The Safety Net

by Andrea Camilleri

  Saying good-bye to Selene, who was well aware she was about to be left at home alone, was an ordeal. Even Montalbano felt touched.

  “Let’s bring her with us.”

  “They won’t let her in.”

  In the elevator she asked him:

  “Shall we go on foot or would you rather drive?”

  “Whatever you prefer.”

  In all honesty he would have shot through an underground pneumatic tube if it could get him any sooner to the restaurant.

  “It’s such a beautiful day!” said Livia.

  Which, translated, meant: Let’s walk.

  They headed off. After they’d taken three steps—no more, no less—Livia stopped and started rummaging through her purse.

  “I can’t find my cell phone. I must have left it at home.”

  “No problem. Who do you expect—”

  “You never know. I’m going home to get it. Wait for me here, I’ll be back in a flash.”

  Montalbano launched into a litany of curses in his head.

  Only women really knew the extra-fine art of wasting time. Maybe it was one of the things the snake taught Eve. And with every minute that passed, his stomach made its displeasure felt even more.

  He kept an eye on the front door, three paces away, but it remained closed.

  Some flash! Livia was taking as long as a whole thunderstorm!

  He fired up a cigarette, and not until he’d finished it did the door open and Livia appear.

  “I’m sorry, darling.”

  “You couldn’t find it?”

  “No, I found it right away. I had to change my shoes. The heel was falling off of one, and so . . .”

  . . . and so you took fifteen minutes to decide on what other pair to wear, Montalbano completed her sentence in his mind.

  They entered the restaurant. The television was on, broadcasting the news. After casting a glance at it, the inspector turned to stone.

  On the screen was the face of Mimì Augello, in a tight close-up.

  9

  Seeing Montalbano’s eyes popping out of his head, Livia followed the direction of his gaze and was equally flabbergasted.

  “And that’s about it,” said Mimì.

  “Thank you, Inspector Augello,” said a voice off camera.

  “Glad to oblige,” replied Mimì.

  Then he disappeared. In his place a talking head appeared and said:

  “And that’s the latest news. We now leave you to the following scheduled program, which . . .”

  Dozens of thoughts were arising in Montalbano’s brain at the speed of lightning, intertwining with one another until they formed a skein.

  Livia was the first to react. Only two tables were occupied in the room, one by a solitary customer, and the other by two men of about fifty. Livia, whom the inspector followed like a robot, walked over to the single man.

  “I’m sorry, but did you by any chance hear the last story on the news program?”

  The solitary man, apparently a typical Ligurian grumbler, replied brusquely:

  “Neither the last nor the first. I mind my own business.”

  She had better luck with the people at the second table.

  “I heard a bit of it,” said one of them. “We were talking about it . . . apparently there was a school shooting, in some town in Sicily . . .”

  “Were there any dead or injured?”

  “I couldn’t say.”

  “It’s all the fault of the Americans!” burst out the other one, who hadn’t yet spoken.

  “What’ve the Americans got to do with it?” his friend asked.

  “They’re always exporting all their most disgusting things to us, from Halloween to school shootings!”

  Montalbano, who’d basically recovered from his initial shock, took Livia by the arm.

  “Let’s get out of here.” Then: “If you hadn’t wasted all that time, we could have heard the news.”

  Livia said nothing. Next door to the restaurant was a block of flats with the main door open, but no doorman. The inspector went inside.

  “Give me your cell phone.”

  Livia handed it to him. But she didn’t miss her chance for revenge.

  “If I’d left it at home, as you wanted . . .”

  “Busy,” said the inspector.

  “Are you feeling all right? You’re as pale as a corpse.”

  “How am I supposed to feel? I’m very worried.”

  He tried calling the station again. Still busy. He tried Fazio: unreachable. Augello likewise. He couldn’t remember any other phone numbers. With each minute that passed, the inspector felt more and more prey to an impotent rage and terror at the thought of what might have happened.

