He couldn’t go on. This time he started sobbing silently, holding his handkerchief one minute over his mouth, the next minute over his eyes.
Montalbano picked up the picture of the girl again. She was so beautiful! That blond hair . . .
Then all at once, in a flash, Vilardo’s words came back to him: I saw a head of blond hair appear from the back. . . .
He shot to his feet, so suddenly that Bonmarito automatically stood up with him.
“No, no, please stay. I’ll be right back.”
He pushed Fazio’s door open with such force that he felt like Catarella making one of his triumphal entrances.
“That guy . . . what’s his name . . . Vilardo, did he leave a telephone number?”
“Yes, his home phone and his cell phone.”
“Call him immediately. Ask him to tell you exactly where he was last night when he saw his stolen car drive by, and what direction it went in. Then come straight to my office.”
He went back to his room. Bonmarito was resting his elbows on his knees and had his face in his hands.
“Listen, give me your address and telephone number. I also want the addresses and telephone numbers of that boy she knows from school and her girlfriend, the one she went to the movies with.”
Bonmarito dictated them to him.
“If you were to receive any ransom demands . . .”
The man made a smile so tense, the inspector felt his heart give a tug.
“Ransom?” the man said. “We’re dirt poor.”
“Where do you work?”
“At the fish market. I’m a guard.”
“Anyway, anything new comes up, call me at once, don’t waste any time. Now go home to your wife, don’t leave her alone.”
Bonmarito got out of his chair ever so slowly, as if every movement was an effort. He must have been at the end of his rope.
“I promise you,” said Montalbano, putting a hand on the man’s shoulder, “that we’ll start looking for her right away, even if it’s not official. Do you have a car?”
Another smile more eloquent than any reply.
He brought the man to Catarella.
“Ring Gallo and tell him to give Signor Bonmarito a ride home.”
“I spoke with the engineer.”
“What engineer?”
“Vilardo. He told me that yesterday evening, at what must have been around eight-twenty, no later, his SUV drove past the little park in Via del Sambuco, where he was walking his dog.”
“Did he see what direction the car was going in?”
“He thought it turned right, in the direction of Via dei Glicini. But he’s not sure, because at that moment a bus drove past and blocked his view. Would you please explain to me what’s going on?”
The inspector told him what Bonmarito had come to see him about and showed him the photo of the girl. Fazio looked at it a long time and then handed it back to the inspector, twisting up his face.
“If they’re poor and she’s so beautiful, there can only be one reason why she was kidnapped.”
“I agree. What do you suggest?”
“You don’t want to wait the allotted time established by the law?”
“No.”
“You’re right. But in my opinion, we must first determine whether the girl was consenting.”
“You’re imagining an elopement?”
“That’s not what they call it anymore, but it’s the same idea.”
“The father rules that out. He’s absolutely certain that, because of the mother’s illness, even if she did run away, she would have got in touch by now.”
“Let’s forget about the mother and father.”
“Why?”
“Chief, just the other night on TV they showed some kid who’d cut the throats of an old couple just to rob them of twenty euros. And you know what the killer’s mother said? She said her son was an angel who would never even kill a worm.”
“But Vilardo did notice that, when the woman in the backseat tried to sit up, the guy pushed her back down.”
“So what? Maybe she was being careless by sitting up and the guy made her lie back down, telling her to be more careful or somebody might see her.”
“But if they wanted to leave town together and cover their tracks, wasn’t it a mistake to steal a car? When a girl who’s a legal adult runs away, we’re not obliged to intervene, but when a car is stolen, we are.”
“That’s certainly true. But it’s possible that it was absolutely necessary for them to steal the car, despite the risk.”
“Why are you so insistent on the possibility that she ran away with someone?”
“Because kidnappings are really rare around here. Not to mention that she’s the daughter of a man who hasn’t got anything but his eyes to cry with . . .”
“But you don’t rule out the possibility that it could be a kidnapping for the purpose of rape.”
“Right. That, unfortunately, is the second possibility we have to keep in mind.”
12
“And therefore you don’t rule out the biggest danger,” Montalbano continued, “which is that whoever kidnapped her will keep her for a few days at his complete disposal and then kill her and drop the body off somewhere for us to find her.”
“Why kill her? He could just as easily set her free!”
“No! The girl will have seen what he looks like! Vilardo didn’t say the guy was driving with a ski mask on! And so, by setting her free, the kidnapper would run the risk that she would report him and be able to identify him. No, believe me, he would kill her.”
“That’s also true.”
“Listen, let’s at least do something to set our minds at rest. Do you know where the Cinema Splendor is?”
“Yes.”
“Ninetta came out a little after eight o’clock. Ask some people who live in the neighborhood and a few local shop owners if they saw or heard anything unusual last night. And bring the girl’s picture with you.”
“And what are you going to do?”
