IM4 The Voice of the Violin (2003)

by Andrea Camilleri

  I'm not here to talk to you about work. The day after tomorrow, that is, early Sunday morning, I'm going to visit my sister. D'you want to come, too, so you can see Francois? Well drive back in the evening.'

  'I'll do my best to make it.'

  'Try to come. My sister made it clear she wants to talk to you.'

  'About Francois?' 'Yes.'

  Montalbano became anxious. He'd be in quite a fix if Augello's sister and her husband said they couldn't keep the kid with them any longer.

  'I'll do what I can, Mimi. Thanks.'

  'Hello, Inspector Montalbano? This is Clementina Vasile Cozzo.'

  'What a pleasure, signora.'

  'Answer me yes or no. Was I good?'

  'You were great, yes.'

  'Answer me yes or no again. Are you coming to dinner tonight at nine?' 'Yes.'

  Fazio walked into his office with a triumphant air.

  'Know what, Chief? I asked myself a question: with the house looking the way it did, like it was only occasionally lived in, where did Mrs Licalzi sleep when she came here from Bologna? So I called a colleague at Montelusa Central Police, the guy assigned to the hotel beat, and I got my answer. Every time she came, Michela Licalzi stayed at the Hotel Jolly in Montelusa. Turns out she last checked in seven days ago.'

  Fazio caught him off balance. He'd intended to call Dr Licalzi in Bologna as soon as he got into work, but had been distracted. Mimi's mention of Francois had flustered him a little.

  'Shall we go there now?' asked Fazio.

  'Wait.'

  An idea had flashed into his brain utterly unprovoked, leaving behind an ever-so-slight scent of sulphur, the kind the devil usually likes to wear. He asked Fazio for Licalzi's telephone number, wrote it down on a piece of paper which he put in his pocket, then dialled it.

  'Hello, Central Hospital? Inspector Montalbano here, from Vigata police, in Sicily. I'd like to speak to Dr Emanuele Licalzi.'

  'Please hold.'

  He waited, all patience and self-controL When he appeared to be running out of both, the operator came back on the line.

  'Dr Licalzi is in the operating theatre. You'll have to try again in half an hour.'

  'I'll call him from the car' he said to Fazio. 'Bring along your mobile phone, don't forget.'

  He rang Judge Tommaseo and informed him of Fazio's discovery.

  'Oh, I forgot to tell you,' Tommaseo interjected. 'When I asked him to give me his wife's number here, he said he didn't know it He said it was always she who called him.'

  The inspector asked the judge to prepare him a search warrant. He would send Gallo over at once to pick it up. 'Fazio, did they tell you what Dr Licalzi's speciality

  is?'

  'Yes, he's an orthopedic surgeon.'

  Halfway between Vigata and Montelusa, the inspector called Bologna Central Hospital again. After not too long a wait, Montalbano heard a firm, polite voice.

  'This is Licalzi. With whom am I speaking?'

  'Excuse me for disturbing you, Doctor. I'm Inspector Salvo Montalbano of the Vigata police. I'm handling the case. Please allow me to express my sincerest condolences.'

  'Thank you.'

  Not one word more or less. The inspector realized it was still up to him to talk.

  'Well, Doctor, you told the judge today that you didn't know your wife's phone number here in Vigata.'

  'That's correct.'

  'We've been unable to track down this number ourselves.'

  "There could hardly be thousands of hotels in Montelusa and Vigata.'

  Ready to cooperate, this Dr Licalzi.

  'Forgiye me for insisting. But hadn't you arranged, in case of dire need--'

  'I don't think such a need could have ever arisen. In any case, there's a distant relative of mine who lives in Vigata and with whom my poor Michela had been in contact.'

  'Could you tell me--'

  'His name is Aurelio Di Blasi. And now you must excuse me, I have to return to the operating theatre. I'll be at your office tomorrow, around midday.'

  'One last question. Have you told this relative what happened?'

  'No. Why? Should I have?'

  FOUR

  'Such an exquisite, elegant lady, and so beautiful!' said Claudio Pizzotta, the distinguished, sixtyish manager of the Hotel Jolly in Montelusa. 'Has something happened to her?'

  'We don't really know yet. We got a phone call from her husband in Bologna, who was worried.'

  'Right. As far as I know, Signora Licalzi left the hotel on Wednesday evening, and we haven't seen her since.'

  'Weren't you worried? It's already Friday evening, if I'm not mistaken.'

  'Right'

  'Did she let you know she wouldn't be returning?'

  'No. But, you see, Inspector, the lady has been staying with us regularly for at least two years, so we've had a lot of time to become acquainted with her habits. Which are, well, unusual. Signora Michela is not the sort of woman to go unnoticed, you know what I mean? And then, I've always had my own worries about her.'

  'You have? And what would they be?'

