IM1 The Shape of Water (2002)

by Andrea Camilleri

  So...your papers?

  The woman shook her head no. And she began to weep in silence.

  Dont be afraid, the inspector said.

  I not afraid. I very unlucky.

  Why?

  Because you wait few days, I no here no more.

  And where did you want to go?

  Man from Fela he like me, I like him, he say Sunday he marry me. I believe him.

  The man who comes to see you every Saturday and Sunday?

  Fatmas eyes widened.

  How you know?

  She started crying again.

  But now everything finish.

  Tell me something. Is Gegoing to let you go with this man from Fela?

  Man talk to Signor Gegman pay.

  Listen, Fatma, pretend I never came to see you here. I only want to ask you one thing, and if you answer me truthfully, I will turn around and walk out of here, and you can go back to sleep.

  What you want to know?

  Did they ask you, at the Pasture, if youd found anything?

  The womans eyes lit up.

  Oh, yes! Signor Filippo comehe Signor Geg mantell us if we find gold necklace with heart of diamond, we give it straight to him. If not find,then look.

  And do you know if it was found?

  No. Also tonight, all girls look.

  Thank you, said Montalbano, heading for the door. In the doorway he stopped and turned round to look at Fatma.

  Good luck.

  So Gegad been foiled. What he had so carefully neglected to mention to Montalbano, the inspector had managed to find out anyway. And from what Fatma had just told him, he drew a logical conclusion.

  When he arrived at headquarters at the crack of dawn,

  the officer on guard gave him a look of concern.

  Anything wrong,chief?

  Nothing at all, he reassured him. I just woke up early.

  He had bought the two Sicilian newspapers and sat down to read them. With a great wealth of detail, the first announced that the funeral services for Luparello would be held the following day. The solemn ceremony would take place at the cathedral, officiated by the bishop himself. Special security measures would be taken, due to the anticipated arrival of numerous important personages come to express their condolences and pay their last respects. At latest count they would include two government ministers, four undersecretaries, eighteen members of parliament between senators and deputies, and a throng of regional deputies. And so city police, carabinieri, coast guard agents, and traffic cops would all be called into action, to say nothing of personal bodyguards and other even more personal escorts,

  of which the newspaper mentioned nothing,made up of people who certainly had some connection with law and order, but from the other side of the barricade atop which stood the law. The second newspaper more or less repeated the same things, while adding that the casket had been set up in the atrium of the Luparello mansion and that an endless line of people were waiting to express their thanks for everything the deceased had dutifully and impartially donewhen still alive, of course.

  Meanwhile Sergeant Fazio had arrived, and Montalbano spoke to him at great length about a number of investigations currently under way. No phone calls came in from Montelusa. Soon it was noon,and the inspector opened a file containing the deposition of the two garbage collectors concerning their discovery of the corpse. He copied down their addresses, said goodbye to the sergeant and the other policemen, and told them theyd hear back from him in the afternoon.

  If Geg men had talked to the whores about the necklace, they must certainly have said something to the garbage collectors as well.

  Number 28 Gravet Terrace was a three-story building, with intercom at the front door. A mature womans voice answered.

  Im a friend of Pinos.

  My sons not here.

  Didnt he get off work?

  He got off, but he went somewhere else.

  Could you let me in, signora? I only want to leave him an envelope. What floor is it?

  Top floor.

  A dignified poverty: two rooms, eat-in kitchen, bathroom. One could calculate the square footage the minute one entered. Pinos mother, fiftyish and modestly attired, showed him in.

  Pinos rooms this way.

  A small room full of books and magazines, a little table covered with paper by the window.

  Where did Pino go?

  To Raccadali. Hes auditioning for a part in a play by Martoglio, the one about St. John getting his head cut off. Pino really likes the theater, you know.

  Montalbano approached the little table. Apparently Pino was writing a play; on a sheet of paper he had lined up a column of dialogue. But when he read one of the names, the inspector felt a kind of shock run through him.

  Signora, could I please have a glass of water?

  As soon as the woman left, he folded up the page and put it in his pocket.

  The envelope? Pinos mother reminded him when she returned, handing him his water.

  Montalbano then executed a perfect pantomime, one that Pino, had he been present, would have admired: he searched first in the pockets of his trousers, then more hastily in his jacket, whereupon he gave a look of surprise and finally slapped his forehead noisily.

  What an idiot! I forgot the envelope at the office! Just give me five minutes, signora, Ill be right back.

  Slipping into his car, he took out the page hed just stolen, and what he read there darkened his mood. He restarted the engine and left. 102 Via Lincoln. In his deposition Saro had even specified the apartment number. With a bit of simple math, the inspector figured that the surveyor/garbage collector must live on the sixth floor. The front door to the block was open, but the elevator was broken. He had to climb up six flights of stairs but had the satisfaction of having guessed right: a polished little plaque there read BALDASSARE MONTAPERTO. A tiny young woman answered the door with a baby in her arms and a worried look in her eye.

  Is Saro home?

  He went to the drugstore to buy some medicine for the baby, but hell be right back.

  Is he sick?