“I’m going to eat and then pay a visit to”—he looked at the sheet of paper in front of him—“Lina Anselmo, who’s apparently the friend Ninetta went to the movies with last night.”
He ate hardly anything. The thought of Bonmarito, that poor father so dignified in his despair, wouldn’t let him get much past his lips.
After finishing his lunch, he got in the car and drove off. He always preferred giving no advance warning before his visits. That way nobody had the time to prepare any answers to his questions. He’d learned from experience that everyone he interrogated, every last person, even the most innocent and honest, would always try to appear a little different from the way they were, a little straighter, a little more proper.
Lina Anselmo, the girl who’d gone to the movies with Ninetta, lived almost outside of town, on the top floor of a block of flats without an elevator. Montalbano went up the stairs without cursing, since the climb took the place of his customary walk along the jetty.
A rather homely girl of about eighteen, very skinny, with her hair in a bun, and wearing glasses, opened the door as far as the chain would allow.
“Are you Lina Anselmo?”
“And who are you?”
“Inspector Montalbano, police.”
“What do you want?”
“To talk about Ninetta.”
“All right.”
“But you have to let me in.”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because Papa doesn’t want me to let strangers inside.”
“Is your father there?”
“No.”
“Is your mother?”
“Neither. I’m alone.”
Cursing to himself, Montalbano pulled his identification card out of his pocket and handed it to her. Lina took it with two fingers.
“Study it carefully. You’ll see I really am with the police.”
She barely glanced at it and gave it back to him.
“That doesn’t mean anything.”
“What do you mean?!”
“It could be fake.”
What to do? Break open the door with his shoulder? And what if she started screaming like a pig at the slaughter? Should he send for some of his uniformed men?
There was probably no point. The little idiot might think the uniforms were fake, too. The best thing was to get it over with as quickly as possible.
“Yesterday evening, did you go to the movies with Ninetta Bonmarito?”
“Yes.”
“Do you often go to the movies together?”
“Yes.”
“Does anyone ever bother you during the movie?”
“Yes.”
“What do you do when that happens?”
“We change seats.”
“And what if there aren’t any empty seats?”
“Ninetta prefers that we leave.”
“Did anyone approach you two last night?”
“No, nobody.”
“What time was it when you came out of the theater?”
“A little after eight.”
“Did anyone follow you?”
“No.”
“And you, Lina, how did you get home?”
“I have a scooter.”
“And why didn’t you give Ninetta a ride home?”
“I usually do.”
“And why didn’t you yesterday?”
“Because I had to get home a little earlier than usual to help Mamma. We were having friends over to dinner.”
“Listen, are you the only person Ninetta goes to the movies with?”
“No, sometimes she goes with Lucia, another friend.”
“Finally, do you have any idea what might have happened to her?”
“No, none. And I’ve thought about it a lot.”
“Listen, does Ninetta confide in you?”
“Of course.”
“Did she ever tell you she was in love with anyone, or whether anyone had propositioned her, or—”
“There weren’t any boys or men in Ninetta’s life. The only one she sort of liked was Michele, Michele Guarnera. And that’s all. Do you want to come in?” she asked unexpectedly, removing the chain and opening the door wide.
She’d been convinced.
“No,” said Montalbano.
He turned his back and started descending the stairs. The girl was ugly, stubborn, and distrustful, but definitely sincere.
The Guarnera family lived on the third floor of a modern building in a brand-new neighborhood of Vigàta. The cars one saw parked on the street were mostly expensive models for people with money. There were even well-tended little gardens. He buzzed the intercom. A polite-sounding woman with a nice voice answered.
“Inspector Montalbano here, police.”
Sparkling clean lobby, with an elevator to boot. A good-looking woman of about forty answered the door. She was well dressed and smiled only with the corners of her mouth, as her eyes looked worried.
“Please come in.”
A tasteful living room. Modern furniture. The inspector noticed a print by Cagli and a painting by Guttuso.
“Is there any news of Ninetta?” the woman asked straight off.
“No, not yet. Are you Michele’s mother?”
“Yes, my name is Anna.”
“Pleased to meet you, signora. Is your son at home?”
“Yes, but he’s still asleep.”
Still asleep at that hour of the afternoon? The kid certainly took things easy! But Anna was quick to explain.
“Ninetta’s father came here late last night, just before one A.M., when we were already asleep. It gave us a terrible fright, since my husband is away in Rome for work. Anyway, after that Michele was unable to fall back asleep, and he finally collapsed about two hours ago. Should I wake him up?”
“Unfortunately, yes.”
“Would you like a coffee?”
“No need to bother, thank you.”
Michele took about five minutes to come out. He was wearing jeans, a half-open shirt, and slippers. His hair was a mess and his face still wet from the quick washing he’d given it. A big strapping lad with the shoulders of a rugby player and an intelligent look about him.
“I’ll leave you two alone to talk,” said the mother.