  'Well, the lady owns a lot of valuable jewellery. Necklaces, bracelets, earrings, rings ... I've asked her many times to deposit them in our safe, but she always refuses. She keeps them in a kind of bag; she doesn't carry a handbag. She always tells me not to worry, says she doesn't leave the jewels in her room, but carries them around with her. I've also been afraid she'll get robbed on the street. But she always smiles and says no. She just. won't be persuaded.'

  'You mentioned her unusual habits. Could you be more precise?'

  'Certainly. The lady likes to stay up late. She often comes home at the first light of dawn.'

  'Alone?'

  'Always.'

  'Drunk? High?'

  'Never. Or at least, so says the night porter.'

  'Mind telling me why you were talking about Mrs Licalzi with the night porter?'

  Claudio Pizzotta turned bright red. Apparently he'd had ideas about dunking his doughnut with Signora Michela.

  Inspector, surely you understand ... A beautiful woman like that, alone ... One's curiosity is bound to be aroused, it's only natural'

  'Go on. Tell me about her habits.'

  'The lady sleeps in till about midday, and doesn't want to be disturbed in any way. When she wakes up, she orders breakfast in her room and starts making and receiving phone calls'

  'A lot of phone calls?'

  'I've got an itemized list that never ends.'

  'Do you know who she was calling?'

  'One could find out. But it's a bit complicated. From your room you need only dial zero and you can phone New Zealand if you want,'

  'What about the incoming calls?'

  'Well, there's not much to say about that. The switchboard operator takes the call and passes it on to the room. There's only one way to know.'

  'And that is?'

  'When somebody calls and leaves his name when the client is out. In that case, the porter is given a message that he puts in the client's key box.'

  'Does the lady lunch at the hotel?'

  'Rarely. After eating a hearty breakfast so late, you can imagine ... But it has happened. Actually, the head waiter once told me how self-possessed she is at table when eating lunch.'

  Tm sorry, I don't follow.'

  'Our hotel is very popular, with businessmen, politicians, entrepreneurs. In one way or another, they all end up trying their luck. A beckoning glance, a smile, more or less explicit invitations. The amazing thing about Signora Michela, the head waiter said, is that she never plays the prude, never takes offence, but actually returns the glances and smiles. But when it comes to the nitty-gritty, nothing doing. They're left high and dry.'

  'And at what time in the afternoon does she usually go out?'

  'About four. Then returns in the dead of night' 'She must have a pretty broad circle of friends in Montelusa and Vigata.' 'I'd say so.'

  'Has she ever stayed out for more than one night before?'
/>
  'I don't think so. The porter would have told me.' Gallo and Galluzzo arrived, flourishing the search warrant

  'What room is Mrs Licalzi staying in?'

  'Number one-eighteen.'

  'I've got a warrant'

  The hotel manager looked offended.

  Inspector! There was no need for that formality! You had only to ask and I... Let me show you the way.'

  'No, thanks,'Montalbano said curtly.

  The manager's face went from looking offended to looking mortally offended.

  'I'll go and get the key,' he said aloofly.

  He returned a moment later with the key and a little stack of papers, all notes of mcoming phone calls.

  'Here,' he said, giving, for no apparent reason, the key to Fazio and the message slips to Gallo. Then he bowed his head abruptly, German-style, in front of Montalbano, turned around and walked stiffly away, looking like a wooden puppet in motion.

  Room 118 was eternally imbued with the scent of Chanel No. 5. On the luggage rack sat two suitcases and a shoulder bag, all Louis Vuitton. Montalbano opened the armoire: five very classy dresses, three pairs of artfully worn-out jeans; in the shoe section, five pairs of Bruno Maglis with spike heels and three pairs of casual fiats. The blouses, also very costly, were folded with extreme care; the underwear, divided by colour in its assigned drawer, consisted only of airy panties.

  'Nothing in here' said Fazio, who in the meantime had examined the two suitcases and shoulder bag.

  Gallo and Galluzzo, who had upended the bed and mattress, shook their heads no and began putting everything back in place, impressed by the order that reigned in the room.

  On the small desk were some letters, notes, a diary, and a stack of telephone messages considerably taller than the one the manager had given to Gallo.

  'We'll take these things away with us' the inspector said to Fazio. 'Look in the drawers, too. Take all the papers.'

  From his pocket Fazio withdrew a plastic bag that he always carried with him, and began to fill it.

  Montalbano went into the bathroom. Sparkling clean,

  in perfect order. On the shelf, Rouge Idole lipstick, Shiseido foundation, a magnum of Chanel No. 5, and so on. A pink bathrobe, obviously softer and more expensive than the one in the house, hung placidly on a hook.

  He went back into the bedroom and rang for the floor attendant. A moment later there was a knock and Montalbano told her to come in. The door opened and a gaunt, fortyish woman appeared. As soon as she saw the four men, she stiffened, blanched, and in a faint voice said, 'Are you police?'

