IM1 The Shape of Water (2002)

by Andrea Camilleri

  See you later.

  Where are you going? I thought you wanted me to give you a lift in the squad car.

  Im going home to change my clothes. Its only about twenty minutes from here on foot. A little breath of air will do me good.

  He headed off. He didnt feel like meeting Ingrid Sjostrom dressed in his Sunday best.

  12

  He plunked down in front of the television right out of the shower, still naked and dripping. The images were from Luparellos funeral that morning, and the cameraman had apparently realized that the only people capable of lending a sense of drama to the ceremony in every other way so like countless other tedious official eventswere the trio of the widow, Stefano the son, and Giorgio the nephew. From time to time Signora Luparello, without realizing it, would jerk her head backwards, as if repeatedly saying no. This no was interpreted by the commentator, in a low, sorrowful voice, as the obvious gesture of a creature irrationally rejecting the concrete fact of death; but as the cameraman was zooming in on her to catch the expression in her gaze, Montalbano found confirmation of what the widow had already confessed to him: there was only disdain and boredom in those eyes. Beside her sat her son, numb with grief, according to the announcer, and he called him numb only because

  the composure the young engineer showed seemed to border on indifference. Giorgio instead teetered like a tree in the wind, livid as he swayed, continually twisting a tear-soaked handkerchief in his hands.

  The telephone rang, and Montalbano went to answer it without taking his eyes off the television screen.

  Inspector, this is GermanEverythings been taken care of. Counselor Rizzo expressed his thanks and said hed find a way to repay you.

  Some of Rizzos ways of repaying debtshe whispered to himselfhis creditors would have gladly done without.

  Then I went to see Saro and gave him the check. It took some effort to convince themthey thought it was some kind of practical jokeand then they started kissing my hands. Ill spare you all the things they said the Lord should do for you. The cars at headquarters. You want me to bring it to you?

  The inspector glanced at his watch; there was still a little more than an hour before his rendezvous with Ingrid.

  All right, but theres no hurry. Lets say nine- thirty. Then Ill give you a ride back into town.

  He didnt want to miss the moment when she pretended to faint. He felt like a spectator to whom the

  magician had revealed his secret: the pleasure would be in appreciating not the surprise but the skill. The one who missed it, however, was the cameraman, who was unable to capture that moment even though he had quickly panned from his close-up of the minister back to the group of family members, where Stefano and two volunteers were already carrying the signora out while Giorgio remained in place, still swaying.

  Instead of dropping Germanff in front of police headquarters and continuing on, Montalbano got out with him. Fazio was back from Montelusa, and he had spoken with the wounded man, who had finally calmed down. The man, the sergeant recounted, was a household-appliance salesman from Milan who every three months would catch a plane, land in Palermo, rent a car, and drive around. Having stopped at the filling station, he was looking at a piece of paper to check the address of the next store on his list of clients when he suddenly heard the shots and felt a sharp pain in his shoulder. Fazio believed his story.

  Chief, when this guy goes back to Milan, hes going to join up with the people who want to separate Sicily from the rest of Italy.

  What about the attendant?

  The attendants another matter. Giallombardos talking to him now, and you know what hes like: someone spends a couple of hours with him, talking like hes known him for a hundred years, and afterward he realizes hes told him secrets he wouldnt even tell the priest at confession.

  The lights were off,the glass entrance door barred shut. Montalbano had chosen the Marinella Bar on the one day it was closed. He parked the car and waited. A few minutes later a two-seater arrived, red and flat as a fillet of sole. The door opened, and Ingrid emerged. Even by the dim light of a streetlamp, the inspector saw that she was even better than he had imagined her: tight jeans wrapping very long legs, white shirt open at the collar with the sleeves rolled up, sandals, hair gathered in a bun. A real cover girl. Ingrid looked around, noticed the darkness inside the bar, walked lazily but surely over to the inspectors car, then leaned forward to speak to him through the open window.

  See, I was right. So where do we go now? Your place?

  No, Montalbano said angrily. Get in.

  The woman obeyed, and at once the car was filled with the scent that Montalbano already knew well.

  Where do we go now? Ingrid repeated. She wasnt joking anymore; utter female that she was, she had noticed the mans agitation.

  Do you have much time?

  As much as I want.

  Were going someplace where youll feel comfortable, since youve already been there. Youll see.

  What about my car?

  Well come back for it later.

  They set off, and after a few minutes of silence Ingrid asked him a question she should have asked from the start.

  Why did you want to see me?

  The inspector was mulling over the idea that had come to him as he told her to get in the car: it was a real cops sort of idea, but he was, after all, a cop.

  I wanted to see you, Mrs. Cardamone, because I need to ask you some questions.

  Mrs. Cardamone? Listen,Inspector,Im very familiar with everyone I meet, and if youre too formal with me Ill only feel uncomfortable. Whats your first name?

  Salvo. Did Counselor Rizzo tell you we found the necklace?

  What necklace?

  What do you mean, what necklace? The one with the diamond-studded heart.