  “Could you hand me the phone for a second?” asked Livia.

  “Right now?”

  “Yes.”

  Montalbano gave it to her reluctantly, and Livia stepped aside. To the inspector her phone call seemed endless, but he didn’t have the courage to snatch the phone out of her hand. As soon as it was back in his possession, however, he dialed the station’s number again. This time the unmistakable voice of Catarella answered.

  “Montalbano here.”

  “O matre santissima! O swee’ blessèd Jesus!”

  “Cat . . .”

  “O holiest o’ voigins! O saints in ’eaven!”

  “Be quiet, Cat! That’s an order!”

  But the guy wasn’t even listening.

  “Iss so good to hear yer verce at last, Chief! I been tryin’ a reach yiz all mornin’! Yer sill phone jess rings an’ rings, an Miss Livia’s phone’s like off the hook, an’ ’en alluva sudden iss back onna hook, bu’ nobuddy ansers . . .”

  “Shut up!” the inspector yelled.

  The flow of Catarella’s words suddenly stopped, as if the power had been cut off.

  “You must only speak to answer my questions. Are there any dead or injured?”

  “Nossir, Chief, none. By the Lord’s goo’ grace, wha’ happened is—”

  “Sshhh! Get me Fazio or Inspector Augello.”

  “’Ey ain’t onna premisses, Chief.”

  “Where are they?”

  “Who?”

  “What do you mean, who? Augello and Fazio.”

  “Ya gotta ’scuse me, Chief, bu’ since I’m a little upsitt . . . I tought ya wannit a know where the premisses was . . . Fazio was called in by the Dicos, an’ Isspecter Augello’s in canfrince wit’ Hizzoner the C’mishner.”

  “Can you tell me, in just a few words, exactly what happened?”

  “I c’n try, Chief. So, ’iss mornin’ jest a li’l afore ten, two individdles belongin’ to the maskiline persuasion ennered the Luici Pirinnello School . . . Ya know which one I’m talkin’ about?”

  “Yes. Go on.”

  “An’ ’en ’ey boist inna the classroom Tree B, inwheres ’ey astracted ’eir guns an’ tol’ ivryone a put their hands up, an’ ’at ’at was an order. An’ since the studints got all ascared an’ summuvm started cryin’, summuvm callin’ fer help, the gunmen shot tree or four times inna air, an’ ’at only adit to the confusion. An’ at this point, Isspecter Augello—”

  “Wait a second, let me get this straight. So Augello was already there?”

  “Yessir, Chief, ’e went a talk to the teacher ’cuz ’is boy was in class Tree B.”

  “Okay, got it. Go on.”

  “An’ at ’at point, Augello tried a calm the kids down, but one o’ the individdles belongin’ to the maskiline sex punched ’im inna face and trettened a kill ’im.”

  “And then what?”

  “An’ ’en one o’ the two said to the kids, ‘Careful ya don’t do nuttin’ stupid, or we’ll come back an’ wipe yiz all out.’ An’ ’en ’ey left. But Isspecter Augell
o chased after ’em an’ as soon as ’ey was inna courtyard, ’e took out ’is gun and said: ‘Halt! Police!’ an’ ’en ’ere was a schange o’ gunfires, bu’ the two manitched t’ascape.”

  “Well done, Cat, thanks.”

  “But what’re ya gonna do yisself, Chief? Ain’t ya comin’ back? We need yiz roun’ here, Chief, jess like we need air!”

  “I’ll call you back in a little bit.”

  He summarized for Livia what Catarella had just told him.

  “What do you plan to do?” Livia asked, naturally.

  Before answering, Montalbano took her into his arms.

  “You have no idea how much I regret this,” he said. “But I think it’s my duty to—”

  “No need to say any more,” said Livia.

  “Why?”

  “Because I already knew how you would react. That was why I asked you for the cell phone. In ninety minutes there’s a flight for Palermo.”

