IM1 The Shape of Water (2002)

by Andrea Camilleri

  5

  The little beach of Puntasecca, a compact strip of sand sheltered by a hill of white marl, was deserted at that hour. When the inspector arrived, Gegas already there waiting for him, leaning against his car and smoking a cigarette.

  Come on out, Salve said to Montalbano. Lets enjoy the fine night air a minute.

  They stood there a bit in silence, smoking. Then Geghaving put out his cigarette, began to speak.

  I know what you want to ask me, Salvm well prepared. You can ask me anything you like, even jumping around.

  They smiled at this shared memory. Theyd known each other since La Primina, the little private kindergarten where the teacher was Signorina Marianna, Geg sister, some fifteen years his senior. Salvo and Gegere listless schoolboys, learning their lessons like parrots, and like parrots repeating them in class. Some

  days, however, Signorina Marianna wasnt satisfied with those litanies, so shed start jumping around in her questions; that is, she wouldnt follow the order in which the information had been presented. And this meant trouble, because then you had to have understood the material and grasped the logical connections. Hows your sister doing? asked Montalbano.

  I took her to Barcelona. Theres a specialized eye clinic there. They say they can work miracles. They told me they can get the right eye,at least,to recover in part.

  When you see her, give her my best.

  I will. But as I was saying, Im well prepared, so you can start firing away with the questions.

  How many people do you have working for you at the Pasture?

  Between whores and fags of various sorts, twenty-eight. Then theres Filippo di Cosmo and Manuele Lo Pro, who are there just to make sure theres no trouble. The smallest thing, you know, and Im screwed.

  Gotta keep your eyes open.

  Right. Do you realize the kind of problems Id have if there was a brawl or somebody got knifed or ODd?

  Still sticking to light drugs?

  Yeah. Grass, coke at the most. Ask the street

  cleaners if they ever find a single syringe, go ahead and

  ask em.

  I believe you.

  Then theres Giambalvo, chief of vice, whos always breathing down my neck. He says hell put up with me as long as I dont create any complications and bust his balls with something big.

  I know Giambalvo. He doesnt want to have to shut down the Pasture or hed lose his cut. What do you give him, a monthly wage? A fixed percentage? How much does he get?

  Gegmiled.

  Get yourself transferred to vice and youll find out. Id like that. Itd give me a chance to help out a poor wretch like you, who lives only on his salary and goes around dressed in rags.

  Thanks for the compliment. Now tell me about that night.

  Well, it must have been around ten, ten-thirty, when Milly, who was working that night, saw some headlights coming from the Montelusa side near the sea, heading up toward the Pasture at a good clip. Freaked her out.

  Whos this Milly?

  Her real names Giuseppina La Volpe, thirty years old, born at Mistretta. Shes a smart girl.

  He took a folded-up sheet of paper out of his pocket and handed it to Montalbano.

  Here, Ive written out everyones real name. And address, too, in case you wanted to talk to somebody in person.

  Why did you say Milly got scared?

  Because theres no way a car could come from that direction, unless it passed through the Canneto, whichd be a sure way to bust up your car and your ass into the bargain. At first she thought it was some brilliant idea of Giambalvos, a surprise roundup or something. Then she realized it couldnt be vice: you dont do a roundup with only one squad car. So she got even more scared, because it occurred to her it might be the Monterosso boys, whove been waging war on me, trying to take the Pasture away, and maybe there would even be a shoot-out. So, to be ready to hightail it out of there at any moment, she kept her eyes on that car, and her client started complaining. But she had enough time to see that the car was turning and heading straight for the bushes nearby, driving almost inside of them. And then it stopped.

  Youre not telling me anything new, Geg

  The guy whod been fucking Milly then dropped her off and went back up the path, in reverse, to the provincial road. Milly waited around for another trick,

  walking back and forth. Then Carmen arrived at the spot where shed been a minute before, with a devoted client who comes to see her at the same time every Saturday and Sunday and spends hours with her. Carmens real name is on that piece of paper I gave you.