  The inspector laughed. How many centuries of police tyranny had it taken to hone this Sicilian woman's ability to detect law-enforcement officers at a moment's glance?

  'Yes, we are,' he said, smiling.

  The chambermaid blushed and lowered her eyes.

  'Please excuse me.'

  'Do you know Mrs Licalzi?'

  'Why, what's happened to her?'

  'She hasn't been heard from for a couple of days. We're looking for her.'

  'And to look for her you have to take all her papers away?'

  This woman was not to be underestimated. Montalbano decided to admit a few things to her.

  'We're afraid something bad may have happened to her.'

  'I always told her to be careful,' said the maid. 'She goes around with half a billion in her bag!'

  'She went around with that much money?' Montalbano asked in astonishment

  'I wasn't talking about money, but the jewels she owns. And with the kind of life she leads! Comes home late, gets up late...'

  'We already know that Do you know her well?' 'Sure. Since she came here the first time with her husband.'

  'Can you tell me anything about what she's like?'

  'Look, she never made any trouble. She was just a maniac for order. Whenever we did her room, she would stand there making sure that everything was put back in its place. The girls on the morning shift always ask for the good Lord's help before working on one-eighteen.'

  'A final question: did your colleagues on the morning shift ever mention if the lady'd had men in her room at night?'

  'Never. And we've got an eye for that kind of thing.'

  The whole way back to Vigata one question tormented Montalbano: if the lady was a maniac for order, why was the bathroom at the house in Tre Fontane such a mess, with the pink bathrobe thrown haphazardly on the floor to boot?

  During the dinner (super-fresh cod poached with a couple of bay leaves and dressed directly on the plate with salt, pepper and Pantelleria olive oil, with a side dish of gentle tinnirume to cheer the stomach and intestines), the inspector told Mrs Vasile Cozzo of the day's developments.

  'As far as I can tell' said Clementina, 'the real question is: why did the murderer make off with the poor woman's clothes, underwear, shoes and handbag?'

  'Yes' Montalbano commented, saying nothing more. She'd hit the nail on the head as soon as she opened her mouth, and he didn't want to interrupt her thought processes.

  'But I can only talk about these things' the elderly woman continued, 'based on what I see on television.'

  'Don't you read mystery novels?'

  'Not very often. Anyway, what does that mean, "mystery novel"? What is a "detective novel"?'

  'Well, it's a whole body of literature that--'

  'Of course, but I don't like labels. Want me to tell you a good mystery story? All right, there's a man who, after many adventures, becomes the leader of a city. Little by little, however, his subjects begin to fall ill with ah unknown sickness, a kind of plague. And so this man sets about to discover the cause of the illness, and in the course of his investigations he discovers that he himself is the root of it all. And so he punishes himself.'

  'Oedipus' Montalbano said, as if to himself.

  'Now isn't that a good detective story? But, to return to our discussion: why would a killer make off with the victim's clothes? The first answer is: so she couldn't be identified'

  'That's not the case here,' the inspector said. 'Right. And I get the feeling that, by reasoning this way, we're following the path the killer wants us to take.' 'I don't understand.'

  'What I mean is, whoever made off with all those things wants us to believe that every one of them is of equal importance to him. He wants us to tliink of that stuff as a single whole. Whereas that is not the case.'

  'Yes,' Montalbano said again, ever more impressed, and ever more reluctant to break the thread of her argument with some untimely observation.

  Tor one thing, the handbag alone is worth half a billion because of the jewellery inside it. To a common thief, robbing the bag would itself constitute a good day's earnings. Right?'

  'Right.'

  'But what reason would a common thief have for taking her clothes? None whatsoever. Therefore, if he made off with her clothes, underwear and shoes, we should conclude that we're not dealing with a common thief. But, in fact, he is a common thief who has done this only to make us think he's uncommon, different. Why? He might have done it to shuffle the cards. He wanted to steal the handbag with all its valuables, but since he committed murder, he wanted to mask his real purpose.'

  'Right,' said Montalbano, unsolicited.

  'To continue. Maybe the thief made off with other things of value that we're unaware of.'

  'May I make a phone call?' asked the inspector, who had suddenly had an idea.

  He called up the Hotel Jolly in Montelusa and asked to speak with Claudio Pizzotta, the manager.

  'Oh, Inspector, how atrocious! How terrible! We found out just now from the Free Channel that poor Mrs Licalzi...'

  Nicolo Zito had reported the news and Montalbano had forgotten to tune in and see how the newsman presented the story.

  'Tele Vigata also did a report,' added the hotel manager, torn between genuine satisfaction and feigned grief.

  Galluzzo had done his job with his brother-in-law.

  'What should I do, Inspector?' the manager ask
ed, distressed.

  'What do you mean?'

  'About these journalists. They're besieging me. They want to interview me. They found out the poor woman was staying with us...'