Montalbano appreciated her discretion.
“You begin,” he said to the youth when they were alone.
Michele seemed a little disconcerted by the suggestion. He looked at the inspector and said nothing.
“Well?”
“But aren’t you supposed to ask me the questions?”
“Normally, yes, when I’m at the station. But this time I’d rather you spoke first, and freely.”
“Where should I begin?”
“Wherever you like.”
The youth couldn’t make up his mind. Montalbano gave him a little nudge.
“Talk to me about Ninetta.”
“Ninetta . . . a wonderful girl. So close to her family, especially her mother. She’s very worried about her. She’s like someone from another time.”
“In what sense?”
“Well, she’s the first in her class, and yet in spite of that, everybody likes her because she’s not a nerd and she’s always willing to help her classmates. She’s very beautiful but she’s not conceited, she’s not a showoff.”
“And outside of school, do you and she get together with other classmates?”
“Sure, we often have parties.”
“And how does Ninetta act on those occasions?”
“She’s very cheerful and sociable, always joking around, but she also knows how to keep away people who push too far.”
“So, at these parties . . .”
“I see what you’re getting at. She doesn’t drink, doesn’t smoke, doesn’t do joints, and doesn’t make a show of herself. What more could you want?”
“Are you in love with her?”
“Yes.”
He’d said it without the slightest hesitation. With a certain pride, in fact.
“What about her?”
“Her, no. She likes me well enough, likes my company and all that, but no, she’s not in love with me.”
“Do you know whether she’s had any affairs in the past?”
The youth gave a little laugh.
“Inspector, maybe I haven’t made myself clear enough. I’ll try to be as direct as possible. Ninetta’s girlfriends are always teasing her because she’s the only virgin left in the class.”
“As far as you know, was there anyone chasing after her?”
“Everybody.”
“Anyone a little more aggressively than the others?”
“Francesco. A few months ago Ninetta slapped him.”
“Why?”
“It happened at a party. Since he’d had a bit to drink, he said to Ninetta, right in front of everyone, what he’d like to do with her if he could spend the night with her.”
“And how did it end up?”
“Well, she started slapping him and we intervened and tried to get them to make up, but since then they aren’t speaking to each other.”
“Is he a friend of yours?”
“He’s in the second track.”
“Do you know where he lives?”
“Yes. His last name’s Diluigi. But believe me, he’s not the kind of person who—”
“I’ll be the judge of that. Let me have the address.”
Michele told him.
“And where were you yesterday evening? Sorry, but I have to ask you.”
“I understand. You want to know my alibi. I spent the afternoon in Montelusa. I play tennis. At least seven or eight people must have seen me.”
“And after that?”
“When I got back to Vigàta it must have been around seven-thirty.”
“Ninetta was kidnapped shortly after eight.”
“Wait. On my way back, my scooter wasn’t running right, and so I took it straight to t
he shop. They told me to come back in an hour to pick it up, and so I went home, dropped off my gym bag, changed because I was in a sweatsuit, and then went back out to pick up my scooter. If you want I can give you the mechanic’s address.”
“No, there’s no need, thanks. Have anything else to tell me?”
The youth thought about this for a minute.
“Well, I’m not sure it’s important . . .”
“Tell me anyway.”
“About a month ago, Ninetta told me she’d been assaulted.”
“Can you be more precise?”
“She was on her way home and was a little late because she’d been studying at a friend’s house and it was raining and already dark. The street was deserted, and at a certain point some guy came up beside her, pushed her inside a doorway, put his hand over her mouth, turned her around towards the wall, and started pulling up her skirt. Ninetta was so terrified she didn’t even have the strength to react. Luckily a man was coming down the stairs just then, and so the guy ran away. Ninetta also told me that, despite getting so scared, she didn’t want her parents to know.”
“Why not?”
“Because she was afraid they wouldn’t let her go out alone anymore. They’re very protective of her.”
“Did she describe her attacker to you?”
“No.”
“Where did this happen?”
“She didn’t say. Do you think it might have been the same guy, trying again?”
Montalbano threw up his hands. After a pause, the youth looked the inspector in the eye, then lowered his gaze, then looked at him again.
“Do you think there’s any hope we’ll find her alive?”
He was obviously of the same mind as Montalbano. Whoever it was, after using and abusing her, would surely kill her.
“I certainly want there to be.”
“I’m going to pay them a visit today,” said Michele.
“Pay whom a visit?”
“Ninetta’s parents. I don’t like leaving them all alone.”
While he was at it, he decided to go and pay a call on the kid who’d been cuffed by Ninetta. Luckily the Diluigis didn’t live very far from the Guarneras, in a fancy building in a fancy neighborhood. Fifth floor. He took the elevator, rang the doorbell, and a hulk of about six-foot-three in a tank top came and opened the door. He was angry and talked as if he was about to bite.
Treasure Hunt Page 13
