‘I don’t know what to tell you.’
‘So there must be a will lying around somewhere, either in the beach house or at his place in town.’
‘I think so. In fact Arturo is biting his nails waiting for the seals to be removed so he can start looking for it.’
‘Well, I can save him some effort. Tell him we searched the beach house and didn’t find it.’
Giovanna didn’t seem surprised. ‘You searched the house?’
‘Yes.’
‘And the one in town?’
‘They’re still searching it. They’re up in the attic now.’
‘I don’t think they’ll find it there. Papa would have kept it in a drawer of his desk.’
She smiled, a bit mischievously. ‘That’s where he kept all his secrets.’
Montalbano decided to prod her a little. ‘Like the pornographic photos, for example?’
She took it rather well. In fact, she seemed amused by the whole thing.
‘So you have them now?’
‘Not any more. The prosecutor has them.’
Her smile became even more mischievous.
The inspector had the impression she’d made a slight movement, and in fact her skirt had risen a little.
‘Have you looked at them?’
If you want to provoke me, two can play that game.
‘Just enough to know. Have you?’
‘I had a quick look at them, just once. You can imagine, it’s a little unpleasant to see your own father . . .’
But she didn’t seem the least bit disturbed by this.
‘To get back to the will,’ said Montalbano. ‘If, in the end, we can’t find it, what then?’
‘Arturo explained to me that in that case the inheritance would be equally divided between the two of us. As if Papa had died intestate.’
How many technical terms the lady knew!
‘So, in concrete terms, your father’s wishes would be disregarded.’
‘Precisely.’
Montalbano quite purposely made a risky move.
‘So your brother in the end would benefit from the disappearance of the will.’
‘No doubt about it.’ But then, immediately afterwards: ‘But please, not so fast, Inspector. There’s no need to jump to conclusions.’
Good Signora Giovanna, you really know how to throw a stone and then hide the hand that threw it!
‘You said on the phone that there was something you wanted to ask me.’
‘Ah, yes. But first there’s something else I need to ask you. When you searched the house in the country, did you find a little box containing a ring with a circle of diamonds on it? It’s not terribly valuable or anything, but you know how it is . . . I’m very fond of it.’
‘I sent my second-in-command to search the house.’
‘Do you know whether . . .’
‘I can ask.’
He called Augello’s mobile phone from the landline and put the speakerphone on.
‘How are things coming along?’
‘We got started barely half an hour ago. It’ll be another couple of hours before we’ve finished.’
‘Any sign of the will?’
‘None.’
‘Listen, Mimì, when you searched the beach house, did you happen to see a little jewellery box with a ring inside with a circle of diamonds on it?’
‘Yes, it was in the upstairs bathroom and it fell on the floor and got stuck behind a piece of furniture. It wasn’t easy to find.’
‘Who’s got it now?’
‘We left it on the washbasin.’
Montalbano hung up. ‘Did you hear?’
‘Yes. Can I ask a favour?’
‘Go ahead.’
‘Can I go and get it myself?’
‘Signora, the seals are still up at the house.’
‘But isn’t there any way to . . .?’
‘We would have to ask the judge for a—’
‘But that would take too long! And I need it right away! Especially if they left it out in plain view.’
Montalbano didn’t quite grasp the meaning of her last words. He was about to ask her for an explanation when she got up in a huff and went over to the window.
Her tight skirt left her posterior spheres in plain view.
‘What’s the hurry?’ Montalbano asked, getting up and standing beside her.
‘I don’t want my husband to see that ring,’ she said in a soft voice, still looking out the window. ‘It could trigger a tragedy! Our marriage might fall apart.’
She had a lover! Someone rather wealthy too! Which explained the designer clothes, the nanny . . .
Then she turned and took one step towards the inspector. She was now so close that he could feel the heat from her body and her breath on his face.
‘You really can’t do anything for me?’
Montalbano shuddered imperceptibly and stepped back into a safer zone.
‘You see, signora . . .’
‘I beg you.’
She came closer again.
‘Do you have the keys to the house?’ Montalbano asked her.
‘Yes. I have them right here.’
‘Listen, I could . . . but . . .’
‘But?’ she asked anxiously.
‘I would have to come with you.’
‘You have no idea how grateful I would be!’
And the long, deep look she gave him made Montalbano start to sweat.
*
They drove to the house in separate cars so that Giovanna could head back to Montelusa after picking up the ring.
The inspector removed the seals and Giovanna unlocked the door with her key. It was dark inside, since the shutters were all closed.
Montalbano flipped the light switch but nothing came on. Somebody must have turned off the power.
‘Do you know where the fuse box is?’
‘Behind the house. But we can open the windows.’
Without waiting for Montalbano’s permission, she opened one, then headed for the staircase. She went up first, and he followed behind.
Upstairs was total darkness. Montalbano stopped, and she went into the bathroom and opened the shutters.
He heard her cry out: ‘It’s not here!’
Then he went in.
