The Track of Sand

by Andrea Camilleri

  “But we don’t know that with any certainty. One thing is certain, though: They’re in a hurry to find what they’re looking for. And if they haven’t found it, they might try again, even today, or to night,or to morrow,at the latest.”

  “I just thought of something,” said Fazio.

  “Out with it.”

  “Are you pretty sure they’re spying on you?”

  “Ninety percent.”

  “What time does your housekeeper leave?”

  “Around twelve-thirty, quarter to one.”

  “Could you call her and tell her you’re going to come home for lunch today?”

  “Yeah, sure.Why?”

  “That way, you go home and eat lunch so that nobody can break in because you’re there.At three o’clock, I’ll come by with the squad car. I’ll have the siren going and make a big racket.You come running out, get in the car, and we’ll leave.”

  “Where to?”

  “We’ll go visit the temples. If those guys are keeping an eye on you, they’ll think I came to get you for an emergency. And they’ll spring right into action.”

  “So?”

  “Well, the guys that are spying on you won’t know that Galluzzo’s lurking nearby. In fact, I’ll send him there right now and explain the situation to him.”

  “No, no, Fazio, there’s no need—”

  “Lemme tell you something, Chief. This whole thing smells funny to me, and I don’t like it.”

  “But do you know what they’re looking for?”

  “What, you yourself don’t know, and you want me to tell you?”

  “When does the Giacomo Licco trial begin?”

  “In about a week, I think.Why do you ask?”

  Giacomo Licco had been arrested by Montalbano a while back. He was a Mafia lightweight, a shakedown thug for the protection racket. One day he shot at the legs of a shopkeeper who had refused to pay up. Scared to death, the shopkeeper had always maintained that it was a stranger who shot at him.The inspector, however, had found considerable evidence pointing to Giacomo Licco. The problem was that there was no telling how the trial would turn out, and Montalbano would have to testify.

  “It’s possible they’re not looking for anything. Maybe it’s a warning: Watch what you say at the trial, because we can go in and out of your house as we please.”

  “That’s also possible.”

  “Hello, Adelina?”

  “Yes, signore.”

  “What are you doing?”

  “I tryinna putta house beck in orda.”

  “Have you made something to eat?”

  “I do that later.”

  “Do it now. I’m coming home for lunch at one.”

  “Whatteva you say, sir.”

  “What’d you get?”

  “A coupla sole I gonna fry. An’ pasta witta broccoli to start.”

  Fazio came in.

  “Galluzzo’s gone to Marinella. He knows a spot where he can hide and keep an eye on your house from the sea side.”

  “All right. Listen, don’t talk about this with anyone, not even Mimì.”

  “Okay.”

  “Have a seat. Is Augello in?”

  “Yessir.”

  The inspector picked up the phone.

  “Catarella, tell Inspector Augello I’d like to see him.”

  Mimì showed up at once.

  “Yesterday I went to Fiacca,” Montalbano began,“where there was a horse race. Signora Esterman was one of the people running in it, on a horse lent to her by Severio Lo Duca. This same Lo Duca spoke to me at length. In his opinion, the whole affair is a vendetta by a certain Gerlando Gurreri, a former groom in his employ. Have you ever heard his name before?”

  “Never,” Fazio and Augello said in a single voice.

  “Whereas we ought to know more about him. Apparently he’s taken up with some crooks.You want to look into it, Fazio?”

  “All right.”

  “Are you going to tell us what Lo Duca told you, and in minute detail?” asked Mimì.

  “Coming right up.”

  “It’s not really such a far-fetched hypothesis” was Mimì’s comment when the inspector had finished talking.

  “I feel the same way,” said Fazio.

  “But if Lo Duca is right,” said Montalbano,“do you realize that the investigation ends here?”

  “Why’s that?” asked Augello.

