"Should we take the car? Are we going far?"
"Far? It's right around the corner."
"Would you explain to me who this Pacinotti woman is?"
"Woman? She was a ship, a mother ship that would repair any damage the warships sustained. She anchored in the port towards the end of 1940 and never moved. Her crew was made up of sailors who were also mechanics, carpenters, electricians, plumbers...They were all kids. And because the ship was there for so long, many of them became like family and ended up seeming like townfolk. They made friends, and they also took girlfriends. Two of them married local girls. One of them has since died, name was Tripcovich; the others name is Marin and he owns the repair garage in Piazza Garibaldi.You know him?"
"He's my mechanic," the inspector said, bitterly thinking he was about to resume his journey through the old folks memories.
...
A fiftyish man in filthy overalls, fat and surly, said nothing to the inspector and attacked Headmaster Burgio.
"Why are you wasting your time coming here? It's not ready yet. I told you the work would take a long time."
"I didn't come for the car. Is your father here?"
"Of course he's here. Where else would he be? He's here busting my balls, telling me I don't know how to work, that the mechanical geniuses in his family are him and his grandson."
A twentyish lad, also in overalls, who'd been looking under a car hood, stood up and greeted the two men with a smile. Montalbano and Burgio walked across the garage, which must have originally been a warehouse, and came to a kind of partition made of wooden boards.
Inside, behind a desk, was Antonio Marin.
"I overheard everything," he said." And if arthritis hadn't messed me up, I could teach that one a thing or two."
"We need some information."
"What do you need to know, Inspector?"
"It's better if I let Headmaster Burgio tell you."
"Do you remember how many crew members of the Pacinotti were killed or wounded or declared missing in combat?"
"We were lucky," the old man said, growing animated. Apparently he liked talking about that heroic time; at home they probably told him to shut up whenever he started in on the subject. "We had one dead from bomb shrapnel, name was Arturo Rebellato; and one wounded, also from shrapnel, and his name was Silvio Destefano; and one missing, Mario Cunich. We were all very close, you know; most of us hailed from up north,Venice,Trieste..."
"Missing at sea?" asked the inspector.
"What sea? We were moored in the harbor the whole time. We practically became an extension of the wharf."
"Then why was he declared missing?"
"Because the evening of July the seventh, 1943, he never returned to ship. The bombing had been heavy that afternoon, and he was out on a pass. Cunich was from Monfalcone, and he had a friend from the same town who was also my friend, Stefano Premuda. Well, the next morning Premuda forced the whole crew to go looking for Cunich. We spent the entire day going from house to house asking after him, to no avail. We went to the military hospital, the civilian hospital, we went to the place where they collected all the dead bodies found under the rubble . . . Nothing. Even the officers joined in the search, since some time before that they'd been given advance notice, a kind of warning, that in the coming days we were going to have to weigh anchor... We never did, though; the Americans arrived first."
"Couldn't he have simply deserted?"
"Cunich? Never! He believed in the war. He was a Fascist. A good kid, but a Fascist. And he was smitten."
"What do you mean?"
"Smitten, in love. With a girl from here. Like me, actually. He said that as soon as the war was over, he was going to get married."
"And you never had any news of him again?"
"Well, when the Americans landed, they decided that a repair ship like ours, which was a jewel, suited them just fine. So they kept us in service, in Italian uniform, but they gave us an armband to wear on our sleeves to avoid any misunderstandings. So Cunich had all the time in the world to return to ship, but he never did. He just disappeared. I stayed in touch with Premuda afterward, and now and then I'd ask him if he'd heard from Cunich or had any news of him... Nothing, not a word."
"You said you knew Cunich had a girlfriend here. Did you ever meet her?"
"Never."
One more thing needed to be asked, but Montalbano stopped, and with a glance he let Burgio have the honor.
"Did he at least tell you her name?" the headmaster asked, accepting Montalbanos generous offer.
"Well, Cunich was very reserved. But he did tell me once that her name was Lisetta."
What happened? Did an angel pass, did time stop? Montalbano and Burgio froze, and the inspector grabbed his side. He felt a violent pain, while the headmaster brought his hand to his heart and leaned against a car to keep from falling. Marin became terrified.
"What did I say? My God, what did I say?"
Immediately outside the garage, the headmaster started shouting cheerfully:
"We guessed right!"
And he traced a few dance steps. Two passersby, who knew him as a pensive, somber man, stopped in shock. Having got it out of his system, Burgio turned serious again.
"Don't forget we promised San Calogero fifty thousand lire a head."
"I won't forget."
"Do you know San Calogero?"
"I haven't missed the annual celebration since I moved to Vig."
"That doesn't mean you know him. San Calogero is someone, who, how shall I say?, who doesn't let things slide. I'm telling you this for your own good."
"Are you joking?"
"Absolutely not. He's a vengeful saint, and it doesn't take much to get his dander up. If you make him a promise, you have to keep it. If you, for example, get in a car crash and narrowly escape with your life, and you make a promise to the saint which you don't keep, you can bet your last lira you're going to get in another accident and lose your legs at the very least. Get the idea?"
"Perfectly."
"Let's go home now, so you can tell my wife the whole story."
"So I can tell her?"
"Yes, because I don't want to give her the satisfaction of hearing me say she was right."
...
"To summarize," said Montalbano, "things may have gone as follows."
He was enjoying this investigation in slippers, in a home from another age, over a cup of coffee.
"The sailor Mario Cunich, who became a kind of local boy around Vig, fell in love with Lisetta Moscato, who loved him too. How they managed to meet and talk to each other, God only knows."
"I've given it a lot of thought," said Signora Angelina. "There was a period I think it was from 42 until March or April of 43 when her father had to go far away from Vig on business. They could have fallen in love then, and they would certainly have had plenty of opportunities to spend time together in secret."
"They did fall in love, that much we know," resumed Montalbano. "Then her fathers return again prevented them from seeing each other. Soon the evacuation also came between them. So when news came of his imminent departure...Lisetta escaped, she came here, she met Cunich, but we don't know where. The sailor, so he could have as much time as possible with Lisetta, didn't return to ship. And at some point, they were murdered in their sleep. So far, everything clicks."
"Clicks?" asked Angelina, taken aback.
"I'm sorry, I merely meant that thus far, our reconstruction makes sense. The person who killed them may have been a jilted lover, or even Lisetta's father, who may have caught them together and felt dishonored. We may never know."
"What do you mean, we may never know?" said Angelina. "Aren't you interested in finding out who murdered those two poor kids?"
He didn't have the heart to tell her that he didn't care that much about the killer himself. What really intrigued him was why someone, perhaps even the killer, had taken it upon himself to move the bodies into the cave and set up that scene with the bowl, the jug, and the terra-cotta dog.