He was about to leave to go home when the telephone rang.
“Chief ? Chief? ’At’d be the lady Esther Man for you.”
“On the phone?”
“Yessir.”
“Tell her I’m not here.”
The instant he set down the receiver, the phone rang again.
“Chief, ’at’d be summon says ’e’s Pasquale Cirribbicciò onna tiliphone.”
It must be Pasquale Cirrinciò, one of Adelina the housekeeper’s two sons, both of whom were thieves constantly in and out of jail. Montalbano was made godfather of Pasquale’s’s son at the baptism.
“What is it, Pasquà? Are you calling from prison?”
“No, sir, Inspector, I’m on house arrest.”
“Is something wrong?”
“Inspector, my mother called me this morning and told me wha’ happened.”
Adelina had told her son that burglars had broken into Montalbano’s house. The inspector didn’t say a word, but waited to hear the rest.
“I wanted ’a tell you I called up a few o’ my friends.”
“Did you find anything out?”
“Just that my friends got nothing to do with it. One of ’em told me they wasn’t so stupid to go breakin’ into a cop’s house. So either it was done by outsiders or by a different circuit.”
“Maybe a higher circuit?”
“I wouldn’t know, sir.”
“Very well, Pasquà.Thanks.”
“Much obliged.”
So, it was pretty clear now that burglars had nothing to do with this. And he didn’t think it was outsiders, either. It had to be somebody else, who wasn’t part of the “circuit,” as Pasquale called it.
He set the table on the veranda, warmed up the pasta with broccoli, and started eating. And as he was regaling himself, he had the distinct impression that he was being watched. Oftentimes another person’s gaze has the same effect as hearing your name called: you hear the call, but you don’t know where it came from, and so you start looking around.
He didn’t see a living soul on the beach, aside from a limping dog.The morning fisherman had returned to land, his boat pulled ashore.
The inspector got up to fetch the sole in the kitchen and at that moment was nearly blinded by a flash of light that immediately vanished. Surely it must have been a reflection of sunlight on glass. It had come from the direction of the sea.
But there were no windows or houses or cars on the sea, he thought.
Pretending to pick up the dirty dish, he leaned forward, looking up to see what he could see. At some distance from shore there was a stationary boat, but he was unable to tell how many men were on it. Once upon a time, however, when he was younger, he could have even said what color their eyes were. Well, maybe not quite, but he surely would have seen better.
He kept a pair of binoculars in the house, but surely those who were spying on him from the boat also had binoculars and would immediately realize he had discovered them. It was best to act as if he hadn’t noticed anything.
He went inside and, a few minutes later, came back out on the veranda with the soles. He sat down and began eating them.
Little by little, he became convinced that that boat had been out there ever since he first opened the French door to set the table. He had paid no mind to it, at the time.When he finished eating, it was already past two o’clock. He went into the bathroom to freshen up.Then he went back out on the veranda with a book in his hand, sat down, and lit a cigarette.The boat hadn’t moved.
He began reading. Fifteen minutes later, he heard a siren approaching. He kept reading as if it had nothing to do with him.The sound grew louder until it stopped in the parking area in front of his house. From their position on the water, the people in the boat could see both the veranda and the parking area. He heard the doorbell ring.
He got up and went to open the door. Fazio had kept the light flashing on the roof of the car.
“Chief, there’s an emergency.”
Why was he hamming it up so much when there were just the two of them? Maybe Fazio thought there were some hidden microphones nearby? Come on!
“I’ll be right with you.”
Clearly the people on the boat had witnessed the whole scene.The inspector locked the French door with the dead bolt, came outside, locked the front door, and got in the car.
Fazio turned the siren back on and screeched the tires loud enough to make Gallo envious.
“I figured out where they’re watching me from.”
“And where’s that?”
“From a boat.Think we ought to tell Galluzzo?”
“Maybe you’re right. I’ll ring him on his cell phone.”
Galluzzo answered immediately.