  “Mimì, what Lo Duca told me, he has not told and will never tell our colleagues in Montelusa. All they have is a generic report of the theft of two horses.They don’t know that one of them was bludgeoned to death, because we haven’t told them. Besides, Signora Esterman never even filed a report with us. And Lo Duca told me explicitly that he knew we were not in contact with Montelusa on this issue. Therefore, whatever way you look at it, we have no card in hand that tells us how to proceed.”

  “And so?”

  “And so there are at least two things we need to do.The first is to find out more about Gerlando Gurreri. Mimì, you reproached me for believing Signora Esterman’s story without checking it out. Let’s try to check out what Lo Duca told me, starting with his clubbing Gurreri in the head. Surely he must have been treated in some hospital in Montelusa, no?”

  “I get it,” said Fazio. “You want proof that Lo Duca’s story is true.”

  “Right.”

  “Consider it done.”

  “The second thing is that there’s one element of particular importance in Lo Duca’s hypothesis. He told me that nobody actually knows, at present, which of the two horses was killed—whether it was his or Esterman’s. Lo Duca maintains this was done to make him stew in his own juices for a while. But one thing is certain, and that is that nobody really knows which horse it was. Lo Duca also told me that his horse is called Rudy. Now, if there is a photograph of this horse, and if Fazio and I could see it . . .”

  “I think I may know where to find one,” said Mimì, who chuckled and then continued, “Certainly for somebody who’s supposedly lost his wits, this Gurreri, based on what Lo Duca told you, can think very clearly.”

  “In what sense?”

  “Well, first he kills Esterman’s horse to put Lo Duca on tenterhooks concerning his own horse’s fate, and then he phones Esterman so that Lo Duca can no longer hide from her the fact that her horse was stolen . . . To me he sounds sharp as a knife, this guy, and not like some poor brainless bastard!”

  “I pointed that out to Lo Duca,” said Montalbano.

  “And what’d he say?”

  “He said that most probably Gurreri is being advised by some of his accomplices.”

  “Hmph,” said Mimì.

  10

  He was about to leave to go home when the telephone rang.

  “Chief ? Chief? ’At’d be the lady Esther Man for you.”

  “On the phone?”

  “Yessir.”

  “Tell her I’m not here.”

  The instant he set down the receiver, the phone rang again.

  “Chief, ’at’d be summon says ’e’s Pasquale Cirribbicciò onna tiliphone.”

  It must be Pasquale Cirrinciò, one of Adelina the housekeeper’s two sons, both of whom were thieves constantly in and out of jail. Montalbano was made godfather of Pasquale’s’s son at the baptism.

  “What is it, Pasquà? Are you calling from prison?”

  “No, sir, Inspector, I’m on house arrest.”

  “Is something wrong?”

  “Inspector, my mother called me this morning and told me wha’ happened.”

  Adelina had told her son that burglars had broken into Montalbano’s house. The inspector didn’t say a word, but waited to hear the rest.

  “I wanted ’a tell you I called up a few o’ my friends.”

  “Did you find anything out?”

  “Just that my friends got nothing to do with it. One of ’em told me they wasn’t so stupid to go breakin’ into a cop’s house. So either it was done by outsiders or by a different circuit.”

>   “Maybe a higher circuit?”

  “I wouldn’t know, sir.”

  “Very well, Pasquà.Thanks.”

  “Much obliged.”

  So, it was pretty clear now that burglars had nothing to do with this. And he didn’t think it was outsiders, either. It had to be somebody else, who wasn’t part of the “circuit,” as Pasquale called it.

  He set the table on the veranda, warmed up the pasta with broccoli, and started eating. And as he was regaling himself, he had the distinct impression that he was being watched. Oftentimes another person’s gaze has the same effect as hearing your name called: you hear the call, but you don’t know where it came from, and so you start looking around.

  He didn’t see a living soul on the beach, aside from a limping dog.The morning fisherman had returned to land, his boat pulled ashore.

  The inspector got up to fetch the sole in the kitchen and at that moment was nearly blinded by a flash of light that immediately vanished. Surely it must have been a reflection of sunlight on glass. It had come from the direction of the sea.

