He was telling the truth, and the old couple realized this.
"I could stop here," he continued. "I've managed to satisfy my own personal curiosity. I'm still missing some answers, it's true, but the ones I've found are probably enough for me. As I said, I could stop here."
"They may be enough for you," said Signora Angelina, "but I would like to see Lisetta's killer before me."
"If you see him, it'll be in a photograph," her husband said wryly, "because by now it's ninety-nine percent certain that the killer is dead and buried."
"I'll leave it up to you two," said Montalbano. "You tell me: What should I do? Should I continue? Should I stop? Its' your decision, since these murders are no longer of any interest to anyone. You are perhaps the only link the two dead lovers still have to this world."
"I say you should go ahead," said Mrs. Burgio, bold as ever.
"Me too," said the headmaster, seconding her after a pause.
...
When he arrived at the exit for Marinella, instead of turning and heading home, he let the car continue along the coastal highway as if of its own will. There was little traffic, and in just a few minutes he was at the foot of the Crasto mountain. He got out of the car and climbed up the slope that led to the Crasticeddru. A stones throw from the weapons cave, he sat down on the grass and lit a cigarette. He remained seated, watching the sunset while his brain was whirring: he had an obscure feeling that Lillo was still alive. But how would he ever flush him out?
As darkness began to fall, he headed back to the car, and at that moment his eye fell on the gaping hole in the side of the mountain, the entrance to the unused tunnel, boarded up since time immemorial. Right near the mouth, there was a pile of sheet metal and, beside it, a sign on two stakes. His legs took off in that direction before his brain had even given the order. He arrived out of breath, his side smarting from the dash. The sign said:
Gaetano Nicolosi & Son Construction Co.
Palermo. Via Lamarmora, 33
Project for the excavation of a highway
Tunnelworks manager: Cosimo Zirretta,
Eng.asst. manager: Salvatore Perricone.
This was followed by some other information of no interest to Montalbano.
He made another dash to his car and sped like a bullet back to Vig.
23
At the Gaetano Nicolosi & Son Construction Co. of Palermo, whose number Montalbano had got from directory assistance, nobody was answering the phone. It was too late in the day; the company's offices must have been deserted. Montalbano tried and tried again, eventually losing hope. Having cursed a few times to let off steam, he then requested the number of the engineer Cosimo Zirretta, assuming that he, too, was from Palermo. He'd guessed right.
"Hello, this is Inspector Montalbano from Vig. How did you manage the expropriation?"
"What expropriation?"
"The land that the road and tunnel you were building cuts through, outside of Vig."
"Look, that's not my domain, I'm only responsible for the construction. That is, I was responsible until an ordinance put a halt to the whole project."
"So who should I talk to?"
"Somebody from the company."
"I phoned there but nobody answered."
"Then try Commendatore Gaetano or his son Arturo. When they get out of Ucciardone."
"Oh, really?"
"Yes. Extortion and bribery."
"So there's no hope?"
"Well, you can hope that the judges will be lenient and let them out in five years. Just kidding. Actually, you could try the company's lawyer, Di Bartolomeo."
...
"Listen, Inspector, it's not the company's job to deal with expropriation procedures. That's up to the City Council of the district in which the expropriated land is located."
"Then what are you people doing there?"
"That's none of your business."
And the lawyer hung up. A little touchy, this Di Bartolomeo. Maybe his job was to cover the asses of Nicolosi father and son from the repercussions of their frauds, except that this time he hadn't succeeded.
The office hadn't been open five minutes before the company land surveyor Tumminello saw Inspector Montalbano standing in front of him, looking somewhat agitated. And, in fact, it had been a restless night for Montalbano; he'd been unable to fall asleep and so stayed up reading Faulkner. The surveyor, whose troubled son who was mixed up with hoodlums, brawls, and motorcycles once again hadn't come home that night, turned pale, and his hands began to shake. Montalbano, noticing the others reaction upon seeing him, imagined the worst.
This guys trying to hide something.
He was still a cop, no matter how well read.
"Is anything wrong?" asked Tumminello, expecting to hear that his son had been arrested. Which, in fact, would have been a stroke of luck, or the least of all evils, since he might as easily have had his throat slit by his little friends.
"I need some information. About an expropriation."
Tumminello visibly relaxed.
"You over your scare now?" Montalbano couldn't resist asking him.
"Yes," the surveyor admitted frankly. "I'm worried about my son. He didn't come home last night."
"Does he do that often?"
"Yes, actually. You see, hes mixed up with"
"Then you shouldn't worry," Montalbano cut him off. "He didn't have time for the problems of youth. I need to see the bill of sale or expropriation for the land used to build the Crasto tunnel. That's your area, isnt it?"
"Yes, it is. But there's no point in taking out the documents; I know all the information. Tell me specifically what it is you want to know."
"I want to know about the land that belonged to the Rizzitano family."
"As I expected," said the surveyor. "When I heard about the weapons being discovered, and then about the two dead bodies, I thought: Didn't those places belong to the Rizzitano's? And so I went and looked at the documents."
"And what do the documents say?"
"First, there's something you should know. There were a lot of proprietors whose land stood to be damaged, so to speak, by the construction of the road and tunnel. Forty-five, to be exact."
"Jesus!"
"There's even a little postage stamp of land, two thousand square meters, which, because it was divided up in an inheritance, has five owners. The note of transfer cant be made out collectively to the heirs; it must be made out individually to each one. Once our order was granted by the prefect, we offered the proprietors a modest sum, since most of the land in question was farmland. For Calogero Rizzitano, who was a presumed proprietor, since there's no piece of paper confirming his ownership, I mean there's no deed of inheritance, since his father died without leaving a will for Calogero Rizzitano, we had to resort to Article 143 of the Code of Civil Procedure, which concerns rightful claimants who cannot be found. As you probably know, Article 143 states"