Youre really good, you know.
Well, said Ingrid, assuming a serious, professional tone, anyone could drive down that stretch. The skill is in bringing the car through it in the same condition it started out in. Because afterward you might find yourself on a paved road, not a beach like this, and you have to speed up to recover lost time. I dont know if thats clear.
Perfectly clear. Somebody who, for example, after driving down there, comes to the beach with broken suspension is somebody who doesnt know what hes doing.
They arrived at the Pasture. Montalbano turned right.
See that large bush? Thats where Luparello was found.
Ingrid said nothing and didnt even seem very curious. They drove down the path; not much was happening that evening. When they were beside the wall of the old factory, Montalbano said:
This is where the woman who was with Luparello lost her necklace and threw the leather purse over the wall.
My purse?
Yes.
Well, it wasnt me, Ingrid murmured, and I
swear I dont understand a damned thing about any of this.
When they got to Montalbanos house, Ingrid was unable to step out of the car, so the inspector had to wrap one arm around her waist while she leaned her weight against his shoulder. Once inside, the young woman dropped into the first chair that came within reach.
Christ! Now it really hurts.
Go into the other room and take off your jeans so I can wrap it up for you.
Ingrid stood up with a whimper and limped along, steadying herself against the furniture and walls.
Montalbano called headquarters. Fazio informed him that the gas-station attendant had remembered everything and precisely identified the man at the wheel, the one the assailants had tried to kill: Turi Gambardella, of the Cuffaro gang. QED.
So Galluzzo went to Gambardellas house, Fazio went on, but his wife said she hadnt seen him for two days.
I would have won the bet, said the inspector.
Why? You think I would have been stupid enough to make it?
He heard the water running in the bath. Ingrid
apparently belonged to that category of women who cannot resist the sight of a bathtub. He dialed Geg number, the one to his cell phone.
Are you alone? Can you talk?
As for being alone, Im alone. As for talking, that depends.
I just need a name from you. Theres no risk to you in giving me this information, I promise. But I want a precise answer.
Whose name?
Montalbano explained, and Gegad no trouble giving him the name, and for good measure he even threw in a nickname.
Ingrid had lain down on the bed, wearing a large
towel that covered very little of her.
Sorry, but I cant stand up.
Montalbano took a small tube of salve and a roll of gauze from a shelf in the bathroom.
Give me your leg.
When she moved, her minuscule panties peeped out and so did one breast, which looked as if it had been painted by a painter who understood women. The nipple seemed to be looking around, curious about the unfamiliar surroundings. Once again Mon
talbano understood that Ingrid had no seductive intentions, and he was grateful to her for it.
Youll see, in a little while itll feel better, he said after spreading the salve around her ankle, which he then wrapped tightly in gauze. The whole time Ingrid did not take her eyes off him.
You got any whiskey? Let me have half a glass, no ice.
It was as though they had known each other all their lives. After bringing her the whiskey, Montalbano pulled up a chair and sat down beside the bed.
You know something, Inspector? said Ingrid, looking at him with green, sparkling eyes. Youre the first real man Ive met in five years around here.
Better than Luparello?
Yes.
Thanks. Now listen to my questions.
Fire away.
As Montalbano was about to open his mouth, the doorbell rang. He wasnt expecting anyone and went to answer the door in confusion. There in the doorway was Anna, in civilian clothing, smiling at him.
Surprise!
She walked around him and into the house.
Thanks for the enthusiasm, she said. Whereve you been all evening? At headquarters they said you
were here, so I came, but it was all dark. I phoned five more times,to no avail. Then I finally saw the lights on.
She eyed Montalbano, who hadnt opened his mouth.
Whats with you? Have you lost your voice? Okay,listen
She fell silent. Past the bedroom door, which had been left open, she had caught a glimpse of Ingrid, half naked,glass in hand. First she turned pale,then blushed violently.
Excuse me, she whispered, rushing out of the house.
Run after her! Ingrid shouted to him. Explain everything! Im going home.
In a rage, Montalbano kicked the front door shut, making the wall shake as he heard Annas car leave, burning rubber as furiously as he had just slammed the door.
I dont have to explain a goddamn thing to her!
Should I go? Ingrid had half gotten up from the bed, her breasts now triumphantly outside the towel.
No. But cover yourself.
Sorry.
Montalbano took off his jacket and shirt, stuck his head in the sink, and ran cold water over it for a while. Then he returned to his chair beside the bed.
I want to know the real story of the necklace.
Well, last Monday, Giacomo, my husband, was woken up by a phone call I didnt catch much ofI was too sleepy. He got dressed in a hurry and went out. He came back two hours later and asked me where the necklace was, since he hadnt seen it around the house for some time. I couldnt very well tell him it was inside the purse at Silvios house. If he had asked me to see it, I wouldnt have known what to answer. So I told him Id lost it at least a year before and that I hadnt told him sooner because I was afraid hed get angry. The necklace was worth a lot of money; it was a present he gave me in Sweden. Then Giacomo had me sign my name at the bottom of a blank sheet of paper. He said he needed it for the insurance.