  Her address, too?

  Yes. Before the client turned off his headlights, Carmen noticed that the two inside the BMW were already fucking.

  Did she tell you exactly what she saw?

  Yes. It was only a few seconds, but she got a good look. Maybe because it had made an impression on her, since you dont usually see cars like that at the Pasture. Anyway, the girl, who was in the drivers seatoh, I forgot to mention, Milly said it was the girl who was drivingshe turned, climbed onto the lap of the man beside her, fiddling around with her hands underneath, but you couldnt see them, and then she started going up and down. You havent forgotten how people fuck, have you?

  I dont think so, but we can check. When youve finished telling me what youve got to tell me, drop your pants, put your pretty little hands on the trunk, and stick your ass up in the air. If Ive forgotten anything, you can remind me. Now go on, and stop wasting my time.

  When they were done, the girl opened the car door and got out, straightened her skirt, and shut the door. The man, instead of starting up the car and leaving, stayed where he was, with his head leaning back. The girl passed very close by Carmens car, and at that exact moment a cars headlights shined right on her. She was a good-looking lady, blond, well dressed, and she had a shoulder bag in her left hand. Then she headed toward the old factory.

  Anything else?

  Yes. Manuele, who was making the rounds in his car, saw her leave the Pasture and walk toward the provincial road. Since she didnt look to him like Pasture material, by the way she was dressed, he turned around to follow her, but then a car came by and picked her up.

  Wait a second, GegDid Manuele see her standing there, with her thumb out, waiting for someone to give her a ride?

  Salvw do you do it? You really are a born cop.

  Why do you say that?

  Because thats exactly the point Manueles not convinced about. In other words, he didnt see the chick make any signal, but the car did stop. And thats not all: although the car was moving along at a pretty

  good clip, Manuele had the impression the door was already open when it put on the brakes to pick her up. But Manuele didnt think to take down the license numberthere wasnt any reason.

  Right. And what can you tell me about the man in the BMW, Luparello?

  Not much. He wore glasses, and he never took his jacket off to fuck, even though it was hot as hell. But theres one point where Millys story and Carmens dont jibe. Milly says that when the car arrived, it looked like the man had a tie or a black ascot around his neck; Carmen maintains that when she saw him, he had his shirt unbuttoned and that was all. But that seems like an unimportant detail to me, since Luparello could have taken off the tie while he was fucking. Maybe it bothered him.

  His tie but not his jacket? But thats not unimportant, Gegbecause no tie or ascot was found inside the car.

  That doesnt mean anything. Maybe it fell out onto the sand when the girl got out.

  Jacomuzzis men combed the area and didnt find anything.

  They stood there in silence, thoughtful.

  Maybe theres another explanation for what Milly saw, Geguddenly said. Maybe it was never a

  question of ties or ascots. Maybe the man still had his seat belt onafter all, theyd just driven along the bed of the Canneto, with all its rocks and sticksand he took it off when the girl climbed onto his lap, since the seat belt would surely have been a bother.

  Its possible.


  Ive told you everything I was able to find out about this, Salvd I tell you in my own interest. Because for a big cheese like Luparello to come and croak at the Pasture isnt good for business. Now everybodys eyes are gonna be on it, so the sooner you finish your investigation, the better. After a couple of days people forget, and we can all go back to work in peace. Can I go now? These are peak hours at the Pasture.

  Wait. Whats your opinion of the whole thing?

  Me? Youre the cop. But just to make you happy, I will say that the whole thing stinks to me. Lets imagine the girl is a high-class whore, a foreigner. Are you gonna tell me Luparello doesnt have a place to take her?

  Gegdo you know what a perversion is?

  Youre asking me? I could tell you a few things that would make you puke on my shoes. I know what youre going to say, that they came to the Pasture because they thought it would make it more erotic. And

  that does happen sometimes. Did you know that one

  night a judge showed up with his bodyguards?

  Really? Who was it?

