‘His name is Gillo Jacono, but you’re to give only his initials, G.J., nothing more. This gentleman, shortly after midnight last Wednesday, saw the Twingo pull up by the house in Tre Fontane, and saw Michela and an unidentified man get out of the car and walk quietly towards the house. The man was carrying a suitcase. Not an overnight bag, a suitcase. Now, the question is this: why did Maurizio Di Blasi bring a suitcase when he went to rape Mrs Licalzi? Did it maybe contain clean sheets in the event they soiled the bed? Also: did the Flying Squad find this suitcase anywhere? It was certainly nowhere inside the house.’
Is that it?’
‘That’s it,’
Nicolo had turned chilly.
Apparently Montalbano’s criticism of journalistic methods hadn’t gone down well with him.
‘As for my professional ethics, this afternoon, following the press conference, I received a phone call from a hunter who told me that things had not happened the way the police said. But since he wouldn’t give me his name, I didn’t report it.’
‘You’re shitting me.’
‘Let me call my secretary, and you can listen to the tape recording of the call,’ said the journalist, standing up. Tm sorry, Nicolo. There’s no need.’
ELEVEN
Montalbano tossed about in bed all night, unable to fall asleep. He kept seeing the scene of Maurizio falling to the ground and managing to throw his shoe at his tormentors, the simultaneously comical and desperate gesture of a poor wretch hunted down like an animal. ‘Punish me!’ he had cried out, and everyone rushed to interpret that exclamation in the most obvious, reassuring manner possible. That is, punish me because I raped and killed, punish me for my sin. But what if, at that moment, he had meant something else entirely? What was going through his head?
Punish me because I’m different, punish me because I loved too much, punish me for being born … One could go on for ever, but here the inspector stopped himself, both because he didn’t like to slip into cheap philosophizing, and because he had suddenly understood that the only way to exorcize that obsessive image, and that cry, lay not in generic self-questioning but in examining the facts. To do this, one path, and only one, presented itself. And at this point he managed at last to shut his eyes for a couple of hours.
‘All of you,’ he said to Mimi Augello, entering headquarters.
Five minutes later, they were all standing before him in his office.
‘Make yourselves comfortable,’ said Montalbano. ‘This is not an official meeting, but a talk among friends.’
Mimi and two or three others sat down, while the rest remained standing. Grasso, Catarella’s replacement, leaned against the door frame, listening for the phone.
‘Yesterday, Inspector Augello, when he learned that Di Blasi had been killed, said something that hurt me. He said, more or less: if you’d remained on the case, today that kid would still be alive. I could have answered that it was the commissioner who’d taken the investigation away from me, and that therefore I bear no responsibility. And this, strictly speaking, is true. But Inspector Augello was right. When the commissioner summoned me and ordered me to stop investigating the Licalzi murder, pride got the better of me. I didn’t protest, I didn’t rebel, I basically gave him to understand that he could go and fuck himself. And in so doing, I gambled away a man’s life. Because one thing’s certain, none of you would ever have shot down some poor guy who wasn’t right in the head.’
They’d never heard him speak this way before and everyone looked at him flabbergasted, holding their breath.
‘I thought about this last night, and I made a decision. I’m going to resume the investigation.’
Who was it that applauded first? Montalbano managed to turn his emotion into sarcasm.
‘I’ve already told you once you’re a bunch of fucking idiots, don’t make me say it again.’ And he continued, The case, as of today, is closed. Therefore, if you’re all in agreement, we’re going to operate underwater, with only our periscope showing.
But I’m warning you: if they find out about this in Montelusa, it could mean real trouble for every one of us.’
Inspector Montalbano? This is Emanuele Licalzi.’
Montalbano remembered that Catarella had told him the night before that the doctor had called. He’d forgotten.
Tm sorry, but yesterday evening I had–’
‘Oh, not at all, Inspector.
Especially since everything has changed since yesterday.’
In what sense?’
In the sense that late yesterday afternoon I’d been assured that by Wednesday morning I could leave for Bologna with my poor Michela. Then early this morning the commissioner’s office phoned to tell me that they needed a postponement and the funeral would have to wait until Friday. So I’ve decided to leave and come back on Thursday evening.’
‘Doctor, you must have heard, of course, that the investigation—’
‘Yes, of course, but I wasn’t referring to the investigation. Do you remember the car we mentioned briefly, the Twingo? Could I perhaps talk to someone about reselling it?’
‘Tell you what, Doctor: I’ll have the car brought myself to our own personal mechanic We did the damage ourselves and it’s only right we should pay for it. And if you like, I could ask the mechanic to try and find a buyer for it.’
‘You’re a fine man, Inspector.’
‘But tell me something, sin what will you do with the house?’
Tm going to put that up for sale, too.’
‘Nicolo here. QED.’
‘Explain.’
‘I’ve been summoned to appear before Judge Tommaseo at four o’clock this afternoon”
‘And what’s he want from you?’
‘You’ve got a lot of nerve!
What, you get me into this mess and you can’t figure it out? He’s going to accuse me of having withheld valuable testimony from the police.
And if he ever finds out that I don’t even know who one of the witnesses is, then the shit is really going to hit the fan. That man is liable to throw me in jail’ Keep me posted.’
‘Right. You can come visit me once a week and bring me oranges and cigarettes.’
‘Listen, Galluzzo, I’m going to need your brother-in-law, the newsman for TeleVigata.’
‘I’ll tell him right away, Inspector.’
Galluzzo was on his way out of the room, but curiosity got the better of him.
‘Actually, if it’s something I can know about too…’
‘Gallu, not only can you know it, you’ve got to know it I need your brother-in-law to collaborate with us on the Licalzi story. Since we can’t work out in the open, we must take advantage of any help the private TV stations can give us.
But we have to make it look like they’re acting on their own. Is that clear?’
‘Perfectly.’
‘Think your brother-in-law’d be willing to help us?’ Gallo started laughing.
‘Chief, for you, the guy would go on TV and say the moon is made out of Swiss cheese. Don’t you know he’s just dying of envy?’
‘Who does he envy?’
‘Nicolo Zito, that’s who.
Says you make special considerations for Zito.’
It’s true. Last night Zito did me a favour and now he’s in trouble.’