  Without answering, she held her arm out slightly

  to let him see. The little thing was sick, and how: sallow, hollow-cheeked, with big, already grown-up eyes staring angrily at him. Montalbano felt terrible. He couldnt stand to see children suffer.

  Whats wrong with him?

  The doctors cant explain it. Who are you, sir?

  The names Virduzzo. Im the accountant at Splendor.

  Come on in.

  The woman felt reassured. The apartment was a mess, it being all too clear that Saros wife was too busy always attending to the little boy to look after the house.

  What do you want with Saro?

  I believe I made a mistake, on the minus side, on the amount of his last paycheck. Id like to see the stub.

  If thats all you need, said the woman,theres no need to wait for Saro. I can get you the stub myself. Come.

  Montalbano followed her, ready with another excuse to stay until the husband returned. There was a nasty smell in the bedroom, as of rotten milk. The woman tried to open the top drawer of a commode but was unable,having only one free hand to use,as she was holding the baby in her other arm.

  I can do it, if you like, said Montalbano.

  The woman stepped aside, and the inspector opened the drawer and saw that it was full of papers, bills,prescriptions,receipts.

  Where are the payment envelopes?

  At that moment Saro entered the bedroom. They hadnt heard him come in; the front door to the apartment had been left open. The instant he saw Montalbano rummaging in the drawer, he was convinced the inspector was searching their house for the necklace. He turned pale, started trembling, and leaned against the doorjamb.

  What do you want? he barely managed to articulate.

  Frightened by her husbands obvious terror, the woman spoke before Montalbano had a chance to answer.

  But its Virduzzo, the accountant! she almost yelled.
r />   Virduzzo? Thats Inspector Montalbano!

  The woman tottered, and Montalbano rushed forward to support her, fearing the baby might end up on the floor together with his mother. He helped sit her down on the bed. Then he spoke, the words coming out of his mouth without the intervention of his brain, a phenomenon that had come over him before and

  which one imaginative journalist had once called that flash of intuition which now and then strikes our policeman.

  Whered you put the necklace? he said.

  Saro stepped forward, stiff from struggling to remain standing on his pudding-legs, went over to his bedside table, opened the drawer, and pulled out a packet wrapped in newspaper, which he threw on the bed. Montalbano picked it up, went into the kitchen, sat down, and unwrapped the packet. The jewel was at once vulgar and very fine: vulgar in its design and conception, fine in its workmanship and in the cut of the diamonds with which it was studded. Saro, meanwhile, had followed him into the kitchen.

  When did you find it?

  Early Monday morning, at the Pasture.

  Did you tell anyone?

  No, sir, just my wife.

  And has anyone come to ask if you found a necklace like this?

  Yes, sir. Filippo di Cosmo came. Hes one of Gegullottas men.

  And what did you tell him?

  I said I hadnt found anything.

  Did he believe you?

  Yes, sir, I think so. Then he said that if I happened

  to find it, I should give it to him right away and not

  mess around, because it was a very sensitive matter.

  Did he promise you anything?

  Yes, sir. A deadly beating if I found it and kept it, fifty thousand lire if I found it and turned it over to him.

  What did you plan to do with the necklace?

  I wanted to pawn it. Thats what Tana and I decided.

  You werent planning to sell it?

  No, sir, it didnt belong to us. We saw it like something somebody had lent to us; we didnt want to profit from it.

  Were honest people, said the wife, whod just come in, wiping her eyes.

  What were you going to do with the money?

  We wanted to use it to treat our son. We could have taken him far away from here, to Rome, Milan anywhere there might be doctors who know something.

  They were all silent a few moments. Then Montalbano asked the woman for two sheets of paper, which she tore out of a notebook they used for shopping expenses. Holding out one of the sheets to Saro, the inspector said:

  Make me a drawing that shows the exact spot

  where you found the necklace. Youre a land surveyor, arent you? As Saro was sketching, on the other sheet Montalbano wrote:

  I the undersigned, Salvo Montalbano, Chief Inspector of the Police Department of Vig (province of Montelusa), hereby declare having received on this day, from Mr. Baldassare Saro Montaperto, a solid-gold necklace with a heart-shaped pendant, also solid gold but studded with diamonds, found by Mr. Montaperto around the area known as the Pasture during the course of his work as ecological agent. In witness whereof,

  And he signed, but paused a moment to reflect before adding the date at the bottom. Then he made up his mind and wrote, Vig, September 9, 1993. Meanwhile Saro had finished. They exchanged sheets.

  Perfect, said the inspector, looking over the detailed drawing. Here, however, the date is wrong, Saro noticed. The ninth was last Monday. Today is the eleventh.

  No, nothing wrong there. You brought that necklace into my office the same day you found it. You had it in your pocket when you came to police headquarters to tell me youd found Luparello dead,

  but you didnt give it to me till later because you

  didnt want your fellow worker to see. Is that clear? If you say so, sir. Take good care of this statement. What are you going to do now? Arrest him?

  asked the woman. Why? Whats he done? asked Montalbano, standing up.