“Gallù, I wanted to tell you that the chief has figured—Oh, yeah? Okay, stay on the alert.”
He turned off his phone and turned towards the inspector.
“Galluzzo had already figured out that the three guys on that boat were only pretending to be fishing and were really keeping your house under surveillance.”
“But where is Galluzzo hiding?”
“Chief, you know the house that’s been under construction for ten years, directly across the road from yours? Well, he’s on the second floor.”
“And where are you taking me?”
“Didn’t we say we were gonna go visit the temples?”
Before taking the panoramic road to the temples—which could only be traveled on foot, though they, being policemen, were allowed to go by car—Montalbano asked Fazio to stop, went into a bar-bookshop, and bought a guide.
“Are you serious? You really want to do the tour?”
No, he wasn’t serious, not really. But the fact was that, although he had been there many times, every time he went back he always forgot the period of construction, the dimensions, the number of columns . . .
“Let’s go up to the top,” said the inspector, “and we’ll visit each temple as we make our way down.”
Once at the top, they parked the car and climbed to the uppermost temple on foot.
The construction of the temple of Juno Lucina dates from 450 BC. It measures 41 meters in length and 19.55 in width, and used to have 34 columns . . .
They looked at it carefully, then got back in the car.They drove a few meters, pulled up and parked, then walked uphill to the second temple.
The Temple of Concord is dated 450 BC. It is 42.1 meters long, 19.7 meters wide and originally had 34 columns, each 6.83 meters high.
They looked at this, too, then got back in the car and did as before.
The Temple of Hercules is the most ancient. It dates from 520 BC. Measuring 73.4 meters in length and . . .
They looked at this one in detail.
“Are we gonna visit the other temples?”
“No,” said Montalbano, who was already feeling fed up with archaeology.“What the hell is Galluzzo up to? It’s been almost an hour.”
“If he hasn’t called, it means he—”
“Ring ’im.”
“No, Chief. What if he’s close to your house and his phone starts ringing?”
“Then call Catarella and let me talk to him.”
Fazio complied.
“Any news, Cat?”
“Nossir, Chief. But the lady Esther Man called. She axed if you could call ’er.”
Montalbano and Fazio spent another half hour pacing back and forth in front of the temple.
The inspector was growing more and more nervous. Fazio tried to distract him.
“Chief, why is the Temple of Concord almost intact but the others aren’t?”
“Because there was an emperor, Theodosius, who ordered that all the pagan temples and sanctuaries should be destroyed, except for those that were being converted into Christian churches. And since the Temple of Concord became a Christian church, it was left standing.A fine example of tolerance. Just like today.”
After this brief cultural digression, the inspector returned at once to the matter at hand.
“Wanna bet those three guys in the boat were real fishermen? Listen, let’s go to the bar and sit down.”
This proved impossible. All the tables were occupied by English, German, French, and especially Japanese tourists, who were taking snapshots of anything they could think of, including a pebble that had found its way into one of their shoes.The inspector started cursing the saints.
“Let’s get out of here,” he said, agitated.
“Where we gonna go?”
“We’ll go scratch our balls in—”
At that moment, Fazio’s cell phone rang.
“It’s Galluzzo,” he said, bringing the little phone to his ear.
“Okay, we’ll be right there,” he immediately said.
“What did he say?”
“He said we have to go immediately to your house.”
“He didn’t say anything else?”
“No, sir.”
They drove back to Marinella at a speed that even Schumacher at a Formula 1 Grand Prix rarely achieved, but without flashing lights or siren. When they arrived, they found the front door open.
They raced inside.
In the dining room, one half of the French door was dangling from its hinges.
Galluzzo, pale as death, was sitting on the sofa. He had drunk a glass of water and was holding the empty glass in his hand. He stood up as soon as he saw them.
“Are you all right?” Montalbano asked him, looking him straight in the eye.
“Yessir, but I got really scared.”
“Why?”
“One of the two shot at me three times, but missed.”
