“How much did you earn, on average, in the nightclubs?”
“The money we earned went directly to pay off our debt to the agency in Schelkovo, which also took care of finding us an apartment together in Italy. To earn enough to be able to send some back home, we had to go with clients after closing time.”
She blushed.
“I see. Where did you meet Tommaso Lapis?”
“At a nightclub in Palermo. First we were sent to Viareg gio, Grosseto, and then Salerno. Lapis talked mostly to Sonya. Several times. Finally, one day, when we were all at home, Sonya told us that Mr. Lapis had offered to have us all move to Montelusa, where a charitable organization would take care of us and have us work as home care assistants, housekeepers, cleaning women. Honest jobs that might lead to something.”
“And who was going to settle the debt with the agency?”
“Lapis said not to worry about it. He would have his friends take care of it.”
Mafiosi, apparently.
“The fact remains,” Katya continued, “that our families in Russia didn’t suffer any reprisals. Because this was what the people at the agency were always threatening us with. If one of you escapes, they would say, her family’s gonna pay.”
“In short, you accepted Lapis’s offer.”
“Yes. But Lapis wanted us to show up at the Benevolence office saying that we had come there on our own and not mention that he had suggested it to us. And he ordered us not to come all at the same time.”
It was clear: Lapis wanted to hide his role as principal inspiration and organizer of the group.
“Why, when you arrived, were you and Irina so terrified?”
“Who, us?” said Katya, completely confused.
Apparently this was a little extra color added by Cavaliere Piro.
“So, Sonya arrived after the two of you?”
“Yes.”
“By any chance, was your fourth companion Zin?”
“Zinaida Gregorenko, yes.”
“How come she never came and joined you at Benevolence?”
Katya gave him a puzzled look.
“What do you mean, she never came? She was the fourth to arrive!”
Cavaliere Piro had neglected to tell him this. So the cavaliere, too, was neck-deep in it.
“Then what happened?”
“What happened was that the day after the four of us were brought together, Mr. Lapis took us aside and told us what he had in mind. He was going to place us in different homes, and we were supposed to keep our eyes open and see if there was any jewelry or money. And then, when the time was right, to steal it and disappear. Afterwards, he would take care of relocating us in another town and selling the stuff. The person who carried out the robbery was entitled to twenty-five percent of the proceeds.”
“Did all of you accept?”
“Sonya did right away. But I think she was already in agreement with him before leaving the nightclub. Then Irina and Zin also accepted. Then I did, too.”
“Why?”
“Where would I go without the other girls? It was important for us to stay together. But I secretly promised myself that I would run away the first chance I got. Which I did. I never stole anything. Then Zin also quit, but for other reasons.”
“What sort of reasons?”
“She fell in love and went to live with her boyfriend.”
“And how did Lapis take this?”
“Badly. But he couldn’t do anything about it. Because the man Zin was with was a dangerous criminal and threatened to tell the police the whole story.”
“When you heard on television that a girl was found dead in an illegal dump, did you realize immediately that they were talking about Sonya?”
Katya looked at him saucer-eyed.
“Sonya?!”
“It wasn’t her?”
“No, it was Zin who was killed!”
Now it was Montalbano’s turn to look saucer-eyed.
“But wasn’t Zin out of the loop by then?”
“She was. But she needed money to pay for her boyfriend’s lawyer after he ended up in jail. And Lapis took advantage of this to persuade her to come back to him. He got her hired by a housecleaning business. One of Zin’s jobs was to clean the apartment of that shop owner. Eventually she realized he had a lot of money in the house, especially on Saturday nights. But Zin imposed one condition: that, after this job, Lapis was not to show his face anymore. But then . . .”
Two big tears rolled down her cheeks. Don Antonio put his hand on her shoulder for a moment.
“But how did you find out all these things?”
“Every now and then I call Sonya.”
“Excuse me, but Sonya could find out where the calls are coming from, couldn’t she?”
“I only use public phones when I talk to her.”
For the moment he had no more questions for her. What he’d learned was more than enough.
“Listen, miss, I am extremely grateful to you for what you’ve told me. If I needed to talk to you again, how—”
“Just call me,” said Don Antonio. “But I have one request, if I may.”
“Go ahead.”
“I want you to send all those crooks from Benevolence to jail. Their presence is a blot on the clean, hard work of thousands of honest volunteers.”
“I will certainly try to do that,” said the inspector, standing up.
Katya and Don Antonio also stood up.
“I wish you a serene and happy life,” Montalbano said to Katya. And he embraced her.
Before leaving the bar he tried calling Livia from the establishment’s phone. Nothing.
Catarella again saw him flash by like a rocket.
“Ahh Chie—”
“I’m not here, I’m not here!”
He didn’t even sit down at his desk. Still standing up, he tried calling Livia again. The usual recording. He became convinced that Livia, after waiting for him in vain, had gone back home to Boccadasse, feeling disconsolate, maybe even desperate. What kind of night was she going to have, all alone in Boccadasse? What kind of shit of a man was Salvo Montalbano, who would leave her in the lurch like that?
