“What size?”
“I don’t understand,” said the lawyer.
“What size bills did they want?”
“Ah, yes. Five-hundred euros.”
Strange. Big bills. Easier to carry around, but much harder to spend.
“Do you know if your client . . .” (the lawyer made the nurse-face) “. . . managed to write down the serial numbers?”
“I don’t know.”
The lawyer looked at his gold Rolex and grimaced.
“And there you have it,” he said, standing up.
o o o
They stopped to chat a moment outside the lawyer’s house.
“Poor Peruzzo,” the inspector said by way of comment.
“He tried to cover his ass immediately. He’d pinned his hopes on a quick kidnapping, so people wouldn’t find out, whereas—”
“That’s one thing that has me worried,” said Minutolo.
And he began to clarify: “From what the lawyer said, if the kidnappers immediately contacted Peruzzo—”
“—almost twelve hours before they made their first phone contact with us,” Montalbano cut in, “then they played us like puppets at the puppet theater. Because those guys were playact-ing with us. They knew from the very first moment whom they wanted to force to pay the ransom. They’ve made the two of us waste a lot of time, and they’ve made Fazio lose sleep.
They’re smart. In the final analysis, the messages they sent to the Mistretta home were scenes from an old script, more than anything else. They showed us what we wanted to see, told us what we expected to hear.” “Based on what the lawyer said,” Minutolo resumed, “the kidnappers theoretically had the situation under control less than twenty-four hours after the abduction. One call to Peruzzo, and he would turn over the money. Except that they never got back to him. Why? Had they run into trouble?
Maybe the men we have out scouring the countryside are hampering their freedom of movement? Maybe we should let up a little?”
“What are you afraid of, exactly?”
“That if those guys feel threatened, they’ll do something stupid.”
“You’re forgetting one basic thing.”
“What?”
“That the kidnappers have remained in contact with the television stations.”
“So why won’t they get in touch with Peruzzo?”
“Because they want him to stew in his own juices first,” said the inspector.
“But the more time passes, the greater their risk!”
“They’re well aware of that. And I think they also know they’ve played out the string as far as it’ll go. I’m convinced it’s only a matter of hours before Susanna goes home.” Minutolo looked befuddled.
“What! This morning you didn’t seem at all—”
“This morning the lawyer hadn’t yet spoken on television and hadn’t yet used an adverb he repeated when speaking to us. He was shrewd. He indirectly told the kidnappers to stop playing games.” “Excuse me,” said Minutolo, completely confused, “but what adverb did he use?”
“Inexplicably.”
“And what does it mean?”
“It means that he, the lawyer, knew the explanation perfectly well.”
“I haven’t understood a goddamned thing.”
“Forget it. What are you going to do now?”
“Report to the judge.”
1 6 7
0p>
13
Livia wasn’t at home. The table was set for two people, and beside her plate was a note.
I’ve gone to the movies with my friend. Wait for me to eat dinner.
He went and took a shower, then sat down in front of the television. The Free Channel was showing a debate on Susanna’s abduction, with Nicolò as moderator. Taking part in the discussion were a monsignor, three lawyers, a retired judge, and a journalist. Half an hour into the program, the debate openly turned into a kind of trial of Antonio Peruzzo.
Or, more than a trial, an out-and-out lynching. When all was said and done, nobody believed what Luna the lawyer had said. None of those present seemed convinced by the story that Peruzzo had the money ready and was only waiting to hear from the suddenly silent kidnappers. Logically speaking, it was in their interest to get their hands on the money as quickly as possible, free the girl, and disappear. The more time they wasted, the greater the risk. And so? It seemed natural to think that the person responsible for the delay in Susanna’s liberation was none other than Peruzzo himself, who—as the monsignor insinuated—was dragging things out trying to extract some miserable little discount on the ransom. The way he was acting, would he get any discount when he appeared before God on Judgment Day? In conclusion, it seemed clear that, once the girl was freed, a change of scene was Peruzzo’s only option.
Talk about political ambitions gone up in smoke! He wasn’t even welcome anymore in Montelusa, Vigàta, or environs.
o o o
This time the clack at three twenty-seven and forty seconds woke him up. He realized his brain was clear and functioning perfectly, and took advantage of this to review the entire kidnapping case, starting from Catarella’s first phone call. He stopped thinking around five-thirty, when he suddenly began to feel sleepy. As he was sinking into unconsciousness, the telephone rang and, luckily, Livia didn’t hear it. The clock said five forty-seven. It was Fazio, who was very excited.
“Susanna’s been freed.”
“Oh, really? How is she?”
“Fine.”
“See you later,” Montalbano concluded.
And he went back to bed.
He told Livia the news the moment she began to move in bed, showing the first signs of waking up. She leapt out of bed and onto her feet, as if she’d seen a spider between the sheets.
“When did you find out?”
“Fazio called. It was around six.”
“Why didn’t you tell me immediately?”
“Was I supposed to wake you up?”
“Yes. You know how anxiously I’ve been following this whole ordeal. You let me keep sleeping on purpose!”
“If that’s the way you want to see it, fine, I admit my guilt, end of subject. Now calm down.”
But Livia felt like making trouble. She eyed him with disdain.
“And I don’t understand how you can lie there in bed, instead of going to see Minutolo to get more information, to find out—”
“To find out what? If you want more information, turn on the TV.”
“Sometimes your indifference drives me crazy!” She went and turned on the television. Montalbano, for his part, locked himself in the bathroom and took his time.
Obviously to get on his nerves, Livia kept the volume high. As he was drinking his coffee in the kitchen, he could hear angry voices, sirens, screeching tires. He could barely hear the telephone when it rang. He went into the dining room. Everything was vibrating from the infernal noise emanating from the set.
“Livia, would you please turn that down?” Muttering to herself, Livia obeyed. The inspector picked up the receiver.
“Montalbano? What’s wrong, aren’t you coming?” It was Minutolo.
“What for?”
Minutolo seemed stunned.
“Er . . . I dunno . . . I thought you’d be pleased . . .”
“Anyway, I have the impression you’re under siege.”
“That’s true. There are dozens of journalists, photographers, and cameramen outside the gate . . . I had to call in reinforcements. The judge and the commissioner should be here soon. It’s a mess.” “How’s Susanna doing?”
“A bit the worse for wear, but basically all right. Her uncle examined her and found her in good physical condition.”
“How was she treated?”
“She said they never once made a violent gesture. On the contrary.”
“How many were there?”
“She saw only two hooded men. Obviously peasants.”
“How did they release her?”
“She said that last night, when she was sleeping, they woke her up, made her put on a hood, tied her hands behind her back, took her out of the vat, and made her get in the trunk of a car. They drove for over two hours, she said. Then the car stopped. They made her get out, had her walk for half an hour, then loosened the knots around her wrists and made her sit down. Then they left.” “And they never spoke to her at any point during all this?”