  No, he didnt tell me. Anyway, I have no dealings with him. He certainly must have told my husband. Tell me something, Im curious: are you in the

  habit of losing jewelry and then finding it again? Why do you ask? Come on, I tell you we found your necklace,

  which is worth about a hundred million lire, and you dont bat an eyelash? Ingrid gave a subdued laugh, confined to her

  throat. The fact is, I dont like jewelry. See? She showed him her hands. I dont wear rings, not even a wedding band. Where did you lose the necklace? Ingrid didnt answer at once. Shes reviewing her lesson, thought Montalbano. Then the woman began speaking, mechanically.

  Being a foreigner didnt help her to lie. I was curious about this place called the Pastor Pasture, Montalbano corrected. Id heard so much about it. I talked my hus

  band into taking me there. Once there I got out, walked a little, and was almost attacked. I got scared and was afraid my husband would get in a fight. We left. Back at home I realized I no longer had the necklace on.

  How did you happen to put it on that evening,

  since you dont like jewelry? It doesnt really seem ap

  propriate for going to the Pasture.

  Ingrid hesitated.

  I had it on because that afternoon Id been with a friend who wanted to see it.

  Listen, said Montalbano, I should preface all this by saying that even though I am, of course, talking to you as a police inspector, Im doing so in an unofficial capacity.

  What do you mean? I dont understand.

  What I mean is, anything you tell me will remain between you and me. How did your husband happen to choose Rizzo as his lawyer?

  Was he not supposed to?

  No, at least not logically. Rizzo was the right- hand man of Silvio Luparello, who was your father-inlaws biggest political adversary. By the way, did you know Luparello?

  I knew who he was. Rizzos always been Giacomos lawyer. And I dont know a bloody thing about politics.

  She stretched, arching her arms behind her head.

  Im getting bored. Too bad. I thought an encounter with a cop would be more exciting. Could you tell me where were going? Is there still far to go?

  Were almost there.

/>   After they passed the San Filippo bend, the woman grew nervous, looking at the inspector two or three times out of the corner of her eye. She muttered:

  Look, there arent any bars or cafaround here.

  I know, said Montalbano, and, slowing the car down, he reached for the leather purse that he had placed behind the seat Ingrid was in. I want you to see something.

  He put it on her lap. The woman looked at it and seemed truly surprised.

  How did you get this?

  Is it yours?

  Of course its mine. It has my initials on it.

  When she saw that the two letters of the alphabet were missing, she became even more confused.

  They must have fallen off, she said in a low voice, but she was unconvinced. She was losing her way in a labyrinth of questions without answer, and clearly something was beginning to trouble her now.

  Your initials are still there, you just cant see them because its dark. Somebody tore them off, but their imprints are there in the leather.

  But who tore them off? And why?

  Now a note of anxiety sounded in her voice. The

  inspector didnt answer. He knew perfectly well why they had done it: to make it look as if Ingrid had wanted to make the purse anonymous. When they came to the little dirt road that led to Capo Massaria, Montalbano, who had accelerated as if intending to go straight, suddenly cut the wheel violently, turning onto the path. All at once, without a word, Ingrid threw open the car door, nimbly exited the moving vehicle, and started fleeing through the trees. Cursing, the inspector braked, jumped out, and gave chase. After a few seconds he realized he would never catch her and stopped, undecided. At that exact moment he saw her fall. When he was beside her, Ingrid, who had been unable to get back up, interrupted her Swedish monologue, incomprehensible but clearly expressing fear and rage.

  Fuck off! she said,and continued massaging her ankle.

  Get up, and no more bullshit.

  With effort, she obeyed and leaned against Montalbano, who remained motionless, not helping her.

  The gate opened easily; it was the front door that put up resistance.

  Let me do it, said Ingrid. She had followed him

  without making a move, as though resigned. But she had been preparing her plan of defense.

  You wont find anything inside, you know, she said in the doorway, her tone defiant.

  She turned on the light, confident, but when she looked inside and saw the videocassettes and the perfectly furnished room, she reacted with visible surprise, a wrinkle creasing her brow.

  They told me...

  She checked herself at once and fell silent, shrugging her shoulders. She eyed Montalbano, awaiting his next move.

  Into the bedroom, said the inspector.

  Ingrid opened her mouth, about to make an easy quip, but lost heart. Turning her back, she limped into the other room, turned on the light, and this time showed no surprise; she expected it to be all in order. She sat down at the foot of the bed. Montalbano opened the left-hand door of the armoire.

  Do you know whose clothes these are?

  They must belong to Silvio, to Mr. Luparello.

  He opened the middle door.

  Are these wigs yours?

  Ive never worn a wig.

  When he opened the right-hand door, Ingrid closed her eyes.

  Look, thats not going to solve anything. Are these yours?

  Yes,but

  But they werent supposed to be there anymore, Montalbano finished her sentence.

  Ingrid gave a start.

  How did you know? Who told you?

  Nobody told me. I figured it out. Im a cop, remember? Was the purse also in the armoire?

  Ingrid nodded yes.

  And the necklace you said you lost, where was that?

  Inside the purse. I had to wear it once, then I came here and left it here.

  She paused a moment and looked the inspector long in the eye.

  What does this all mean? she asked.

  Lets go back in the other room.