He searched through a drawer for a small piece of paper, found it, grabbed the outside line, and dialed a number.
“Punta Raisi Airport Police? Is Inspector Capuano there? Could you put him on? This is Inspector Montalbano.”
“Salvo, what is it?”
“Listen, Capuà, you absolutely have to get me a seat on this evening’s flight to Genoa. You also have to make the ticket for me.”
“Wait.”
Multiplication tables for six. Six curses. Multiplication tables for seven. Seven curses. Multiplication tables for eight. Eight curses.
“Montalbano? There’s room. I’ll have somebody book the flight for you.”
“To say you’re an angel is not saying enough, Capuà.”
No sooner had he set down the receiver than Fazio and Augello came in, out of breath.
“Catarella told us you were back, and so—” Mimì began.
“What time is it?” Montalbano interrupted him.
“Almost four.”
He had one hour, more or less, at his disposal.
“We’ve summoned them all,” said Fazio. “Guglielmo will be here at five on the dot, and the others will arrive after that.”
“Now listen to me very carefully, because as soon as I’ve finished talking, the investigation will be in your hands. Yours, Mimì, and Fazio’s.”
“And what are you going to do?”
“I’m going to disappear, Mimì. And don’t get any ideas about tracking me down and breaking my balls, because, even if you succeed in finding me, I won’t talk to either of you. Is that clear?”
“Perfectly.”
Montalbano then recounted what Katya had told him.
“Evidently,” he concluded, “Cavaliere Piro was in league with Lapis. I don’t know about the others. It’s up to you to find out. It’s als
o obvious that Lapis was murdered out of revenge. He had forced Zin to go back to thieving, and the girl ended up getting shot by Morabito. So Zin’s boyfriend, who apparently was madly in love with her, killed Lapis in turn.”
“It won’t be easy to put a name on this killer,” said Augello.
“I’ll tell you his name, Mimì. It’s Peppi Cannizzaro. A repeat offender.”
Fazio and Augello looked at him dumbfounded.
“All right, but . . . he won’t be easy to find,” said Augello.
“I’ll even give you his address: Via Palermo 16, in Gallotta. You want me also to tell you what size shoe he wears?”
“Oh no you don’t!” Mimì burst out. “You have to tell us how you managed to—”
“None of your fucking business.”
Mimì stood up, made a bow, and sat back down.
“Your explanations, Professor, never leave any room for doubt.”
The telephone rang.
“Ahh Chief Chief! Ahh Chief Chief!”
Must be something serious.
“What’s happened, Cat?”
“Hizzoner the c’mishner called! From Rome, he called!”
“Why didn’t you put his call through to me?”
“ ’Cause he tol’ me to only tell you how and whereats he assolutely wants you to be assolutely onna premisses at five-fifteen onna dot ’cause he’s gonna call back from Rome.”
“When he rings, put him straight through.”
He looked at Fazio and Augello.
“It was the commissioner, calling from Rome. He’s going to call back at five-fifteen.”
“What’s he want?” asked Mimì.
“He’s going to advise us to handle the matter with extreme caution. It’s explosive stuff. Listen, Fazio, is Gallo here?”
“He’s here.”
“Tell him to fill up the tank on one of the squad cars. I’ll pay for it myself. And to make himself available.”
Fazio stood up and walked out.
“I’m not convinced,” said Mimì.
“By what?”
“The commissioner’s phone call. He’s going to make us pass the baton.”
“Mimì, if that happens, what can you do?”
Augello heaved a deep sigh.
“There are moments when I wish I was Don Quixote.”
“There’s an essential difference, Mimì. Don Quixote thought that windmills were monsters, whereas what we’re dealing with really are monsters, but they pretend they’re windmills.”
Fazio returned.
“All taken care of.”
Nobody felt like talking. At five o’clock Catarella announced that Signor Giro had arrived.
“That must be Piro,” said Fazio. “What should I do?”
“Show him into Mimì’s room. And make him wait, the pig.”
At a quarter past five, the telephone rang.
“Ahh Chief Chief!”
“Put him on,” said Montalbano, turning on the speakerphone.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Commi—”
“Montalbano? Listen to me very carefully, and don’t say a word. I’m in Rome, in the undersecretary’s office, and I haven’t got any time to waste. I’ve been informed of what’s happening down there. Among other things, you didn’t even bother to notify Prosecutor Tommaseo of your impulsive summons of the directors of Benevolence. As of this moment, the case is turned over to the chief of the flying squad, Inspector Filiberto. Is that clear? You are not to concern yourself any longer with this case. In no way, shape, or form. Understood? Good-bye.”
“QED,” commented Augello.
The other telephone rang.
“Who could that be?” the inspector wondered.
“The Pope, to tell you you’ve been excommunicated,” said Mimì.
Montalbano picked up the receiver.
“Yes?” he said, keeping to generalities.
“Montalbano? I don’t think we’ve had a chance to meet yet. I’m Emanuele Filiberto, the new chief of the flying squad. I’m wondering how far you got with your investigation.”
“As far as you like.”
“Namely?”
“For example, would you like me to tell you the name and surname of the girl who was killed?”
