“Have a look at the video I made of it from the sea. Torrisi’s got it.”
“That’s not enough. I’m going to go there in person, I want to see for myself,” Mimì decided.
“I don’t like it,” Fazio cut in.
“If they spot you and get suspicious, we blow the whole thing,” the inspector seconded him.
“Calm down, both of you. I’ll go with Beba, who’s been wanting a breath of sea air. We’ll take a nice long stroll and see what there is to see. I don’t think they’ll get alarmed if they see a man and a pregnant woman walking along the beach. We can meet back here by five at the latest.”
“All right,” said Montalbano. Then, turning to Fazio, “Listen, I want the core squad ready. A few trusted, decisive men. Gallo, Galluzzo, Imbrò, Germanà, and Grasso. You and Augello will be in command.”
“Why, won’t you be there?” asked Augello in amazement.
“I’ll be there, but I’ll be down below, in the little harbor, to stop anyone who tries to escape.”
“Well, Augello will command the squad, ’cause I’m coming with you,” Fazio said dryly.
Surprised by his tone, Mimì glared at him.
“No,” said Montalbano.
“Look, Chief—I—”
“No. This is a personal matter, Fazio.”
This time Mimì glared at Montalbano, who was glaring at Fazio, who was glaring right back. It looked like a scene from a Quentin Tarantino movie, except that they were aiming their eyes instead of guns at each other.
“Yes, sir,” Fazio said at last.
To dispel the bit of tension still in the air, Mimì Augello asked a question:
“How will we know for sure whether or not there will be any landings tonight? Who’s going to tell us?”
“You could find out from Commissioner Riguccio,” Fazio suggested to Montalbano. “They usually have a pretty clear picture of the situation by six P.M.”
“No, I’ve already asked Riguccio too many things. He’s a true cop and might get suspicious. No, I think I know of another way. The harbor authority. They’re the ones who receive all the information from the fishermen and patrol boats and pass it on to the commissioner’s office. What information there is to be had, that is, since often nobody knows anything about these illegal landings. Do you know anyone at the harbor office?”
“No, Chief.”
“I do,” said Mimì. “Until last year I used to spend time with a lieutenant from the office, who’s still around.”
“Good. When can you go talk to this guy?”
“This woman, you mean,” Mimì corrected him. “But don’t get the wrong idea. I tried, but there was nothing doing. We’ve remained friends. As soon as I get back from Spigonella, I’ll take Beba home and go look her up.”
“And what are we going to do about Marzilla, Chief?”
“After Spigonella, we’ll cook his goose along with Aguglia’s.”
Opening the refrigerator, he got a nasty surprise. Adelina had tidied up the house as requested, but all she’d made to eat was half a boiled chicken. What kind of bullshit was this? That was a dish for the sick! For someone awaiting last rites! A horrible suspicion occurred to him—that is, that Fazio had told the housekeeper he’d been unwell and therefore should eat lightly. But how could he have told her, if the phone was unplugged? Via carrier pigeon? No, this was clearly some sort of vendetta on Adelina’s part, for the mess he’d left the house in. On the kitchen table he found a note he hadn’t noticed when he’d made himself coffee.
Youl half to make your bed yourself coz your sleping in it now.
He sat out on the veranda and swallowed down the boiled chicken with the help of an entire jar of pickles. As soon as he’d finished, the phone rang. Apparently Adelina had plugged it back in. It was Livia.
“Salvo, finally! I was so worried! I must have called ten times last night, right up to midnight. Where were you?”
“Sorry. We had to do a stakeout and—”
“I’ve got some good news for you.”
“Oh? What?”
“I’m coming tomorrow.”
“Really?”
“Yes. I’ve done and said so much that they gave me three days.”
Montalbano felt a wave of happiness sweep over him.
“So, aren’t you going to say something?” asked Livia.
“What time do you get in?”
“Noon. At Punta Raisi.”
“I’ll either come myself or send someone to get you. I’m so . . .”
“Come on. Is it so hard for you to say it?”
“No. I’m so happy.”
Before lying down—because he suddenly felt like taking a nap—he had to tidy up the bedroom or he wouldn’t be able to close his eyes.
Mimì straggled back in well past six o’clock, and Fazio came in behind him.
“You took your time, I’d say,” Montalbano chided him.
“But I’ve got some good stuff.”
“Like what?”
“First of all, these.”
He took ten or so Polaroid snapshots out of his pocket. Every one of them showed a smiling, pregnant Beba in the foreground, and the villa at Spigonella, shot from every possible angle, in the background. In two or three of them, Beba was actually leaning against the bars of the entrance gate, which was locked shut with a chain and big padlock.
“But did you tell Beba what you were doing there, and who was inside that villa?”
“No. What need was there? This way she acted more naturally.”
“So you didn’t see anyone?”
“Maybe they were watching us from inside, but we certainly didn’t see anyone outside. They want to give the impression that the house is uninhabited. See that padlock? It’s all for show, because one could easily slip a hand through the bars and open the gate from the inside.”
He selected another photo and handed it to the inspector.
“This is the right-hand side of the house. There’s an external staircase leading to the upper floor, and that large door below must be the garage. Did Ingrid mention whether the garage is connected to the rest of the house?”
“No, the garage is a separate space without any doors except its entrance. There is, however, an internal staircase between the ground floor and the upstairs, though Ingrid never actually saw it, since the only access to it was through a door D’Iunio said he didn’t have the key to. And I’m sure there’s another staircase leading from the ground floor down to the grotto.”
“At a glance, the garage looks like it could hold two cars.”
“Well, there’s definitely one in there. The one that ran over the little boy. Speaking of which, when we catch these people, I want that car examined by Forensics. I’d bet my family jewels that they find the kid’s blood on it.”
“What do you think happened?” Fazio asked.
“Simple. The kid realized—I’m not sure how—that he was up against something horrible. So he tried to escape the minute he got off the boat. It was my fault he didn’t succeed on the first try. They took him to Spigonella, and there he must have discovered the staircase leading to the grotto. I’m sure that’s how he escaped. Somebody caught on and sounded the alarm. So Zarzis got in the car and looked for him until he found him.”
“But this Zarzis only arrived yesterday!” said Augello.
“As I understand it, Zarzis comes and goes. He’s always around when it’s time to sort out the merchandise and pick up the money. Like now. He runs all these operations for his boss.”
“I want to talk about the landings,” said Mimì.
“You have the floor,” said Montalbano.
The idea that he had Zarzis within reach gave him a sense of well-being.
“My lady friend told me it’s a real state of emergency. Our sea patrols have intercepted four overloaded, dilapidated craft headed towards Seccagrande, Capobianco, Manfia, and Fela, respectively. They only hope those boats manage to land before they sink; at this point, rerouting them or transferring the refugees to other vessels is out of the question. All our people can do is stay close behind them and be prepared to rescue the refugees if one or more of the boats should capsize.”