“As far as I could tell, yes, basically.”
“What do you mean by ‘basically’?”
“I mean that, sometimes, I would hear her arguing with him over the telephone . . . But just silly stuff, the kind of things young lovers quarrel about.”
“You don’t think that Susanna perhaps met someone who secretly lured her, persuading her to—”
“—To go with him, you mean? Inspector, Susanna has always been a sincere, forthright girl. If she’d started up a rela-tionship with someone else, she would certainly have told Francesco and broken off with him.” “So you’re sure we’re dealing with a kidnapping.”
“Unfortunately, yes.”
Fazio suddenly appeared in the doorway of the villa.
“What is it?” asked the geologist.
“I heard the bell ring upstairs.”
Mistretta rushed inside. Montalbano followed slowly behind him, lost in thought. He went back into the living room and sat down in the empty armchair in front of the telephone.
“Poor guy,” said Fazio. “I feel sorry for this Mistretta, I really do.”
“Doesn’t it seem strange to you that the kidnappers haven’t called yet? It’s almost ten o’clock.”
“I don’t know much about kidnappings,” said Fazio.
“Me neither. And Mimì doesn’t either.”
Speak of the devil. At that very moment Mimì Augello walked in.
“We didn’t find anything. What do we do now?”
“Inform everyone we’re supposed to inform about the kidnapping. Give me Susanna’s boyfriend’s address, and the address of the girl she was studying with.”
“What are you going to do?” asked Mimì as he was writing these things down on a piece of paper.
“As soon as he returns, I’m going to say goodbye to Mr.
Mistretta and go to the office.”
“But aren’t you convalescing?” asked Mimì. “I only had you come here to give advice, not to—”
“And do you feel confident leaving the station in Catarella’s hands?”
There was no answer, only a troubled silence.
“If the kidnappers get in touch soon, as I’m hoping they’ll do, let me know at once,” the inspector said in a decisive tone.
“Why are you hoping the kidnappers get in touch soon?” asked Fazio.
Before answering, the inspector read the piece of paper Augello had handed to him, then put it in his pocket.
“Because that way we’ll know that they kidnapped her for money. Let’s be frank. A girl like Susanna gets kidnapped for one of two reasons: for money or for rape. Gallo told me she’s a very attractive girl. In the latter case, the chances she’d be killed after being raped are very high.” A chill. In the silence they could hear the geologist’s shuf-fling footsteps as he approached. He looked at Augello.
“Did you find any . . . ?”
Mimì shook his head.
Mistretta staggered as though dizzy, but Mimì quickly steadied him.
“But why did they do it? Why?!” he said, burying his face in his hands.
“Why?” said Augello, hoping to console him with words.
“You’ll see, they’ll probably demand a ransom, the judge very probably will allow you to pay, and—”
“What will I pay with? How can I pay?” the man cried in desperation. “Doesn’t everyone know that we get by on my pension? And that the only thing we own is this house?” Montalbano was standing near Fazio. He heard him whisper under his breath: “Matre santa! So . . .”
o o o
He had Gallo drop him off at Susanna’s study-companion’s place. The girl went by the name of Tina Lofaro and lived on the town’s main street in a three-storey building that, like most of the buildings in the center of town, was rather old. As the inspector was about to ring the intercom, the front door opened and out came a woman of about fifty, trailing an empty shopping cart behind her.
“Please leave the door open,” Montalbano said to her.
The woman hesitated a moment, reaching behind her with one arm to hold the door open, torn between courtesy and caution. But after looking him up and down, she made up her mind and walked away. The inspector went in and closed the door behind him. There was no elevator. On the mail-boxes, the Lofaro family’s residence corresponded to apartment number six, and since there were two flats per floor, that meant that he would have to climb up three flights of stairs.
He had purposely avoided letting them know he was coming.
He knew from experience that an unannounced visit from a man of the law always provokes at least a little unease, even in the most honest of people, who immediately wonder: What have I done wrong? Because all honest people believe that at one time or another they have done something wrong, perhaps without even realizing, whereas dishonest people are always convinced they’ve acted honestly. Therefore all of them, honest and dishonest, feel uneasy. And this helps one find the chinks in everyone’s armor.
The inspector thus hoped, when ringing the doorbell, that Tina herself would answer. Caught by surprise, the girl would certainly reveal whether or not Susanna had told her some little secret that might help the investigation.
The door opened, and there appeared a short, homely girl of about twenty, dark as a crow, chubby and wearing thick eyeglasses. Tina, surely. The element of surprise worked. But in reverse.
“I’m Inspector Mon—”
“—talbano!” said Tina, a big smile cleaving her face from ear to ear. “Wow! How cool! I never thought I’d meet you!
Cool! I’m so excited I’m starting to sweat! I’m so happy!” Montalbano couldn’t move. He looked like he’d turned into a puppet without strings. To his bewilderment, he noticed a strange phenomenon. The girl before him had started to evaporate. A cloud of steam was enveloping her. Tina was melting like a pat of butter in the summer sun. The girl then extended a sweaty hand, grabbed the inspector by the wrist, pulled him inside, and closed the door. Then she stood there in front of him, speechless and ecstatic, face red as a ripe wa-termelon, hands joined in prayer, eyes glistening. For a brief moment, Montalbano felt exactly like the Blessed Virgin of Pompeii.
“I would like—” he ventured.
“Of course! I’m so sorry! Come!” said Tina, rousing herself from her ecstasy and leading him into the inevitable sitting room. “Boy, the moment I saw you there before me in the flesh, I nearly fainted! How are you? Have you recovered?
This is amazing! I always see you when you appear on TV, you know. And I read a lot of detective novels, I just love them, but you, Inspector, you’re a lot better than Maigret, or Poirot, or . . . You want a coffee?” “Who?” asked Montalbano, dazed.
Since the girl had spoken almost without interruption, the inspector had heard only something like “Uwanakafi,” thinking this might be the protagonist detective of some African writer with whom he was unfamiliar.
“So, will you have some coffee?”
Maybe it was just the thing.
“Yes, if it isn’t a bother . . .”
“Not at all! Mama went out shopping about five minutes ago and I’m all alone because the housekeeper’s not coming today, but I can have it ready for you in a jiffy!” She disappeared. So they were alone in the house? The inspector got worried. This girl was capable of anything. From the kitchen he heard a clinking of demitasses and saucers and a sort of low murmur. Who was she talking to, since she’d said there was nobody else in the house? Herself? He got up and went out of the living room. The kitchen was the second door on the left. He approached slowly, on tiptoe. Tina was talking in a low voice on her cell phone.
“. . . he’s here, I tell you! I’m not kidding! All of a sudden, there he was, right in front of me! If you can get here within ten minutes, he’ll still be here, I promise. Oh and, listen, San-dra, be sure to tell Manuela, I’m sure she’ll want to come, too.
And bring a camera, so we can all take our pictures with him.” Montalbano retraced his steps. This was all he needed!