  Judge Cosentino. See, I can even tell you the name. The evening before he was kicked out of office, he came to the Pasture with an escort car, picked up a transvestite, and had sex with him.

  What did the bodyguards do?

  They went for a long walk on the beach. But to get back to the subject: Cosentino knew he was a marked man and decided to have a little fun. But what interest could Luparello have had? He wasnt that kind of guy. Everybody knows he liked the ladies, but he was always careful never to let anyone see him. And where is the woman who could make him risk everything he had and everything he stood for just to get laid? I dont buy it, Salv

  Go on.

  If we suppose, on the other hand, that the chick was not a whore, then I really dont know. Its even less likelydownright impossibletheyd let themselves be seen at the Pasture. Also, the car was driven by the girl, that much is certain. Aside from the fact that no one would ever trust a whore with a car like that, that lady must have been something to strike fear in a mans heart. First of all,she has no problem driving down into

  the Canneto, and then, when Luparello dies between her thighs,she gets up like nothing,closes the door,and walks away. Does that seem normal to you?

  I dont think so.

  At this point Gegtarted laughing and flicked on his cigarette lighter.

  What are you doing? asked Montalbano.

  Come over here, faggot. Bring your face to the light.

  The inspector obeyed, and Geglluminated his eyes. Then he extinguished the lighter.

  I get it. All along, you, a man of the law, were thinking the exact same thoughts as me, a man of crime. And you just wanted to see if they matched up. Eh,Salv

  You guessed right.

  Im hardly ever wrong when it comes to you. Gotta go now. Ciao.

  Thanks, said Montalbano.

  The inspector left first,but a moment later his friend pulled up beside him, gesturing for him to slow down.

  What do you want?

  I dont know where my head was. I wanted to tell you this before. Do you have any idea what a pretty sight you made this afternoon, hand in hand with Corporal Ferrara?

  Then he accelerated, putting a safe distance between himself and the inspector, his arm waving good-bye.

  Back at home, Montalbano jotted down a few of the details that Gegad provided, but sleep soon came over him. He glanced at his watch, noticed it was a little past one, and went to bed. The insistent ringing of the doorbell woke him up. His eyes looked over at the alarm clock: two-fifteen. He got up with some effort; the early stages of sleep always slowed down his reflexes.

  Who the fuck is that, at this hour?

  He went to the door just as he was, in his briefs, and opened up.

  Hi, said Anna.

  Hed completely forgotten; the girl had indeed said that she would come see him around this hour. Anna was looking him over.

  I see youre wearing the right clothes, she said, then stepped inside.

  Say what it is you have to tell me, then go back home. Im dead tired.

  Montalbano was truly annoyed by the intrusion. He went into his bedroom, put on a pair of pants and

  shirt, and returned to the dining room. Anna wasnt there. She had gone into the kitchen, opened the refrigerator, and was already sinking her teeth into a bread roll filled with prosciutto.

  Im so hungry I can hardly see.

  You can talk while youre eating.

  Montalbano put the espresso pot on the stove.

  Youre going to make coffee? At this hour? Will you be able to fall back asleep afterward?

  Anna, please. He was unable to be polite.

  All right. This afternoon, after we split up, I found out from a colleague, who for his part had been told by an informer, that starting yesterday, Tuesday morning, some guys been going around to all the jewelers, receivers of stolen goods, and pawnbrokers both legitimate and illegitimate to alert them that if someone came in to buy or pawn a certain piece of jewelry, they should let him know. The piece in question is a necklace, with a solid-gold chain and a heart-shaped pendant covered with diamonds. The kind of thing youd find at some cheap department store, except that this ones real.

  So how are they supposed to let him know? By phone?

  Its no joke. He told each one of them to give a different signalI dont know, like putting a green cloth in the window or hanging a piece of newspaper

  from the front door, things like that. Hes shrewd: that

  way he can see without being seen.

  Fine, but I think

  Let me finish. From the way he spoke and acted, the people he approached concluded it was best to do as he said. Then we found out that some other people, at the same time, were making the same rounds in all the towns of the province, Vig included. Therefore, whoever lost that necklace wants it back.

