IM8 The Patience of the Spider (2007)

by Andrea Camilleri

  Unless . . . he muttered.

  Unless what?

  Well, yesterday morning I told Susanna to go to the bank to see if some back payments had been credited to my pension. The account is in both of our names, mine and hers. If the money was there, she was supposed to withdraw three thousand euros and pay off some debts that, frankly, I didnt want to think about anymore. They weighed on my mind. What kind of debts, if you dont mind my asking?

  I dunno, the pharmacy, some shopkeepers... Not that they ever put any pressure on us, but it was I who ...But, when Susanna came home around noon, I didnt ask her whether shed been to the bank, so maybe . . .

  . . . Maybe shed forgotten to do it and didnt remember until the afternoon, the inspector finished his sentence for him.

  Im sure thats what happened, said Mistretta.

  But that means that Susanna had three thousand or more euros on her person. Which isnt a whole lot, of course, but to an imbecile . . .

  But she would have paid the bills with it! No, she didnt. How can you be so sure? Because when she came out of the bank she . . . stopped

  to talk with Francesco. Oh. Then he clapped his hands together. But...we can call

  and check . . .

  Mistretta got up wearily, went over to the phone, dialed a number, then spoke in a voice so soft that all they could hear were the words:

  Hello? Bevilacqua Pharmacy? He hung up almost at once. You were right, Inspector, she didnt stop at the phar

  macy to pay off our outstanding bill ...And if she didnt go to the pharmacy, she probably didnt go anywhere else. Then all at once, he cried out:

  O Madonna mia!

  It seemed impossible, but his face, which was pale as could be, somehow managed to turn even paler. Montalbano worried that the man might be having a stroke.

  Whats wrong? Now they wont believe me! Mistretta moaned. Who wont believe you? The kidnappers! Because I told a journalist What journalist? Did you talk to journalists?

  Yes, but only to one. Inspector Minutolo said I could.

  But why, for the love of God?

  Mistretta looked at him, befuddled.

  Wasnt I supposed to? I wanted to send a message to the kidnappers. ...To say that they were making a terrible mistake, that I havent got any money to pay the ransom ...And now theyre going to find three thousand ...Can you imagine, a young girl going around with all that money in her pocket? Theyll never believe me! Poor...girl ...My poor daughter!

  Sobbing prevented him from going on, but as far as the inspector was concerned, hed said more than enough.

  Good day, Montalbano said.

  And he stalked out of the living room, in the grips of an uncontrollable rage. What the hell was Minutolo thinking when he authorized him to make that declaration? He could already imagine how the newspapers, television, and everybody else would embroider the story! The kidnappers now would likely turn nasty, and the person who would suffer the most would be poor Susanna. Assuming there was, in fact, a ransom to be paid. From the garden, he called to the policeman who was reading near the French door.

  Go tell your colleague to hold the gate open for me.

  He got in his car, turned on the ignition, waited a few seconds, then took off like Schumacher in a Formula 1 race. The journalists and cameramen scattered in every direction, cursing.

  What is he, crazy? Is he trying to kill us?

  Instead of continuing down the same road hed come in on, he turned left onto the dirt road where the motorbike had been found. And in fact the road was impassable for a normal

  vehicle. He had to drive as slowly as possible and continually perform complicated maneuvers to keep the wheels from plunging into huge trenches and hollows of the sort one might find between dunes in the desert. But the worst was yet to come. Less than half a mile before the outskirts of town, the road was cut off by an enormous excavation pit. Apparently one of those roadworks ahead that in Italy have the peculiarity of always lying ahead even when the whole world has passed them by. To get past it, Susanna must have got off her motorbike and walked it around the pit, or else had to make an even wider detour, since those whod passed through before her had, by dint of going repeatedly back and forth, created a kind of bypass trail through the open countryside. But what did it mean? Why had Susanna taken this route? He had an idea. With a series of maneuvers so exacting and numerous that his injured shoulder began to ache again, he turned the car around and headed back. The dirt road was starting to seem endless when at last he came to the main road and stopped. It was getting dark. He couldnt make up his mind. It would take at least an hour to do what he wanted to do, which meant that he would return home late, likely sparking a squabble with Livia. And he was in no mood for that. On the other hand, what he wanted to do was merely a routine check, which anyone at the station could do. He started the car back up and drove back to headquarters.

  Summon Inspector Augello to my office at once, he ordered Catarella.

  Chief, he int poissonally here.

  Who is?

  Want their names in flabbetical order?

  Okay, theres Gallo, Galluzzo, GermanGiallombardo, Grasso, Imbr. . He chose Gallo. What can I do for you, Chief? Listen, Gallo, I want you to go back to that dirt road where you took me this morning.

  What do you want me to do?