There was nothing on the washbasin, no little jeweller’s box. But the biggest surprise was the change that came over Giovanna. She was as pale as a corpse, eyes staring, and muttering a sort of litany:
‘Ohmygodohmygodohmygod . . .’
She ran over to the inspector, embraced him, and leaned her head on his chest.
‘Help me, oh please help me!’
‘Now, now, that’s enough of that,’ said Montalbano, trying to free himself from her perilous embrace.
But she wouldn’t let go, and squeezed him even tighter. The floor under the inspector’s feet started to collapse. ‘If you’d please let me make a phone call . . .’
She took a small step back, leaving him just enough space to move. He searched his pockets but, not finding his mobile phone, he said:
‘I have to go downstairs to call.’
But then she quickly pulled her own phone out of the small handbag she carried slung over her shoulder and handed it to him.
As Montalbano was bringing the phone to his ear after dialling the number, she brought her face close to his to hear what was being said.
‘Mimì, listen . . .’
‘Oh, Salvo, I tried you at your office but Catarella said—’
‘Mimì, the little box . . .’
‘That’s exactly why I called you. I wanted to tell you that I remembered putting the box in the top drawer of the wardrobe, under the shirts. I didn’t want to leave it anywhere too visible.’
She gave a start and dashed out of the bathroom. Montalbano lost a little time wiping his forehead and closing the window. Then he went into the large guest room, where he remembered seeing a wardrobe. But Giovanna wasn’t there.
So he wen
t into the main bedroom, the one Barletta used to sleep in.
The wardrobe was open, the drawer with the shirts was pulled halfway out, and Giovanna was standing there with the little box in her hands.
‘I found it!’ she said happily.
The inspector held out his hand. She quite clearly pretended not to understand.
‘I want to see the ring.’
‘But I told you! It’s a—’
‘I want to see it.’
Giovanna opened the box and was about to take out the ring, but Montalbano prevented her. He reached out and grabbed the box. She looked at him in shock.
It was a common jeweller’s box. He opened it. Inside the dark-green felt lid were the words, in gold: Marco Falzone Jewellers – Montelusa.
The ring was tasteful in design and, contrary to what Giovanna had said, must have been very expensive.
He gave her back the box with the ring inside. She put it in her handbag.
‘Shall we go?’ Montalbano asked.
She looked at him. But was she really looking at him, or were her eyes simply planted on him while her thoughts were elsewhere?
‘OK,’ she said after a pause, then headed for the stairs. She didn’t give even a passing glance to the bed where her father had spent his last night in the company of a woman. Then she stopped suddenly, turned around, and ran into the other bedroom.
Taken by surprise, Montalbano lost a few seconds before following her.
Since she hadn’t opened the shutter, the inspector didn’t so much see her as guess that she was lying across the double bed, her face buried in a pillow.
She was sobbing.
He went over to the window and let a little light in. He turned around. Giovanna, still in the same position, raised her right arm and called him over to her, waving her hand.
She wanted consolation.
Never, not even for all the gold in the world, no matter how much he would have liked to, would he have lain down on the same bed as her.
‘I’ll wait for you downstairs,’ he said.
He went down, opened the front door, and closed the shutters. He heard her start to come down the stairs. Waiting for her by the door, he signalled to her to go out, but when she was right in front of him, she suddenly turned and pressed her lips against his cheek. She held them there longer than necessary, pressing harder and harder.
‘Thanks,’ she said.
This was undoubtedly one of the cases in which he’d been most kissed by women.
They went out, and she locked the door. The inspector put the seals up again.
She opened the passenger’s-side door to her car and held her hand out to him. Montalbano shook it, but then Giovanna wouldn’t let go. She kept looking him straight in the eyes.
‘Would you come out to dinner with me one of these evenings?’
‘Yes,’ said Montalbano. Livia, after all, was leaving.
*
As it was too early to go home, he dropped in at the station. Immediately Fazio came into his office.
He was about to speak but then stopped short and gawked at him.
‘What is it?’ asked the inspector.
‘Nothing, nothing,’ Fazio said evasively.
‘What do you have to tell me?’
‘I think I’ve found the man’s name.’
‘And what would that be?’
‘Giuseppe Pace, who had a nice shoe shop but turned to Barletta for a loan and had the blood sucked out of him. His wife is in a treatment centre in Montelusa. She’s not really crazy, but isn’t quite all there any more.’
‘So it all fits.’
‘So it would seem.’
‘Do you have the address?’
‘Of course.’
‘Go and get him for me. How long will it take you?’
‘If he’s home, I’ll be back in half an hour.’
*
While the inspector was waiting, Mimì Augello came in and put a rather large cardboard box on his desk.
‘I’m covered with dust. I’m going to have a shower.’
‘Did you finish?’
‘Yes.’
‘Find any other threatening letters?’
‘No.’
‘The will?’
‘Nothing. But are we so sure there actually is a will?’
‘Beats me. Probably not, even though he told his children he’d made one.’
Then, glancing at the box, Montalbano said: ‘What’s in there?’