“Really? And what did you do?”
“I fired back.And I think I hit the one who hadn’t shot. But the other guy, the one with the weapon, grabbed him and dragged him all the way to the road, where there was a car waiting for them.”
“Feel up to telling us the whole story from the start?”
“Sure, I’m okay now.”
“Would you like a little whisky?”
“That would be nice, Chief !”
Montalbano took the glass from his hand, poured him a generous serving, and gave it to him. Fazio, who had gone out onto the veranda, came back inside with a dark look on his face.
“After you two left, they waited half an hour before coming to shore,” Galluzzo began.
“They wanted to be sure we had really left,” said Fazio.
“But, once ashore, they hung around the boat for a long time, looking every which way. Then, after about an hour, two of ’em took a couple of big jerry cans out of the boat and started coming towards the house.”
“What about the third guy?” asked Montalbano.
“The third guy, on the other hand, started taking the boat out to sea again. So I ran out of my cover and took up a position behind the left corner of the house. When I looked around the corner, one of the guys, who was holding a crowbar in his hand, had just finished prying the French door off its hinges.Then they went inside. As I was trying to figure out what to do, the two guys came back out on the veranda. I’m sure they were coming to get the jerry cans. I decided I couldn’t waste any more time. So I jumped out, pointed my gun at them, and said:
“‘Stop! Police!’
“Ah, Chief! In a flash, one of the two, the bigger guy, pulls out a gun and fires at me. I took cover behind the corner of the house. Then I saw that they were running away towards the parking area in front of the house, so I ran after them.And the big guy shot at me again. So I shot back and the other guy, who was running beside him, started staggering like he was drunk and fell to his knees.Then the big guy pulled him up with one arm and fired a third shot at me.When they got as far as the road, there was a car there with its doors open, and they sped away.”
“So,” Montalbano observed, “it was already planned that they would escape by land.”
“Excuse me,” Fazio said to Galluzzo, “but why didn’t you keep running after them?”
“Because my pistol jammed,” Galluzzo replied.
He took it out of his pocket and handed it to Fazio.
“Take it to Weapons with my sincere thanks. If those guys had realized I couldn’t shoot anymore, I wouldn’t be here telling you what happened.”
Montalbano made as if to go out on the veranda.
“I already checked, Chief,” said Fazio. “There are two twenty-liter jerry cans full of gasoline. They were gonna burn down your house.”
Now that was serious news.
“So, Chief, how should I proceed?” asked Galluzzo.
“About what?”
“About the two shots I fired. If the guys at Weapons ask me—”
“Tell ’em you had to shoot a rabid dog and the gun jammed.”
“Just what, exactly, are your intentions, Chief ?” asked Fazio.
“To have somebody fix the French door,” said the inspector, cool as a cucumber.
“If you want, I could fix it for you in less than an hour,” said Galluzzo. “You got the tools?”
“Go look in the storeroom.”
“Chief,” Fazio resumed, “we’ve got to agree on an explanation.”
“Why?”
“’Cause in the next five minutes our guys, or the carabinieri, are liable to show up here.”
“Why?” the inspector repeated.
“Was there, or was there not, an exchange of gunfire? Five shots were fired! Somebody in the area must surely have called the police or the—”
“How much you want to bet?”
“On what?”
“That nobody called anybody. Given the hour of the day, most of the people who heard the shots either thought it was some motorbike backfiring or some punks fooling around.The two or three who realized it was gunshots, being practical and smart, probably kept doing whatever the hell they were doing.”
“There’s everything I need here,” said Galluzzo, returning with the tool drawer.
And he got down to work. After he had been hammering awhile, the inspector said to Fazio:
“Let’s go in the kitchen.You want some coffee?”
“Yeah, thanks.”
“How about you, Gallù?”
“No, thanks, Chief. Otherwise I won’t sleep tonight.”
Fazio was silent, lost in thought.
“You worried?”