  Ingrid took a glass from the sideboard, filled it halfway with straight whiskey, drank almost all of it in a single draft, then refilled it.

  You want any?

  Montalbano said no. He had sat down on the couch and was looking out at the sea. The light was

  dim enough to allow him to see beyond the glass. In

  grid came and sat down beside him.

  Ive sat here looking at the sea in better times.

  She slid a little closer on the sofa, rested her head on the inspectors shoulder. He didnt move; he immediately understood that her gesture was not an attempt at seduction.

  Ingrid, remember what I told you in the car? That our conversation was an unofficial one?

  Yes.

  Now answer me truthfully. Those clothes in the armoire, did you bring them here yourself or were they put there?

  I brought them myself. I thought I might need them.

  Were you Luparellos mistress?

  No.

  No? You seem quite at home here.

  I slept with Luparello only once, six months after arriving in Montelusa. But never again. He brought me here. But we did become friends, true friends, like I had never done before with a man, not even in my country. I could tell him anything, anything at all. If I got into trouble, he would manage to get me out of it, without asking any questions.

  Are you trying to make me believe that the one

  time you were here you brought all those dresses, jeans, and panties, not to mention the purse and the necklace?

  Ingrid pulled away, irritated.

  Im not trying to make you believe anything. Im just telling you. After a while I asked Silvio if I could use this house now and then, and he said yes. He asked me only one thing: to be very discreet and never tell anyone who it belonged to.

  And when you wanted to come, how did you know if the place was empty and available?

  We had agreed on a code of telephone rings. I kept my word with Silvio. I used to bring only one man here, always the same one.

  She took a long sip, and sort of hunched her shoulders forward.

  A man who forced his way into my life for two years.BecauseIafterward,Ididntwanttoanymore.

  After what?

  After the first time. I was afraid, of the whole situation. But he was . . . sort of blinded, sort of obsessed with me. Only physically, though. He would want to see me every day. Then, when I brought him here, he would jump all over me, turn violent, tear my clothes off. That was why I had those changes of clothes in the armoire.

  Did this man know whose house this was?

  I never told him, and he never asked. Hes not jealous, you see, he just wants me. He never gets tired of being inside me. Hes ready to take me at any moment.

  I see. And for his part did Luparello know who you were bringing here?

  Same thinghe didnt ask, and I didnt tell.

  Ingrid stood up.

  Couldnt we go somewhere else to talk? This place depresses me now. Are you married?

  No, said Montalbano, surprised.

  Lets go to your place. She smiled cheerlessly. I told you it would end up this way, didnt I?

  13

  Neither of the two felt like talking, and fifteen minutes passed in silence. But once again the inspector surrendered to the cop in him. In fact, once they had reached the bridge that spanned the Canneto, he pulled up to the side, put on the brakes, and got out of the car, telling Ingrid to do the same. From the summit of the bridge Montalbano showed the woman the rivers dry bed, which one could make out in the moonlight.

  See, he said, the riverbed leads straight to the beach. Its on a steep incline and full of big rocks and stones. Think you could drive a car down there?

  I dont know. Itd be different if it was daylight. But I could try, if you want me to.

  She stared at the inspector and smiled, her eyes half shut.

  You found out about me, eh? So what should I do?

 
Do it.

  All right. You wait here.

  She got in the car and drove off. It took only a few seconds for the headlights to disappear from view.

  Well, thats that. She took me for a sucker, said Montalbano, resigning himself.

  As he was getting ready for the long walk back to Vig, he heard her return, motor roaring.

  I think I can do it. Do you have a flashlight?

  In the glove compartment.

  The woman knelt down, illuminated the cars underside, then stood back up.

  Got a handkerchief?

  Montalbano gave her one, and Ingrid used it to wrap her sore ankle tightly.

  Get in.

  Driving in reverse, she reached a dirt road that led from the provincial road to the area under the bridge.

  Im going to give it a try, Inspector. Bear in mind that one of my feet isnt working. Fasten your seat belt. Should I drive fast?

  Yes, but its important that we get to the beach in one piece.

  Ingrid put the car in gear and took off like a shot. It was ten minutes of continuous, ferocious jolts. At one point Montalbano felt as if his head were dying to detach itself from the rest of his body and fly out the

  window. Ingrid, however, was calm, determined, driving with her tongue sticking out between her lips. The inspector wanted to tell her not to do thatshe might inadvertently bite it off.

  When they had reached the beach, Ingrid asked, Did I pass the test?

  Her eyes glistened in the darkness. She was excited and pleased.

  Yes.

  Lets do it again, going uphill this time.

  Youre insane! Thats quite enough.

  She was right to call it a test. Except that it was a test that didnt solve anything. Ingrid was able to drive down that road easily, which was a point against her; on the other hand, when the inspector had asked her to do so, she had not seemed nervous, only surprised, and this was a point in her favor. But the fact that she hadnt broken anything on the car, how was he to interpret that? Negatively or positively?

  So, shall we do it again? Come on, this was the only time this evening Ive had any fun.

  No, I already said no.

  All right, then you drive. Im in too much pain.

  The inspector drove along the shore,confirming in his mind that the car was in working order. Nothing broken.