  But there were no windows or houses or cars on the sea, he thought.

  Pretending to pick up the dirty dish, he leaned forward, looking up to see what he could see. At some distance from shore there was a stationary boat, but he was unable to tell how many men were on it. Once upon a time, however, when he was younger, he could have even said what color their eyes were. Well, maybe not quite, but he surely would have seen better.

  He kept a pair of binoculars in the house, but surely those who were spying on him from the boat also had binoculars and would immediately realize he had discovered them. It was best to act as if he hadn’t noticed anything.

  He went inside and, a few minutes later, came back out on the veranda with the soles. He sat down and began eating them.

  Little by little, he became convinced that that boat had been out there ever since he first opened the French door to set the table. He had paid no mind to it, at the time.When he finished eating, it was already past two o’clock. He went into the bathroom to freshen up.Then he went back out on the veranda with a book in his hand, sat down, and lit a cigarette.The boat hadn’t moved.

  He began reading. Fifteen minutes later, he heard a siren approaching. He kept reading as if it had nothing to do with him.The sound grew louder until it stopped in the parking area in front of his house. From their position on the water, the people in the boat could see both the veranda and the parking area. He heard the doorbell ring.

  He got up and went to open the door. Fazio had kept the light flashing on the roof of the car.

  “Chief, there’s an emergency.”

  Why was he hamming it up so much when there were just the two of them? Maybe Fazio thought there were some hidden microphones nearby? Come on!

  “I’ll be right with you.”

  Clearly the people on the boat had witnessed the whole scene.The inspector locked the French door with the dead bolt, came outside, locked the front door, and got in the car.

  Fazio turned the siren back on and screeched the tires loud enough to make Gallo envious.

  “I figured out where they’re watching me from.”

  “And where’s that?”

  “From a boat.Think we ought to tell Galluzzo?”

  “Maybe you’re right. I’ll ring him on his cell phone.”

  Galluzzo answered immediately.

  “Gallù, I wanted to tell you that the chief has figured—Oh, yeah? Okay, stay on the alert.”

  He turned off his phone and turned towards the inspector.

  “Galluzzo had already figured out that the three guys on that boat were only pretending to be fishing and were really keeping your house under surveillance.”

  “But where is Galluzzo hiding?”

  “Chief, you know the house that’s been under construction for ten years, directly across the road from yours? Well, he’s on the second floor.”

  “And where are you taking me?”

  “Didn’t we say we were gonna go visit the temples?”

  Before taking the panoramic road to the temples—which could only be traveled on foot, though they, being policemen, were allowed to go by car—Montalbano asked Fazio to stop, went into a bar-bookshop, and bought a guide.

  “Are you serious? You really want to do the tour?”

  No, he wasn’t serious, not really. But the fact was that, although he had been there many times, every time he went back he always forgot the period of construction, the dimensions, the number of columns . . .

  “Let’s go up to the top,” said the inspector, “and we’ll visit each temple as we make our way down.”

  Once at the top, they parked the car and climbed to the uppermost temple on foot.

  The construction of the temple of Juno Lucina dates from 450 BC. It measures 41 meters in length and 19.55 in width, and used to have 34 columns . . .

  They looked at it carefully, then got back in the car.They drove a few meters, pulled up and parked, then walked uphill to the second temple.

  The Temple of Concord is dated 450 BC. It is 42.1 meters long, 19.7 meters wide and originally had 34 columns, each 6.83 meters high.

  They looked at this, too, then got back in the car and did as before.

  The Temple of Hercules is the most ancient. It dates from 520 BC. Measuring 73.4 meters in length and . . .

  They looked at this one in detail.

  “Are we gonna visit the other temples?”

  “No,” said Montalbano, who was already feeling fed up with archaeology.“What the hell is Galluzzo up to? It’s been almost an hour.”

  “If he hasn’t called, it means he—”

  “Ring ’im.”

