an-interview I just did with him? He said it probably wasn't the Mafia that killed the two men, as Guarnotta thinks.'

  'So who was it, then?'

  Tor Tommaseo it was a third man, a jealous lover who caught them in the act. What do you think?'

  'With Tommaseo, the minute there's a hint of sex, his imagination runs away with him. When are you going to broadcast it?'

  'Never. When the chief prosecutor found out about it, he called me up all embarrassed, poor guy. So I gave him my word I would never make the interview public'

  He read three pages of Simenon, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't read any further. He was too sleepy. He turned off the light and plunged at once into a rather unpleasant dream. He was underwater again, near Gargano's car, and could see Giacomo's body inside the cab, moving about like an astronaut, weightless, and tracing what looked like a dance step. Then a voice came from the other side of the rock.