“Why not?”
“Would you like me to tell you that Tommaso Lapis was the leader of a band of female thieves?”
“Why not?”
“Would you like me to tell you the name of Lapis’s killer?”
“Why not?”
“Would you like me to tell you what connections there were between Lapis and a benevolent association called, indeed, Benevolence, which has protectors in very, very high places? Or should I stop and not tell you anything more?”
“Why stop at the best part?”
“A few minutes ago the commissioner phoned me from Rome.”
“He phoned me, too.”
“What did he say to you?”
“He said to proceed carefully.”
“And that’s all?”
“And that’s all. I’m particularly interested in the connection with the benevolent association. Have you seen the Free Channel today?”
“No. What did they do?”
“They’re making a really big deal out of all this. Out of the scams of this Piro guy. Just think, in the space of three hours they broadcast two special editions.”
“All right, then, my second-in-command, Inspector Augello, is going to come to your office straightaway. He knows everything.”
“I’ll be waiting for him.”
Montalbano set down the telephone and looked at Fazio and Mimì, who had heard everything.
“Maybe there is still a judge in Berlin,” he said, standing up. “Mimì, bring Cavaliere Piro along with you. He’ll be our token of friendship to Filiberto. So long, boys. See you in a few days.”
Gallo was waiting for him in the corridor.
“Can you make it to Punta Raisi in an hour?”
“Yessir, I can, if I turn on the siren.”
It was worse than at Indianapolis. Gallo had fifty-eight firsts and fourteen seconds.
“Don’t you have any baggage?” asked Capuano.
Montalbano slapped himself hard on the forehead. He’d forgotten his suitcase in the trunk of his own car.
Once he was in the air, a wicked hunger came over him.
“Is there anything to eat?” he begged the stewardess.
She brought him a box of cookies. He made do with them.
Then he began to review the words he would have to say to make Livia forgive him. The third time he repeated them, they sounded so convincing to him, so moving, that he very nearly broke out in tears.
He put his ear against the door to Livia’s apartment, heart beating so wildly that it risked waking up everyone in the building. Boom-boom, boom-boom, boom-boom. His face was all twisted up, perhaps from the emotion, perhaps because of the box of cookies. He couldn’t hear anything on the other side of the door. No television, no sound at all. Absolute silence.
Maybe she’d already gone to bed, tired and angry for having traveled all that way for nothing. So he rang the doorbell with a slightly trembling finger. Nothing. He rang again. Nothing.
In the very first year of their relationship, he and Livia had exchanged keys to their respective homes, which they always carried with them.
He took his key, opened the door, and went inside.
He realized at once that Livia wasn’t there. That she had not been back to her apartment since leaving that morning. The first thing he saw was her cell phone on the console in the vestibule. She’d forgotten it, and that was why she hadn’t picked up for any of his calls.
What now? Where had she gone? How was he going to find her? He felt dejected, overwhelmed all at once by fatigue, which made him weak in the knees. He went into the bedroom and lay down. Closed his eyes. He suddenly reopened them, as the telephone on the nightstand was ringing.
“Hello?”
“I knew it! I knew it! I sensed that you would be so stupid, so imbecilic as to go off to Boccadasse!”
It was Livia, and she was in a rage.
“Livia! You have no idea how hard I’ve been looking for you! You nearly drove me insane! Where are you calling from? Where are you?”
“When I realized you weren’t coming, I took the bus. Where do you think I am? At your place! Don’t you see that every time you insist on doing things your way you end up making such a stinking mess that—”
“Listen, Livia, if you hadn’t forgotten your cell phone here, I would have . . .”
And so began a great big squabble, just like old times.
AUTHOR’S NOTE
This novel is made up. What I mean is that the characters, their names, and the situations in which they find themselves have no reference to any real-life persons. There is no doubt, however, that the novel is born of a specific reality. And thus someone may happen to think they recognize him- or herself in a character or situation, though I assure any and all that should this happen, it is merely by an unfortunately and utterly unintended coincidence.
I wish to thank Maurizio Assalto, for having sent me a newspaper article, and his girlfriend, Larissa, for some of the stories she told me.
A. C.
NOTES
4 “Garruso” . . . “Garrufo”: Garruso is a common insult in Sicilian that means “rogue, rascal.” Literally, it means “homosexual.”
4 . . . the government was thinking about building a bridge over the Strait of Messina: This has long been a pet project of Silvio Berlusconi, past and present prime minister of Italy and a business tycoon in his own right. The bridge project is one of several grandiose public works by which Berlusconi would like to monumentalize his dubious stewardship of the Italian nation.
9 Matre santa . . . !: “Holy mother” in Sicilian dialect.
30 . . . immediately started firing blindly, feeling perhaps empowered to do so by the recent law on self-defense: On January 24, 2006, in a highly controversial move, the right-wing Berlusconi government passed a reform of article 52 of the Constitution, easing the restrictions on justifiable self-defense. The reform followed the relaxation of the requirements for the right to bear arms and has led to a number of apparently needless and avoidable deaths.
The Wings of the Sphinx Page 19