So where did this story about the Pasture come from?
That happened later, when he came home for lunch. He explained to me that Rizzo, his lawyer, had told him the insurance company needed a more convincing story about how I lost the necklace and had suggested the story about the Pastor to him.
Pasture, Montalbano patiently corrected her. The mispronunciation bothered him.
Pasture, Pasture, Ingrid repeated. Frankly, I didnt find that story very convincing either. It
seemed screwy, made up. Thats when Giacomo told me that everyone saw me as a whore, and so it would seem believable that I might get an idea like the one about having him take me to the Pasture.
I understand.
Well, I dont!
They were trying to frame you.
Frame me? What does that mean?
Look, Luparello died at the Pasture in the arms of a woman who persuaded him to go there, right?
Right.
Well, they want to make it look like you were that woman. The purse is yours, the necklace is yours, the clothes at Luparellos house are yours, youre capable of driving down the CannetoIm supposed to arrive at only one conclusion: that woman is Ingrid Sjostrom.
Now I understand, she said, falling silent, eyes staring at the glass in her hand. Then she roused herself. Its not possible.
Whats not possible?
That Giacomo would go along with these people who want to . . . to frame me.
Maybe they forced him to go along with them. Your husbands financial situations not too good, you know.
He never talks to me about it, but I could see that. Still, Im sure that if he did it, it wasnt for money.
Im pretty sure of that myself.
Then why?
There must be another explanation, which would be that your husband was forced to get involved to save someone who i
s more important to him than you. Wait.
He went into the other room, where there was a small desk covered with papers. He picked up the fax that Nicolto had sent to him.
But to save someone else from what? Ingrid asked as soon as he returned. If Silvio died when he was making love, its not anybodys fault. He wasnt killed.
To protect someone not from the law, Ingrid, but from a scandal.
The young woman began reading the fax first with surprise, then with growing amusement; she laughed openly at the polo club episode. But immediately afterward she darkened, let the sheet fall on the bed, and leaned her head to one side.
Was he, your father-in-law, the man you used to take to Luparellos pied-erre?
Answering the question visibly cost Ingrid some effort.
Yes. And I can see that people are talking about it, even though I did everything I could so they wouldnt. Its the worst thing thats happened to me the whole time Ive been in Sicily.
You dont have to tell me the details.
But I want to explain that it wasnt me who started it. Two years ago my father-in-law was supposed to take part in a conference in Rome, and he invited Giacomo and me to join him. At the last minute my husband couldnt come, but he insisted on my going anyway, since I had never been to Rome. It all went well, except that the very first night my father-in-law entered my room. He seemed insane, so I went along with him just to calm him down, because he was yelling and threatening me. On the airplane, on the way back, he was crying at times, and he said it would never happen again. You know that we live in the same palazzo, right? Well, one afternoon when my husband was out and I was lying in bed, he came in again, like that night, trembling all over. And again I felt afraid; the maid was in the kitchen. . . . The next day I told Giacomo I wanted to move out. He became upset, I became insistent, we quarreled. I brought up the subject a few times after that, but he said no every time. He was right, in his opinion. Meanwhile my father-in-law kept at itkissing me, touching me
whenever he had the chance, even risking being seen by his wife or Giacomo. That was why I begged Silvio to let me use his house on occasion.
Does your husband have any suspicions?
I dont know,Ive wondered myself. Sometimes it seems like he does, other times Im convinced he doesnt.
One more question, Ingrid. When we got to Capo Massaria, as you were opening the door you told me I wouldnt find anything inside. And when you saw instead that everything was still there, just as it had always been, you were very surprised. Had someone assured you that everything had been taken out of Luparellos house?
Yes, Giacomo told me.
So your husband did know?
Wait, dont confuse me. When Giacomo told me what I was supposed to say in case I was questioned by the insurance peoplethat is, that I had been to the Pasture with himI became worried about something else: that with Silvio dead, sooner or later someone would discover his little house, with my clothes, my purse, and everything else inside.
Who would have found them, in your opinion?
Well, I dont know, the police, his family ...I told Giacomo everything, but I told him a lie. I didnt
say anything about his father; I made him think I was going there with Silvio. That evening he told me everything was all right, that a friend of his would take care of it, and that if anyone discovered the little house, they would find only whitewashed walls inside. And I believed him. Whats wrong?
Montalbano was taken aback by the question.
What do you mean, whats wrong?
You keep touching the back of your neck.
Oh. It hurts. Must have happened when we drove down the Canneto. Hows your ankle?
Better,thanks.
Ingrid started laughing. She was changing moods from one moment to the next, like a child.
Whats so funny?
Your neck, my anklewere like two hospital patients.
Feel up to getting out of bed?
If it was up to me, Id stay here till morning.
Weve still got some things to do. Get dressed. Can you drive?
14
Ingrids red fillet-of-sole car was still parked in its spot by the Marinella Bar. Apparently it was judged too much trouble to steal; there werent many like it in Montelusa and environs.