‘All of Barletta’s amorous correspondence. Or at least all the letters and notes he received.’
‘Was it in the attic?’
‘No. Since you’d planted the seed in my mind, I went and started rummaging around in his desk. You know what it’s like, don’t you? It looks like a castle. It seemed like something he inherited from his great-grandfather. And then it occurred to me that these kinds of desks have secret drawers. Well, I got to work and found two. One of them contained letters from one woman, six in all; the other had the letters from everyone else.’
‘How were you able to tell that the ones in the first drawer were all from the same woman? Are they signed?’
‘No, they’re not signed. But you can see that they’re all written by the same hand.’
‘Did you read them?’
‘No, there wasn’t time.’
‘Then read them. Those and all the others.’
‘That’s a lot of work. Listen, Salvo, it’s getting late. I’ll do it in the morning.’
‘There’s another thing I need to ask you. How was he able to take those pictures without anyone knowing?’
Mimì explained how.
*
‘Hello, Chief?’
‘What is it, Fazio?’
‘I went to Pace’s house and rang the bell, but there was no answer. So I asked a neighbour for some information and she told me that Pace always spends the night in Montelusa, at his daughter’s place, and comes back in the morning around nine. What should I do? Go to Montelusa? I have the address.’
‘No, there’s no need. Just bring him in to me tomorrow morning, around nine-thirty.’
‘Sorry, Chief, but what if he runs away in the meantime?’
‘Why would he run away? If he hasn’t done so by now . . .’
‘Maybe he found out we’re searching Barletta’s homes and, knowing he’d written him a compromising letter . . .’
‘I’ll take responsibility for it. Go and see him tomorrow.’
‘Whatever you say, Chief.’
By instinct, by sense of smell, the inspector felt that the motive for Barletta’s double killing was not revenge on the part of some poor bankrupted bastard, but something far more complex.
*
Since he’d put everything off until the next day, he headed home to Marinella.
When he walked in shortly after seven, Livia, as he’d imagined, wasn’t there.
Maybe she’d gone off to pester the tramp.
He had to tell the poor man that Livia would be leaving soon. Otherwise he was likely to pack up in despair and find another cave to live in.
It was unlikely that anyone who had decided to live that way did so as a natural choice. Clearly circumstances had brought him to such a pass, and normally people like that wanted nothing to do with the rest of humanity.
So then why go and bother him, pretending to be driven by feelings of charity, when in fact it was only pure and simple, egotistical curiosity?
He sat down on the veranda with a glass of whisky in one hand and his cigarettes and lighter in the other.
It was a lovely evening, beautiful enough to soften the hearts of mariners and mountaineers alike.
NINE
He couldn’t help thinking about the circumstances of Barletta’s murder. Suddenly he remembered something he’d completely ignored concerning the poison in the victim’s coffee. But to get the information he needed he would have to phone Pasquano – there was no getting around it, even if it meant being bu
ried under a hail of insults.
He got up, went inside, and dialled the doctor’s home phone number.
A woman answered. It was his wife.
‘Montalbano here, signora. I would like to speak to your husband.’
‘You know he’s eating at the moment?’
The wife’s question was really a polite warning that could be translated as, ‘Do you know the risk you’re taking?’
Indeed, by direct personal experience, he knew that disturbing Pasquano as he was having a meal was exactly like trying to take a gazelle out of the mouth of a hungry lion.
‘I’m sorry to insist, signora, but . . .’
‘All right, then,’ the woman said, resigned.
The phone must have been near the dining room, because the inspector distinctly heard her say:
‘It’s Montalbano on the phone.’
At once a sort of powerful animal-like roar or, better yet, an elephant-like trumpeting, blasted in his ear. Montalbano was ready for such a reaction; otherwise he might have simply hung up in fright. Then the trumpeting turned into an enraged human voice:
‘Tell him to go—’
‘You tell him,’ said his wife.
That Pasquano had grabbed the receiver was clear to the inspector from the sound of grinding teeth at the other end.
‘So a man can’t relax at home and eat his dinner in peace without you coming and grinding him down! You know what? You’re not a human being but a man-crushing robot!’
‘Listen, Doctor—’
‘Do you know what is my highest aspiration in life? To perform your post-mortem!’
‘Forgive me, Doctor, but—’
‘No, I won’t forgive you! On the contrary, I damn you for all eternity! What the fucking hell do you want?’
‘That paralysing poison you told me about, the one used to kill Barletta, where do you find it?’
‘Where do I find it? What kind of stupid fucking question is that? Is your mushy brain incapable of formulating a question with even a bare minimum of common sense?’
‘What I meant was: can one buy it at a chemist’s?’
‘No, you have to go to the supermarket. Sometimes you can find it at local fairs, at the stalls!’
‘Doctor, please!’
‘No, you can’t get it at a chemist’s. It’s used in very small doses in hospitals.’
‘Can you tell me what it’s called?’
‘Are you capable of writing it down?’
A Nest of Vipers Page 8