“There’s no need for explanation,” said Montalbano, suddenly feeling uncomfortable again.
“Yes there is. Ingrid, who knows me well, should have warned you that I . . . well . . . I don’t quite know how to put it ...”
“If you don’t know how to say it, don’t say it.”
“If I like a man, I mean, if I really like a man, deep down, which doesn’t happen to me very often, I can’t help but . . . start things out with him in a way that for other women is the point of culmination. There. I don’t know if I—”
“You’ve made yourself perfectly clear.”
“Afterwards, two things can happen. Either I no longer want to hear even the slightest mention of the person, or else I try, in every way possible, to keep him close to me, as a friend, or lover ...And when I said I enjoyed you—and, incidentally, Ingrid told me you were upset about that—I wasn’t thinking about what had just happened between us, but about what you are like, the way you act . . . in short, you as a man, taken all together. I realize my statement could be taken the wrong way. But I wasn’t mistaken, since you’re giving me the gift of an evening like this. End of discussion.”
“And the second reason?”
“It’s to do with the stolen horses. But I’ve thought it over again and I’m no longer sure there’s any point in talking to you about it.”
“Why not?”
“Because you said you’re not handling the case. I don’t want to tell you things that might just be a bother to you, on top of all the others you’ve already got.”
“You can talk to me about it anyway, if you want.”
“The other day I went with Chichi to the stables, and we ran into the veterinarian who was there to do his routine checkups.”
“What is his name?”
“Mario Anzalone. He’s very good.”
“I don’t know him. So what happened?”
“Well, when talking to Lo Duca, the veterinarian said he didn’t understand why the thieves took Rudy and not Moonbeam, the horse I rode in the race at Fiacca.”
“Why?”
“He said that if there had been an expert among the thieves, he would surely have preferred Moonbeam to Rudy. In the first place, because Moonbeam was a far better horse than Rudy, and secondly, because it was clear that Rudy was sick and couldn’t be easily cured. In fact, for this reason, he himself had suggested that we put him down, to spare him the suffering.”
“And how did Lo Duca react? Did you notice?”
“Yes, I did. He replied that he was too fond of that horse.”
“What was it sick with?”
“Viral arteritis. It creates lesions in the artery walls.”
“So, it is as if the thieves had entered a luxury auto showroom and stolen one very expensive car, and a broken-down Fiat 500.”
“More or less, yes.”
“Is the illness contagious?”
“Well, yes. In fact, during the ride back to Montelusa, I got upset at Chichi.What is this? I said.You said you would be happy to lodge my horse, and you put him right next to a sick horse?”
“Where did you keep him the other times you came here?”
“In Fiacca, with Baron Piscopo.”
“And how did Lo Duca defend himself ?”
“He said that his horse’s illness was already past the contagious stage. And he said that if I wanted—even though at this point it would have been completely pointless—I could phone the veterinarian, who would surely confirm what he’d said.”
“The horse, however, was dying.”
“Right.”
“So why bother to steal it?”
“That’s why I wanted to see you. I asked myself the same thing, and came to a conclusion that contradicts what Chichi told you in Fiacca.”
“Namely?”
“That they wanted to steal and kill only my horse, and that, since Rudy looked almost exactly like Super, they couldn’t figure out which one was mine, and so they took both.They wanted Chichi to look bad, and it worked.”
This was a hypothesis they had already considered at the station.
“Did you read the newspaper yesterday?” Rachele continued.
“No.”
“The Corriere dell’Isola devoted a great deal of space to the theft of the two horses. The reporters, however, seem not to know that mine was killed.”
“How could they have known?”
“But everyone in Fiacca saw me ride a horse that wasn’t mine! And surely some people would have asked some questions. Super was a horse that had won many important races; he was very well known in equestrian circles.”
“Always ridden by you?”
Rachele laughed in her way.
“I wish!”
Then she stopped and asked:
“Tell me something: Have you ever actually witnessed a proper horse race, or a horse show?”
“Fiacca was the first time.”
“Are you a soccer fan?”
“When the national team plays, I’ll usually watch a few matches. But I prefer Formula 1 races, maybe because I’ve never been a very good driver.”
“But Ingrid told me you swim a lot.”
“Yes, but not for sport.”
They finished their whiskies.
“Has Lo Duca inquired at Montelusa Central on the progress of the investigation?”
“Yes.They told him there were no new developments. And I fear there are not going to be any.”
“You never know.Want another whisky?”
“No, thanks.”
“What do you want to do?”
“If you don’t mind, I’d like to go home.”
“Feeling sleepy?”
“No. I just want to get into bed and curl up for a long time with my memories of this evening.”
When it came time to say goodbye in the parking area of the Marinella Bar, they both very naturally embraced and kissed.
“Are you going to be staying much longer?”
“Another three days, at least. I’ll give a ring tomorrow to say goodbye. Is that all right?”
“Of course.”
14
When he opened his eyes, it was already broad daylight. But that morning he didn’t feel like closing them immediately, in rejection of the day ahead. Perhaps because he’d had a good night’s sleep, straight through from the moment he fell asleep to the moment he woke up, the rarest of things in recent times.
He remained in bed, watching the endlessly varying play of light and shadow that the sun’s rays, passing through the slats in the blind, projected onto the ceiling.A man walking on the beach became a Giacometti-like figure, looking as if he were made of interwoven strands of yarn.
He remembered how, as a little boy, he could keep his eye glued for a whole hour to a kaleidoscope his uncle had bought for him, spellbound by the continually changing forms and colors. His uncle had also bought him a tin revolver, whose bullets were caps, dark red strips with little black dots that passed under the hammer and went pop! pop! when struck.
This memory called to mind the shoot-out between Galluzzo and the two men who tried to burn down his house.
It occurred to him how strange it was that those people, who wanted something from him but didn’t say what, had let twenty-four hours pass without giving another sign of themselves. And to think they were in such a hurry! How could they suddenly let go of the reins around his neck?
Upon asking himself this question, he started laughing, because never before would he have thought of such a thing in terms relating to horses.
Was this due to the case he was investigating, or was it because, deep down, the evening he’d spent with Rachele was still on his mind?
No doubt about it, Rachele was a woman who—
The phone rang.
Montalbano leapt out of bed, more to escape the thought of Rachele at once than out of any anxiousness to answer the phone.
It was six-thirty.
“Ahh Chief, Chief! Iss Catarella!”
The inspector felt like screwing around.
“I’m sorry, what was that?” he said, altering his voice.