Rosales sat there a few moments before answering. Then he signaled to Adolfo to come near and with effort whispered something into his ear. Adolfo opened a small drawer in the table with the telephones and took out a key.
“The money is in an old armoire in the attic,” said Adolfo. “I’ll take you there myself.”
“You go with him,” the inspector said to Fazio.
As soon as the two left the room, the front door buzzer rang.
“That must be the doctor,” said Mimì. “I’ll go let him in.”
Then, as soon as Montalbano was left alone with Rosales, something happened that took Montalbano completely by surprise.
Rosales opened his eyes and smiled at him.
Montalbano was taken aback.
Then Rosales said something the inspector didn’t get. He gestured to him to come closer.
“Just between us, man to man . . . it was all a ruse, right?”
“What was?”
“The fingerprints . . . the DNA . . . all that bull you told me . . . It’s true I was the cashier and the guardian . . . and I’ll tell that to the judge, don’t worry . . . but you didn’t have any proof . . . You just conned me. Am I right? You must tell me!”
Montalbano preferred answering indirectly, and he abandoned all pretense to formality.
“So then, if you knew, why did you fall for it anyway?”
“First of all because I’m tired, and second of all because you’re giving me a good opportunity to get even with those dickhead Cuffaros.”
Mimì came in with the doctor, who took one look at Rosales and got worried.
“Please leave the room,” he said to Montalbano and Augello.
The two went out into the hallway, where they ran into Fazio and Adolfo returning from the attic.
“At a glance I’d say there’s about thirty million up there in a green armoire,” said Fazio.
He gave the inspector the key, which he put in his pocket.
“Ring Catarella and tell him to send Gallo with three men,” said Montalbano. “We need to keep a watch on Rosales and all this money.”
He walked a few steps down the corridor to call Jacono.
“I’m sorry to disturb you, sir, but you need to come to Sicudiana at once to take Rosales’s confession. Among other things, there’s about thirty million euros in cash still waiting to be recycled.”
“How on earth did you manage?” Jacono asked in astonishment.
“I took your advice. I made a hole in the side of the pyramid.”
He told him how to get to Rosales’s house and then hung up.
The doctor came out of the bedroom and Montalbano approached him.
“How is he?”
“Bad, very bad. He told me he’s under arrest, but it’s my duty to tell you that Signor Rosales can’t be moved.”
“I imagined as much. Not even with an ambulance?”
“Not even with an ambulance. I put him back to bed, and he must not move from there.”
“I beg you please to do me a favor. In half an hour at the most, the prosecutor will be here to interrogate him, so there won’t be any need to move him from his bed. Could you stay for the questioning, in case he needs help?”
“It’s my duty.”
The doctor turned away to go back into the bedroom. Montalbano followed behind him.
“What else do you want?” the doctor asked gruffly.
Montalbano didn’t answer. He moved the doctor aside and went in. Rosales was lying down but had his eyes open.
“I wanted to inform you that Prosecutor Jacono will be here shortly to take your deposition.”
Rosales twisted up his mouth.
“He’s a tough one, I know,” the inspector continued. “Would you like me to summon your lawyer? It’s your right. Just give me his name and phone number and—”
Rosales didn’t have to think twice.
“Forget about the lawyer. After all, in my present situation, one lawyer more, one lawyer less . . . Thanks, anyway, and good-bye.”
“Good-bye,” said Montalbano.
And he went out.
“I’m going outside to smoke a cigarette,” he said to Fazio and Augello.
He leaned against the door to keep it open, and started smoking. He felt relieved. It had all been a lot easier than he’d expected. All the same, he had a slightly bitter taste in his mouth. One question still bothered him. If Rosales hadn’t felt like walking into the trap, how would things have turned out?
He looked at his watch. Almost half past eight. The whole thing looked like it was going to take a while, so he’d better call Livia.
“Hi, how are you?”
“Pretty good. But if only you were here . . .”
“I will be there,” he said. “Tomorrow.”
The words had slipped out of his mouth before he could stop them.
He could feel Livia holding her breath.
“Do you really mean that?”
“I really mean it. I’ll be at your place by the end of the day.”
“God, how wonderful! You have no idea how much . . .”
“What are you doing? Crying?”
“Yes, and I’m not ashamed to say it. I lo—”
Better change the subject.
“Tell me about Selene.”
“She’s such a little troublemaker . . .”
The siren of an approaching car drowned Livia out.
“I’m sorry, but I have to go. Hugs and kisses. See you tomorrow.”
Gallo’s car arrived like a rocket and screeched to a halt about a foot away from the inspector, who for a second feared he was going to end up squashed on the pavement.
“Okay, you three get out, go inside, and make yourselves available to Inspectors Augello and Fazio. You, Gallo, park the car properly and then go and join the others.”