“Yeah, Chief.The boat, the car, the continuous surveillance, at least three men for the job ...This isn’t some offhand thing. It stinks of the Mafia to me, if you really want to know. Maybe you were right to think of the Giacomo Licco trial.”
“Fazio, I haven’t got any of the papers on Licco here at home. And they realized this when they did their thorough search. If they came back today to set fire to the place, it must mean they want to intimidate me.”
“That’s what I’m saying.”
“But are you convinced they’re doing it for Licco’s sake?”
“What other important stuff have you got going at the moment?”
“Important stuff, nada.”
“You see? Listen to me, Chief, it’s the Cuffaros who are behind all this. Licco’s one of theirs.”
“And you think they would go to such lengths for a two-bit hood like Licco?”
“Chief, two bits or four bits, he’s still their hood. They can’t just drop him. If they don’t protect him, they’ll lose the trust of their members.”
“But how could they possibly imagine that I would suddenly get scared, go to trial, and say, I’m sorry, I made a mistake; Licco’s got nothing to do with this.”
“But that’s not what they want! All they want is for you, at the trial, to seem a little uncertain. That’ll be enough. As for picking apart your evidence, the Cuffaros’ lawyers’ll take care of that. And if you want some advice, I suggest you sleep at the station tonight.”
“Those guys aren’t coming back, Fazio. My life is not in danger.”
“What makes you so sure?”
“The simple fact that they waited till I had gone out to set fire to my house. If they wanted to kill me—aside from the fact that they could have picked me off from the boat at any time with a precision rifle—they would have set the fire at night, when I was at home asleep.”
Fazio thought about this for a moment.
“Maybe you’re right.You’re more useful to them alive.”
But he seemed more doubtful than before.
“Chief, there’s one thing I don’t understand.Why don’t you want to tell anyone about all this?”
“Think about it for a minute. Let’s say I officially report breaking and entering and attempted robbery. Attempted, mind you, because I don’t know whether they took anything or not.You know what will happen the very same day?”
“Nossir.”
“The very second the evening news comes on Tele-Vigàta, the purse-lipped chicken-ass face of their commentator Pippo Ragonese will pop up and say: Have you heard the news? Apparently burglars can come and go as they please with impunity at the house of Inspector Montalbano! And I’ll come out looking like a complete ass.”
“You’re right. But you could go talk about it privately with the commissioner.”
“With Bonetti-Alderighi?! You must be joking! That guy’ll order me to proceed according to the rules! And I’ll be hounded to death! No, Fazio, it’s not that I don’t want to do it; I can’t do it.”
“Whatever you say, sir. What are you gonna do, go back to the station?”
Montalbano glanced at his watch. It was already past six.
“Nah, I think I’ll stay here.”
Half an hour later, Galluzzo triumphantly announced that he’d finished the repair and the French door was good as new.
Adelina had succeded in putting the living room back in order, but the bedroom was still in total disarray. All the drawers had been thrown open and their contents strewn about on the floor; they had even taken out all the suits hanging in the armoire and turned all the pockets inside out.
Wait a second!
This meant that what they were looking for was something that could fit inside a pocket. A sheet of paper? A small object? No, a sheet of paper was probably the more likely hypothesis. Which brought him back to square one: the Licco trial.The phone rang, and he went to pick it up.
“Diss ’Spector Montalbano?”
A deep voice, speaking heavy dialect.
“Yes.”
“Do whatcha sposta do, asshole.”
He hadn’t time to respond before the guy hung up.
The first thing he thought was that they still had him under surveillance, since the phone call was made after Fazio and Galluzzo had left. But even if Fazio and Galluzzo had been there, what could they have done? Nada de nada. With his men there, however, the inspector would at least have felt less spooked. A subtle psychological tactic. At the other end, directing the whole thing, there must be somebody sharp as a knife, as Mimì had said.
The second thing he thought was that he could never do what he was supposed to do, in that he had utterly no idea what, according to the anonymous caller, he was supposed to do.
They should be a little more clear, dammit!