Take your car and follow me, said Montalbano. Were going back to Capo Massaria.
Oh, God! To do what? Ingrid pouted. She really didnt feel like it, and the inspector realized this.
Its in your own interest.
By the glare of the headlights,which he quickly turned off, Montalbano realized that the entrance gate to the house was open. He got out and walked over to Ingrids car.
Wait for me here. Turn off your headlights. Do you remember whether we closed the gate when we left?
I dont really remember, but Im pretty sure we did.
Turn your car around and make as little noise as possible.
The woman did as he said, the cars nose now pointing toward the main road.
Now listen to what I say. Im going down there. You keep your ears pricked, and if you hear me shout or notice anything suspicious, dont think twice, just cut out and go home.
Do you think theres someone inside?
I dont know. Just do as I said.
From his car he took the purse and his pistol. He headed off, trying to step as lightly as possible, and descended the staircase. This time the front door opened without any resistance or sound. He passed through the doorway, pistol in hand. The large room was somehow dimly illuminated by reflections off the water. He kicked open the bathroom door and then the others one by one, feeling ridiculously like the hero of an American TV program. There was nobody in the house, nor was there any sign that anyone else had been there. It didnt take much to convince him that he himself had left the gate open. He slid open the picture window and looked below. At that point Capo Massaria jutted out over the sea like a ships
prow. The water below must have been quite deep. He ballasted Ingrids purse with some silverware and a heavy crystal ashtray, spun it around over his head and hurled it out to sea. It wouldnt be so easily found again. Then he took everything that belonged to Ingrid from the armoire in the bedroom and went outside, making sure the front door was well shut. As soon as he appeared at the top of the stairs, he was bathed in the glare of Ingrids headlights.
I told you to keep your lights off. And why did you turn the car back around?
I didnt want to leave you here alone. If there was trouble...
Here are your clothes.
She took them and put them on the passenger seat.
Wheres the purse?
I threw it into the sea. Now go back home. They have nothing left to frame you with.
Ingrid got out of the car, walked up to Montalbano, and embraced him. She stayed that way awhile, her head leaning on his chest. Then, without looking back at him, she got back into her car, put it in gear, and left.
Right at the entrance to the bridge over the Canneto, a car was stopped, blocking most of the road. A man was standing there, elbows propped against the roof of the car, hands covering his face, lightly rocking back and forth.
Anything wrong? asked Montalbano, pulling up.
The man turned around. His face was covered with blood, which poured out of a broad gash in the middle of his forehead.
Some bastard, he said.
I dont understand. Please explain, Montalbano got out of the car and approached.
I was breezing quietly along when this son of a bitch passes me, practically running me off the road. So I got pissed off and started chasing after him, honking the horn and flashing my high beams. Suddenly the guy puts on his brakes and turns the car sideways. He gets out of the car, and hes got something in his hand that I cant make out, and I get scared, thinking hes got a weapon. He comes toward memy window was downand without saying a word he bashes me with that thing, which I realized was a monkey wrench.
Do you need assistance?
; No, I think the bleedings gonna stop.
Do you want to file a police report?
Dont make me laugh. My head hurts.
Do you want me to take you to the hospital?
Would you please mind your own fucking business?
How long had it been since hed had a proper night of God-given sleep? Now he had this bloody pain at the back of his head that wouldnt give him a moments peace. It continued unabated, and even if he lay still, belly up or belly down, it made no difference, the pain persisted, silent, insidious, without any sharp pangs, which was maybe worse. He turned on the light. It was four oclock. On the bedside table were still the salve and roll of gauze hed used on Ingrid. He grabbed them and, in front of the bathroom mirror, rubbed a little of the salve on the nape of his neckmaybe it would give him some reliefthen wrapped his neck in the gauze,securing it with a piece of adhesive tape. But perhaps he put the wrap on too tight; he had trouble moving his head. He looked at himself in the mirror, and at that moment a blinding flash exploded in his brain, drowning out even the bathroom light. He felt like a comic-book character with X-ray vision who could see all the way inside of things.
In grammar school hed had an old priest as his
religion teacher. Truth is light, the priest had said one day.
Montalbano, never very studious, had been a mischievous pupil, always sitting in the last row.
So that must mean that if everyone in the family tells the truth, they save on the electric bill.
He had made this comment aloud, which got him kicked out of the classroom.
Now, some thirty-odd years after the fact, in his mind he asked the old priest to forgive him.
Boy, do you look ugly today! exclaimed Fazio as soon as he saw the inspector come in to work. Not feeling well?
Leave me alone was Montalbanos reply. Any news of Gambardella? Did you find him?
Nothing. Vanished. Ive decided well end up finding him back in the woods somewhere, eaten by dogs.
There was something, however, in the sergeants tone of voice that he found suspicious; he had known him for too many years.
Anything wrong?
Its Gallo. Hes gone to the emergency room, hurt his arm. Nothing serious.
Howd it happen?
With the squad car.
Did he crash it speeding?
IM1 The Shape of Water (2002) Page 11