Montalbano felt like breathing the open air, not the stale air of rooms in which illness reigned. When Gallo came up beside him, the inspector said to him:
“Tell Inspector Augello to come out here.”
Mimì arrived on the run.
“What is it?”
“I just wanted to inform you that I’ll be dropping in at the station early tomorrow morning, but I won’t be staying. I’ll be leaving again immediately.”
“When’ll you be back?”
“In about a week.”
Augello balked.
“What? At a time like this?”
“Yes, at a time like this. What’s the point in hanging around?”
“Jacono might need you!”
“You’ll be here. If worse comes to worst, he can ring me in Genoa.”
At that moment a fast car pulled up, and Jacono and another man who must have been the court clerk got out. They shook hands with Montalbano and Augello.
“I’ll show you the way,” said the inspector.
It was past midnight by the time he got home. The interrogation of Rosales would resume the following morning. Fazio and the four other officers had stayed behind to guard the house. An armored van would also be by the next morning to secure the money.
Montalbano opened the French door. It had started raining ever so lightly.
His hunger had been so long neglected that Adelina’s pasta and fish seemed to take forever to warm up.
When he had finished, he went immediately to bed and plunged into an abyss of sleep.
At six the following morning he got up, packed his bag, phoned the police station at Punta Raisi airport, had them reserve him a seat on the eleven o’clock flight, then got in his car, went to the office, wrote his request for a leave of absence, and left it with Catarella to give to Personnel.
Then he got back into the car and went to a supermarket with a pet-products department.
He bought an artificial bone and a stuffed beaver that squeaked when you squeezed it. Selene was sure to love it.
Author’s Note
This novel is entirely of my own invention, although it takes its cue from far too many almost daily news stories of similar subject.
I am nevertheless keen to state that this book contains no intentional reference to real living persons or situations that have actually happened, or to any existing political institutions.
A.C.
Notes
purpiteddri a strascinasale: Baby octopus simmered in salt water and served simply with lemon and olive oil.
Finance Police: Italy has a separate police bureaucracy called La Guardia di Finanza, whose principal responsibility is to enforce laws concerning fiscal matters.
bunga bunga: While the term is believed to originate in indigenous Australian culture, it gained popular currency in Italy around 2010, in reference to the wild sex parties purportedly held by controversial tycoon and prime minister Silvio Berlusconi. Opinions differ as to its exact meaning in this context, with some maintaining it refers to “an orgy with a powerful leader,” and others claiming it involved underwater sex games between a nude host and a bevy of naked young women. Actress Sabina Began, a former mistress of Berlusconi’s, claimed the term referred to parties she had organized, and that it was based on her name. Whatever the case, in common Italian parlance, bunga bunga has come to refer to the dubious nature of the former prime minister’s tastes in personal entertainment, especially after the scandal of his having had sexual relations, in exchange for money and career promotion, with an underage Moroccan girl.
What poetic names these firms had!: The names Rosaspina, Albachiara, Soldedoro, and Primavera mean, respectively, “Rosethorn,” “Bright Dawn,” “Golden Sun,” and “Springtime.”
Boccadasse: The suburb of Genoa where Livia lives.
“When have us police ever woiked t’getter with the carabinieri?”: The competition, in Italy, between the carabinieri—a national police force with broad, almost universal jurisdiction and a division of the army—and the local police forces, the Commissariati di Pubblica Sicurezza, of which Montalbano’s unit is one, is the stuff of legend. The carabinieri are also often the butt of nationwide jokes.
sartù: A hearty Neapolitan dish that is basically a savory cake filled with rice, ragù sauce, cheese (usually mozzarella), meatballs, sausages, and chicken livers.
“E lucean le stelle . . .”: Known usually with the more modern imperfect tense of the verb (“E lucevan le stele”), this is the famous melancholy aria (“And the stars were shining”) from Act III of Puccini’s Tosca, sung by Cavaradossi while a prisoner at the Castel Sant’Angelo in Rome, awaiting execution.
The Pizza Triangle (orig. title, Dramma della gelosia): A madcap 1970 tragicomedy by Ettore Scola, starring Marcello Mastroianni, Monica Vitti, and Giancarlo Giannini, featuring an ill-fated love triangle in which the two rivals fighting for the beautiful Vitti’s attentions end up accidentally killing her.
the prefect: Unlike the French préfet, who is a sort of police commissioner, in Italy, the prefetto is a local bureaucratic representative of the authority of the national government.
“Nobody makes it to a thousand euros a week anyway.”: In an attempt to reduce tax fraud in Italy, a few years ago it became illegal to make any payments of one thousand euros or more in cash.
“È primavera, svegliatevi bambine . . .”: “It’s spring! Wake up, little girls!”
Notes by Stephen Sartarelli
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The Pyramid of Mud Page 20