  Montalbano wasn’t even able to thank her. He was all choked up and couldn’t manage to speak.

  “Shall I order a couple of panini for you?” asked Livia.

  “I don’t really feel like eating anymore.”

  “Then let’s go and get the car. I’ll drive you to the airport.”

  * * *

  Nobody’d touched his car. The cell phone was exactly where he’d left it; the suitcase was in the trunk. He heaved a sigh of relief. True, he’d left it in the police parking lot, but the way things were going these days . . .

  On the drive home he was stopped three times—by the police, by the customs officers, and by the carabinieri, respectively. The checkpoints meant they hadn’t yet arrested the two men who’d attacked the school.

  Heading for the station’s parking lot, he noticed a crowd of photographers, cameramen, and journalists outside the front door, being kept at bay by Mazzarella and Borruso, two of their beat cops. Without getting out of his car, he grabbed his cell phone, called Catarella, and asked him to unlock the back door to the building. That way he might just manage to make it into his office without being seen. But he ran out of time. One newsman spotted him and started yelling.

  “Montalbano’s here!”

  In the twinkling of an eye he found himself surrounded by people shouting and flashes popping. Luckily Mazzarella and Borruso were quick to intervene, pushing and kicking in every direction, clearing a path for the inspector to arrive safe and sound inside the building.

  Where he was greeted by a sort of wail that sounded like a cross between a howling dog and a braying ass and turned out to be Catarella welcoming him back.

  “’E’s baaaack! Omygaaaad ’e’s baaaack!”

  “Come with me.”

  Catarella leapt out from his closet and followed behind him, emitting a sort of whining sound.

  Once the inspector was sitting in his chair, in his office, among his customary objects, he felt his fit of agitation passing.

  He knew he was now lucid and calm.

  “Are Augello and Fazio here?”

  “’Ey haven’t retoined to the premisses yet, Chief. Fazio was summonsed by Hizzoner the C’mishner poisonally in poisson, an’ Isspecter Augello, after ’e was done wit’ ’Izzoner the C’mishner, ’adda go an’ see Prassecutor Riccadonna. Bu’ I tol’ both of ’em—both of ’em bein’ Fazio an’ Isspecter Augello—’at you was on yer way ’ere.”

  Montalbano twisted up his mouth. Pietropaolo Riccadonna had never seemed like a terribly brilliant mind to him.

  “Is there any news?”

  “Yessir, Chief. One of our patrools foun’ the car the two school attackers ascaped in ’at Isspecter Augello got the license plate number for.”

  “Where’d they find it?”

  “In Montelusa, roun’ the train station. Toins out it was stolen yisterday mornin’ in Montelusa.”

  “Can you tell me anything else?”

  “Wha’ can I say, Chief? Iss only jess now I manitched a get away fro’ the tiliphone! Alla noosepapers always callin’ continuatiously! Even from the French part of France! And the Joiman Joimany! I ain’t even had the time—if you’ll ascuse my ’Talian—to relieve my blatter!”

  “You can go now, and then get back to the switchboard.”

  Catarella made a salute and dashed out of the room. The inspector rang Livia, told her he’d had a good flight, and hung up. At that moment Fazio appeared.

  Montalbano had never seen him look so tired.

  “Can I hug you?” Fazio asked.

  The inspector stood up and opened his arms. Then they both sat down.

  “Feel like telling me what happened?”

  “I do.”

  “Careful, though: I only want to know the part that involves you. That is, how you found out about the school incident and what you did.”