  Nothing wrong with that. So why, in your opinion, should this interest me?

  Because the man told a certain receiver in Montelusa that the necklace might have been lost in the Pasture Sunday night or Monday morning. Does it interest you now?

  Up to a point.

  I know, it may be only a coincidence and have nothing whatsoever to do with Luparellos death.

  Thanks anyway. Now go back home. Its late.

  The coffee was ready. Montalbano poured himself a cup, and Anna naturally took advantage of the opportunity.

  None for me?

  With the patience of a saint, the inspector filled another cup and handed it to her. He liked Anna, but couldnt she understand he was with another woman?

  No, Anna said suddenly, putting down her coffee.

  No what?

  I dont want to go home. Would you really mind so much if I stayed here with you?

  Yes, I would.

  But why?

  Because Im too good a friend of your father. Id feel like I was doing him wrong.

  What bullshit!

  It may be bullshit, but thats the way it is. And anyway, you seem to be forgetting that Im in love, really in love, with another woman.

  Whos not here.

  Shes not here, but its as if she were. Now dont be silly and dont say silly things. Youre unlucky, Anna; youre up against an honest man. Im sorry. Forgive me.

  He couldnt fall asleep. Anna had been right to warn him that the coffee would keep him awake. But something else was getting on his nerves: if that necklace had indeed been lost at the Pasture, then surely Geg must also have been told about it. But Gegad been careful not to mention it, and surely not because it was a meaningless detail.

  6

  At five-thirty in the morning, after having spent the night repeatedly getting up and going back to bed, Montalbano decided on a plan for Gegone that would indirectly pay him back for his silence about the lost necklace and his joke about the visit hed made that afternoon at the Pasture. He took a long shower, drank three coffees in succession,then got in his car.When he arrived in Rab, the oldest quarter of Monte
lusa, destroyed thirty years earlier by a landslide and now consisting mostly of ruins refurbished higgledy-piggledy and damaged, ramshackle hovels inhabited by illegal aliens from Tunisia and Morocco, he headed through narrow, tortuous alleyways toward Piazza Santa Croce. The church stood whole amid the ruins. He took from his pocket the sheet of paper Gegad given him:Carmen, known in the real world as Fatma Ben Gallud, Tunisian, lived at number 48. It was a miserable catojo, a small ground-floor room with a little window in the

  wooden door to allow the air to circulate. He knocked: no answer. He knocked harder, and this time a sleepy voice asked:

  Who that?

  Police, Montalbano fired back. He had decided to play rough, catching her still drowsy from the sudden awakening. Certainly Fatma, because of her work at the Pasture, must have slept even less than he. The door opened, the woman covering herself in a large beach towel that she held up at breast level with one hand.

  What you want?

  To talk to you.

  She stood aside. In the catojo there was a double bed half unmade, a little table with two chairs, and a small gas stove. A plastic curtain separated the toilet and sink from the rest of the room. Everything was so clean and orderly it sparkled. But the smell of the woman and her cheap perfume so filled the room that one could hardly breathe.

  Let me see your residence permit.

  As if in fear, the woman let the towel fall as she brought her hands to her face to cover her eyes. Long legs, slim waist, flat belly, high, firm breastsa real woman, in short, the type you see in television commercials. After a moment or two, Montalbano realized, from Fatmas expectant immobility, that what he

  was witnessing was not fear, but an attempt to reach the most obvious and common of arrangements between man and woman.

  Get dressed.

  There was a metal wire hung from one corner of the room to another. Fatma walked over to it: broad shoulders, perfect back, small, round buttocks.

  With a body like that, thought Montalbano, I bet shes been through it all.

  He imagined the men lining up discreetly in certain offices, with Fatma earning the indulgence of the authorities behind closed doors, as he had happened several times to read about, an indulgence of the most self-indulgent kind. Fatma put on a light cotton dress over her naked body and remained standing in front of Montalbano.