  Theres ten or so little country houses along that road. I want you to stop at every house and ask if anyone knows Susanna Mistretta, or if they saw a girl pass by last night on a motorbike.

  All right, Chief, Ill get on it first thing in the morning. No, Gallo, perhaps I didnt make myself clear. I want you to go there immediately and then ring me at home.

  He arrived home feeling a little worried that Livia might give him the third degree. And indeed she started the questioning at once, after greeting him with a kiss that seemed a bit distracted to him.

  So why did you have to go in to work?

  Because the commissioner put me back on duty. And he added, as a precaution, But only temporarily.

  Do you feel tired?

  Not at all.

  Did you have to drive?

  I had the squad car take me around.

  End of interrogation. Some third degree! This was a piece of cake with icing.

  5

  Did you watch the news? he asked in turn, seeing that the danger had passed.

  Livia replied that she hadnt even turned on the television. He would therefore have to wait for the ten-thirty edition of TeleVig News, since Minutolo must surely have chosen to speak to the station that was always pro-government regardless of who was in power.

  Although the pasta was a tad overcooked and the sauce acidic, and although the meat looked and tasted exactly like a piece of cardboard, the dinner Livia had cooked up could not really be considered an incitement to homicide. Throughout the meal, Livia spoke to him about Kolymbetra, trying to convey a little of the excitement shed felt.

  Without warning she broke off, stood up, and went out on the veranda.

  It took Montalbano a few moments to realize shed stopped speaking to him. Without getting up, and convinced that Livia had gone outside because shed heard something, he asked her in a loud voice:

  What is it? What did you hear?

  Livia reappeared with fire in her eyes.

  Nothing, thats what I heard. What was I supposed to

  hear? All I heard was your silence! That was loud and clear! You never listen when I talk to you, or else you pretend to listen and then answer in an incomprehensible mumble!

  Oh, no, not a squabble! He had to dodge it at all costs. Maybe by feigning a tragic tone ...And it wouldnt be entirely staged, since there was an element of truth to it: He did, in fact, feel very tired.

  No, Livia, no . . . he said.

  Resting his elbows on the table, he covered his face with his hands. Livia became alarmed and immediately changed tone.

  But be reasonable, Salvo. Whenever anybody talks to you, you just

  I know, I know. Please fo
rgive me, thats just the way I am, and I dont even realize it when . . .

  He spoke in a strangled voice, hands pressing hard on his eyes. Then he got up all at once and ran into the bathroom, closing the door behind him. After washing his face, he reemerged.

  Livia was standing outside the door, repentant. Hed put on a good performance. The audience was moved. They embraced with abandon, asking each others pardon.

  Im sorry, its just that today was a bad

  Im sorry, too, Salvo.

  They spent two hours chatting on the little veranda. Then they went back inside and the inspector turned on the television, tuning it to TeleVig. The kidnapping of Susanna Mistretta was naturally the lead story. As the anchorman spoke of the girl, a photograph of her appeared on the screen. At that point Montalbano realized that hed never felt

  curious enough to find out what she looked like. She was a beautiful girl, blonde and blue-eyed. Little wonder that people complimented her on the street, as Francesco had mentioned. Her expression, however, was one of self-assurance and determination, which made her look slightly older than her years. Then some images of the villa appeared. The newsman hadnt the slightest doubt that Susanna had been kidnapped, despite the fact that no ransom demands had yet been made on the family. By way of conclusion, he informed viewers that the station would now show an exclusive interview with the kidnap victims father. Mr. Mistretta appeared on the screen.

  The moment the man began to speak, Montalbano was flabbergasted. In front of a television camera, some people lose their train of thought, stutter, go cross-eyed, sweat, say stupid thingshe himself belonged to this unhappy category whereas others remain perfectly normal, speaking and moving the way they usually do. Then there is a third category, the chosen few who become more lucid and clear when a camera is watching. Mistretta belonged to the latter group. He said that whoever had kidnapped his daughter, Susanna, had made a mistake. Whatever sum they might ask for her liberation, the family was in no position to raise any money. The kidnappers should better inform themselves, he said. The only solution was to set Susanna free, immediately. If, however, there was something else the kidnappers wantedthough he, Mistretta, could not imagine what this might bethey should make their demands at once. He would do the impossible to satisfy them.

  That was all. His voice was firm, his eyes dry. Troubled,

  yes, but not afraid. With this declaration, the geologist won

  the esteem and respect of all who had heard him.

  Hes a real man, this Mistretta, said Livia.