  “No, Chief. What if he’s close to your house and his phone starts ringing?”

  “Then call Catarella and let me talk to him.”

  Fazio complied.

  “Any news, Cat?”

  “Nossir, Chief. But the lady Esther Man called. She axed if you could call ’er.”

  Montalbano and Fazio spent another half hour pacing back and forth in front of the temple.

  The inspector was growing more and more nervous. Fazio tried to distract him.

  “Chief, why is the Temple of Concord almost intact but the others aren’t?”

  “Because there was an emperor, Theodosius, who ordered that all the pagan temples and sanctuaries should be destroyed, except for those that were being converted into Christian churches. And since the Temple of Concord became a Christian church, it was left standing.A fine example of tolerance. Just like today.”

  After this brief cultural digression, the inspector returned at once to the matter at hand.

  “Wanna bet those three guys in the boat were real fishermen? Listen, let’s go to the bar and sit down.”

  This proved impossible. All the tables were occupied by English, German, French, and especially Japanese tourists, who were taking snapshots of anything they could think of, including a pebble that had found its way into one of their shoes.The inspector started cursing the saints.

  “Let’s get out of here,” he said, agitated.

  “Where we gonna go?”

  “We’ll go scratch our balls in—”

  At that moment, Fazio’s cell phone rang.

  “It’s Galluzzo,” he said, bringing the little phone to his ear.

  “Okay, we’ll be right there,” he immediately said.

  “What did he say?”

  “He said we have to go immediately to your house.”

  “He didn’t say anything else?”

  “No, sir.”

  They drove back to Marinella at a speed that even Schumacher at a Formula 1 Grand Prix rarely achieved, but without flashing lights or siren. When they arrived, they found the front door open.

  They raced inside.

  In the dining room, one half of the French door was dangling from its hinges.

  Galluzzo, pale as death, was sitting on the sofa. He had drunk a glass of wa
ter and was holding the empty glass in his hand. He stood up as soon as he saw them.

  “Are you all right?” Montalbano asked him, looking him straight in the eye.

  “Yessir, but I got really scared.”

  “Why?”

  “One of the two shot at me three times, but missed.”

  “Really? And what did you do?”

  “I fired back.And I think I hit the one who hadn’t shot. But the other guy, the one with the weapon, grabbed him and dragged him all the way to the road, where there was a car waiting for them.”

  “Feel up to telling us the whole story from the start?”

  “Sure, I’m okay now.”

  “Would you like a little whisky?”

  “That would be nice, Chief !”

  Montalbano took the glass from his hand, poured him a generous serving, and gave it to him. Fazio, who had gone out onto the veranda, came back inside with a dark look on his face.

  “After you two left, they waited half an hour before coming to shore,” Galluzzo began.

  “They wanted to be sure we had really left,” said Fazio.

  “But, once ashore, they hung around the boat for a long time, looking every which way. Then, after about an hour, two of ’em took a couple of big jerry cans out of the boat and started coming towards the house.”

  “What about the third guy?” asked Montalbano.

  “The third guy, on the other hand, started taking the boat out to sea again. So I ran out of my cover and took up a position behind the left corner of the house. When I looked around the corner, one of the guys, who was holding a crowbar in his hand, had just finished prying the French door off its hinges.Then they went inside. As I was trying to figure out what to do, the two guys came back out on the veranda. I’m sure they were coming to get the jerry cans. I decided I couldn’t waste any more time. So I jumped out, pointed my gun at them, and said:

  “‘Stop! Police!’

  “Ah, Chief! In a flash, one of the two, the bigger guy, pulls out a gun and fires at me. I took cover behind the corner of the house. Then I saw that they were running away towards the parking area in front of the house, so I ran after them.And the big guy shot at me again. So I shot back and the other guy, who was running beside him, started staggering like he was drunk and fell to his knees.Then the big guy pulled him up with one arm and fired a third shot at me.When they got as far as the road, there was a car there with its doors open, and they sped away.”