“But why are you so fu . . . so stuck on this idea that it was someone from the police who did it?”
“That’s not my idea at all,” said the commissioner.“My goal is to prove incontrovertibly that it was not a member of the police who killed that man.And before the malicious rumors start circulating.”
He was right, no doubt about it.
“That’s going to take a while, you know.”
“No matter. We’ll take all the time we need; nobody’s coming after us,” said Bonetti-Alderighi.
“So how should I proceed?”
“You, in the meantime, should check, as discreetly as possible, to see if any cartridges are missing from the clips of the pistols used by the men in your department.”
At that exact moment, without a sound, the ground beneath Montalbano’s feet suddenly opened up, and he plummeted inside, chair and all. He had just remembered something. He managed, however, not to move, not to sweat, not to turn pale. He even managed, through an effort that cost him a year of his life, to smile faintly.
“Why are you smiling?”
“Because on Monday morning Corporal Galluzzo fired two shots at a dog that attacked me. Galluzzo had driven me home to Marinella, and the moment I got out of the car, this dog . . . Sergeant Fazio was also there.”
“Did he kill him?” Arquà inquired.
“I don’t understand the question.”
“If he killed the animal, we’ll try to track it down, remove the bullet, and we’ll know—”
“What do you mean, ‘if ’? Are you trying to say my men don’t know how to shoot?”
“Answer me, Montalbano,” the commissioner intervened. “Did he hit the dog or not?”
“No, he missed it, and couldn’t get off any more shots because the weapon jammed.”
“Could I have it?” Arquà asked icily.
“Have what?”
“The weapon.”
“Why?”
“I’d like to make a comparison.”
If Arquà made his comparison by firing a shot from that pistol, they were all fucked—him, Galluzzo, and Fazio. He had to prevent this, at all costs.
“Ask the Weapons Department for it. I think they’ve still got it,” said Montalbano.
Then he stood up, pale, hands shaking, nostrils flaring, eyes flashing, and said in a voice cracking with rage:
“Mr. Commissioner, Dr. Arquà has deeply offended me!”
“Come now, Montalbano!”
“Oh, yes, sir, deeply offended me! And you are a witness, Mr. Commissioner! And I shall ask you to testify! With his request, Dr. Arquà has cast my words into doubt.The gun is at his disposal; but now he, Dr. Arquà, must put himself, in turn, at my disposal.”
Arquà seemed to fear he was actually being challenged to a duel.
“But I didn’t mean . . .” he began.
“Come now, Montalbano ...” Bonetti-Alderighi repeated.
Montalbano clenched his fists, turning them white.
“No, Mr. Commissioner, I am sorry. I maintain that I have been gravely offended. I shall conduct every examination you have ordered me to do. But if Dr. Arquà requests my corporal’s weapon, I will submit my resignation forthwith. With all the ensuing publicity. Good day.”
And before Bonetti-Alderighi had time to reply, the inspector turned his back to the two men, opened the door, and left, congratulating himself on the resounding success of the tragic scene he had just staged. He could certainly have had a career in Hollywood.
He needed to confirm something at once. He got in his car and went straight to Pasquano’s office.
“Is the doctor in?”
“He’s in, but . . .”
“No problem, I’ll go see him myself.”
There were two round windows in the door to the room in which Pasquano worked.
The inspector had a look before going inside. Pasquano was washing his hands, but still wearing his bloodstained smock.The table on which he performed his autopsies was empty. Montalbano pushed the door open. Seeing him, the doctor started cursing.
“Holy fucking Christ! Can’t I get away from you even here? Just lay yourself down on this table, I’ll take care of you in a jiffy.”
He grabbed some sort of bone-cutting saw. Montalbano took a few steps back.With Pasquano it was always best to be careful.
“Just answer yes or no, Doc, and I’ll be on my way.”
“Do you swear?”
“I swear. Did the skull of the body from Spinoccia show any signs of having been drilled or something similar?”
“Yes,” said Pasquano.
“Thanks,” said the inspector.
And he ran away. He had the confirmation he wanted.
“Ahh Chief! I wannata report ’at—”
“You can tell me later. Get me Fazio at once and don’t put any calls through to me! I’m not here for anyone!”
Fazio came running.
“What’s up, Chief ?”
“Come in, shut the door, and take a seat.”
“I’m all ears, Chief.”
“I know who the dead man from Spinoccia is.”
“Really?!”
“Gurreri. And I also know who killed him.”
“Who?”
“Galluzzo.”
“Fuck!”
“Exactly.”
“So the body’s Gurreri’s? That would make him one of the two guys who tried to set your house on fire on Monday.”
“Right.”
“But are you sure?”
“Absolutely. Dr. Pasquano told me he found signs of the operation that was performed on Gurreri’s head three years ago.”
“But who told you the dead man might be Gurreri?”
“Nobody told me. I had an intuition.”
He told Fazio about his meeting with the commissioner and Arquà.
“This means we’re in deep shit, Chief.”
“No. The shit’s there, and we’re close, but we’re not in it yet.”
“But if Dr. Arquà insists on seeing that gun—”
“I don’t think he will. In fact I’m sure the commissioner will tell him to drop it. I made a terrible scene. However . . . Excuse me, but when we have weapons that need adjusting, we send them to Montelusa, right?”
“Yessir.”
“And has Weapons sent Galluzzo’s gun to be fixed yet?”
“No, not yet. But I only found out by chance this morning. I wanted to give them Patrolman Ferrara’s gun, too, which also jammed, but since neither Turturici nor Manzella were there, and they’re in charge of—”
“That little shit Arquà won’t have to ask me for the weapon. Since I said Galluzzo’s gun jammed, he’s going to check every pistol that comes in from our station.We absolutely need to screw him before he screws us.”
“How are we going to do that?”
“I just had an idea. Have you still got Ferrara’s pistol?”
“Yessir.”
“Wait. I need to make a phone call.”
He raised the receiver.
“Catarella? Please call the c’mishner, then put him through to me.”
The call went through at once. He turned on the speakerphone.
“What can I do for you, Montalbano?”
“Mr. Commissioner, I’d like to say first of all that I feel deeply mortified for letting myself get carried away in your presence, with a terrible, nervous outburst that—”
“Well, I’m pleased that you—”
“I also wanted to inform you that I’ll be sending Dr. Arquà the weapon in question . . .”—weapon in question wasn’t bad—“without delay, for any verifications or tests he deems necessary. And I beg you again, Mr. Commissioner, to forgive me and accept my deepest, humblest—”
“Apologies accepted. I am glad it’s all turned out for the better between you and Arquà. Goodbye, Montalbano.”
“My very best wishes, Mr. Commissioner.”
He hung up.
“What on earth are you up to?” asked Fazio.
“Go get Ferrara’s weapon, remove two cartridges from the clip, and hide them well.We’ll need them later.Then put it in a box all nicely wrapped up as a present and take it to Dr. Arquà with my compliments.”
“And what do I tell Ferrara? If he doesn’t turn in his jammed pistol, they won’t give him another.”