  7

  Montalbano was well respected at the San Calogero trattoria, not so much because he was police inspector as because he was a good customer with discerning tastes. Today they fed him some very fresh striped mullet, fried to a delicate crisp and drained on absorbent paper. After coffee and a long stroll on the eastern jetty, he went back to the office. Fazio got up from his desk as soon as he saw him.

  Theres someone waiting for you, chief.

  Who is it?

  Pino Catalano, remember him? One of the two garbage collectors who found Luparellos body.

  Send him right in.

  He immediately noticed that the youth was tense, nervous.

  Have a seat.

  Pino sat with his buttocks on the edge of the chair.

  Could you tell me why you came to my house to put on the act that you did? Ive got nothing to hide.

  I did it simply to avoid frightening your mother. If I told her I was a police inspector, she mightve had a heart attack.

  Well, in that case, thanks.

  How did you figure out it was me who was looking for you?

  I phoned my mother to see how she was feeling when I left her she had a headacheand she told me a man had come to give me an envelope but forgot to bring it with him. She said hed gone out to get it but never came back. I became curious and asked her to describe the guy. When youre trying to pretend youre somebody else, you should cover up that mole youve got under your left eye. What do you want from me?

  I have a question. Did anyone come to the Pasture to ask if youd found a necklace?

  Yes, someone you know, in fact: Filippo di Cosmo.

  What did you say?

  I told him I hadnt found it, which was the truth.

  And what did he say?

  He said if I found it, so much the better for me,

  hed give me fifty thousand lire, but if I found it and I didnt turn it over to him, so much the worse. He said the same thing to Saro. But Saro didnt find it either.

  Did you go home before coming here?

  No, sir, I came here directly.

  Do you write for the theater?

  No, but I like to act now and then.

  Then whats this?

  Montalbano handed him the page hed taken from the little table. Pino looked at it, unimpressed, and smiled.

  No, thats not a theater scene, thats...

  He fell silent, at a loss. It occurred to him that if those werent lines of dramatic dialogue, he would have to explain what they were, and it wouldnt be easy.

  Ill help you out, said Montalbano. This is a transcript of a phone call one of you made to Rizzo, the lawyer, right after you found Luparellos body, before you came here to headquarters to report your discovery. Am I right?

  Yes,sir.

  Who made the phone call?

  I did. But Saro was right beside me, listening.

  Whyd you do it?

  Because Luparello was an important person, a big

  cheese. So we immediately thought we should inform Rizzo. Actually, no, the first person we thought of calling was Deputy Cusumano.

  Why didnt you?

  Because Cusumano, with Luparello dead, was like somebody who, when an earthquake hits, loses not only his house but also the money he was keeping under the floorboards.

  Give me a better explanation of why you called Rizzo.

  Because we thought maybe something could still be done.

  Like what?

  Pino didnt answer, but only passed his tongue over his lips.

  Ill help you out again. You said maybe something could still be done. Something like moving the car out of the Pasture and letting the body be found somewhere else? Were you thinking thats what Rizzo might ask you to do?

  Yes.

  And you would have been willing to do it?

  Of course! Thats why we called!

  What did you expect to get out of it?

  We were hoping maybe he could find us other jobs or help us win some competition for surveyors, or

  find us the right job, so we wouldnt have to
work as stinking garbage collectors anymore. You know as well as I do, Inspector, you cant sail without a favorable wind.

  Now explain the most important thing: why did you write down that conversation? Were you hoping to blackmail him with it?

  How? With words? Words are just air.

  So what was your reason?

  Well, believe it or not, I wrote down that conversation because I wanted to study it. Something didnt sound right to mespeaking as a man of the theater, that is.

  I dont follow.

  Lets pretend that whats written down is supposed to be staged. Im the Pino character, and I phone the Rizzo character early in the morning to tell him Ive just found his boss dead. Hes the guys secretary, his devoted friend, his political crony. Hes more than a brother. But the Rizzo character, he keeps cool as a cucumber, doesnt get upset, doesnt ask where we found him, how he died, if he was shot, if he died in a car crash, nothing. He only asks why weve come to him, of all people, with the news. Does that sound right to you?

  No. Go on.

  He shows no surprise, in other words. In fact, he tries to put a distance between himself and the dead man, as if this was just some passing acquaintance of his. And he immediately tells us to do our duty, which is to call the police. Then he hangs up. No, Inspector, as drama its all wrong. The audience would just laugh. It doesnt work.

  Montalbano dismissed Pino and kept the sheet of paper. When the garbage collector left, he reread it.

  It did work, and how. It worked marvelously, if in this hypothetical dramawhich in the end was not really so hypotheticalRizzo, before receiving the phone call, already knew where and how Luparello had died and anxiously wanted the body to be discovered as quickly as possible.

  Jacomuzzi gaped at Montalbano, astonished. The inspector stood before him, dressed to the nines: dark blue suit, white shirt, burgundy tie, sparkling black shoes.

  Jesus! Going to your wedding?

  You done with Luparellos car? What did you find?

  Nothing of importance inside. But

  The suspension was broken.

  How did you know?

  My bird told me. Listen, Jacomuzzi.

  He pulled the necklace out of his pocket and tossed it onto the table. Jacomuzzi picked it up, looked at it carefully, and made a gesture of surprise.