  “Okay. This morning, when I came in, Catarella told me Inspector Augello had left word that he would come in to the office around ten-thirty. Then, a little before ten o’clock, Catarella put a call through to me. At that moment Officers Spinoccia and Catalano were with me. The guy on the phone sounded scared out of his wits. ‘There’s been a shooting at the Pirandello School,’ he said. ‘Come right away.’ So we all grabbed our guns and ran out. Ten minutes later, we were at the school but had no idea what was going on.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because, Chief, dozens and dozens of children were pouring out of the building crying, screaming, calling for help, running away with their teachers. While, in the meantime, all the people who’d heard about the shooting—mothers, fathers, brothers, sisters, relatives—were rushing in from the street. To make a long story short, the only way we were able to get inside the school was through a second-floor window. Once we were in the hallway, we saw Inspector Augello come out of one of the classrooms, which took us by surprise. His pistol was stuck in his belt, and he was talking on his cell phone. He had such a look on his face that for a second I thought that something must have happened to his son, Salvuzzo. Then, a couple of seconds later, luckily, I saw his kid come out of the same classroom.

  “I asked Augello what he was doing there, and he explained everything to me and said he’d immediately alerted Montelusa Central and the carabinieri. Then he asked me to do whatever was needed to try to calm things down inside the school and especially outside the school, adding that nobody’d been killed or injured, and that everyone was safe, kids as well as teachers. He told me all this with Salvuzzo hanging on his arm the whole time. I’ll let Augello tell you what happened inside the classroom.”

  “What did the Digos want from you?”

  “The Digos? No, Chief, it was the counterterrorism unit that questioned me. But I couldn’t tell them anything, ’cause it’s not like I actually saw the two perpetrators.”

  “And did Counterterrorism have any ideas about the whole thing?”

  “None at all. They don’t know what to think.”

  “And what did the commissioner want?”

  “The commissioner wanted to know exactly the same things you’ve just asked me about, since he’s under siege not only by the media but also by the politicians.”

  “And what do you think about the whole thing?” Montalbano asked him.

  “Chief, to me the whole thing’s neither here nor there, but if I have to put it somewhere, I’ll put it here, because in my opinion, the Mafia’s got to have something to do with this.”

  “Give me one reason.”

  “Well, first you’re gonna have to authorize me to talk about something in which I didn’t directly take part.”

  “Okay. You have my authorization.”

  “I’ve learned—and Inspector Augello can confirm this—that the two men who entered the school headed straight for classroom III B without asking directions from the custodian, who in fact was right there inside the front door. So there
fore they knew where they were going.”

  “And so?”

  “And so, the first thing to do would be to find out the first and last names, and family relations, of all the kids in III B.”

  “And are you leaving the teacher conducting class at that moment out of this?”

  “No, Chief. And this is not something to waste any time over. I’ll get on it right away. See you tomorrow.”

  He got up and went out. At that same moment the telephone rang.

  “Chief, ’at’d be Isspecter Augello onna line.”

  “Put him through.”

  “Welcome back, Salvo. I really mean it.”

  “Tell me everything, Mimì.”

  “I wanted to ask you something. Since I’ve finished what I was doing here, could you wait for me there? I could be there in twenty minutes, max.”

  “All right.”

  Montalbano realized that Mimì Augello was going well out of his way, especially after the kind of day he’d just had. It must be something really serious.

  * * *

  Augello fell into the chair opposite Montalbano’s desk with the weight of a boulder.

  “I’m completely drained.”

  Then he raised his left arm and sniffed his armpit.

  “And I stink, too. I haven’t had a moment’s rest since this morning.”

  “If you want, we can talk tomorrow . . .”

  “No. Just give me five minutes to wash and freshen up a little.”

  “Go ahead.”

  As soon as Mimì went out, something occurred to Montalbano. He rang Catarella.

  “Come into my office, would you, Cat?”

  Catarella materialized in a flash.

  “Yer orders, sah!”

  “Are there still newsmen about?”

  “Yessir, Chief. ’Ere’s still about ten lookin’ like famitched dogs waitin’ fer a bone.”

  “Then it’s better if I don’t let them see me. Here, take my car keys, open the trunk, and take the suitcase that’s in there to Inspector Augello and tell him he can put on whatever clothes of mine he needs.”