  The anchorman reappeared, saying he would report the rest of the news after the stations commentary on what was clearly the biggest story of the day. The purse-lipped face of Tele- Vigs main editorialist, Pippo Ragonese, appeared on the screen. He started by saying that it was well-known that retired geologist Salvatore Mistretta was of modest means, even though his wife, now gravely ill, had once been wealthy before losing everything in a reversal of fortune. Therefore, as the girls poor father had said in his appeal, if the purpose of this kidnapping was moneyand he, Ragonese, certainly didnt want to conjecture as to what other terrible motive might be behind it then it had been a tragic mistake. Now who was most likely not to know that Mistretta and his family had been living in dignified poverty? Only foreigners, third worlders, clearly ill- informed. For there was no denying that ever since all these illegal immigrants had been landing on these shores in what was a veritable invasion, crime rates had soared, surpassing previous high-water marks. What were local governments waiting for to strictly apply an already existing law? Personally, however, he did take comfort in one aspect of this kidnapping case. The investigation had been entrusted to the able Inspector Filippo Minutolo of Montelusa Police and not to so-called Inspector Salvo Montalbano, known more for his questionable brainstorms and his unorthodox and at times downright subversive opinions, than for his ability to solve the cases assigned to him. And on that note, Ragonese wished them all a good night.

  What a bastard! said Livia, turning off the TV.

  Montalbano chose not to open his mouth. By now the things Ragonese said about him had no effect on him. The telephone rang. It was Gallo.

  I just finished, Chief. There was only one house that didnt have anyone in it, but it seemed like it hadnt been lived in for a while. And everyone gave the same answer: Nobody knows Susanna and they didnt see any girl pass by on a motorbike last night. But one lady did say that the fact she didnt see anything didnt necessarily mean that a girl on a motorbike didnt pass by.

  Why are you telling me this?

  Because those houses have all got their gardens and kitchens in back, not on the roadside.

  He hung up. The mild disappointment made him feel tremendously weary.

  What do you say, shall we go to bed?

  All right, said Livia, but why havent you told me anything about this kidnapping?

  Because you didnt give me the chance, he was about to say, but held himself back in time. Those words would surely have triggered a furious spat. He merely gave a vague shrug.

  Is it true you were left off the case, as that cornuto just said on TV?

  Congratulations, Livia.

  Why?

  I can see youre becoming a true Vigatese. You called Ragonese a cornuto. Calling people cornuti is typical of aborigines.

  I obviously caught it from you. But tell me, is it true you were

  Not exactly. Im supposed to work together with Minutolo. But the investigation was his from the start. And I was on leave.

  Tell me about the kidnapping while I tidy up. The inspector told her everything there was to tell. When hed finished, Livia looked troubled. If they ask for a ransom, will all your other conjectures prove false?

  She, too, was thinking that they might have kidnapped Susanna in order to rape her. Montalbano wanted to tell her that a ransom demand didnt preclude rape, but he decided it was better if she went to bed without this worry on her mind.

  Of course. You want the bathroom first?

  Okay.

  Montalbano opened the French door giving onto the veranda, sat down, and lit a cigarette. The night was as placid as a babys sleep. He managed to stop thinking about Susanna and the horror that this same night must have represented to her.

  After a short spell, he heard a noise inside the house. He got up, went in, and froze. Livia was standing in the middle of the room, naked. At her feet was a small puddle of water. Apparently something had occurred to her halfway through the shower and shed stepped out. She looked beautiful, but Montalbano didnt dare make a move. Livias eyes, reduced to mere slits, heralded an impending storm.

  You ...you ... said Livia, her arm extended, pointing an accusing finger.

  Me what?

  When did you learn about the kidnapping?

  This morning. When you went to the office? No, before that. How long before? What, dont you remember? I want to hear you say it. When I got that call and you woke up and went in the

  kitchen to make coffee. Catarella told me first, but I didnt understand a word of it, then Fazio explained that a girl had disappeared.

  And what did you do next? I took a shower and got dressed. Oh, no, you didnt, you disgusting hypocrite! You laid

  me out on the kitchen table! Monster! How could you even think of making love to me when that poor girl Livia, stop and think for a minute. When I got that call, I had no idea how serious

  See? That newsman is right, whats his name, the one who said youre incompetent and dont understand a thing! Actually, no, youre worse! Youre a brute! A filthy pig!

  She ran out, and the inspector heard the key turn in the bedroom door. He approached and knocked. Come on, Livia. Dont you think youre overdoing it a

  little? No. You can sleep on the sofa tonight. But its so uncomfortable! Come on, Livia! I wont sleep

  a wink! No reaction. He decided to play the pity card. And Im sure my wound will start throbbing again! he

  said in a pathetic voice.

  Too
bad.

  He knew he would never succeed in making her change her mind. He had to resign himself. He cursed under his breath. As if in response, the telephone rang. It was Fazio.

  Didnt I tell you to go home and rest?

  I couldnt bring myself to leave it all hanging, Chief.

  What do you want?

  They just phoned. Inspector Minutolo wanted to know if you could drop by.

  He arrived in a flash in front of the locked gate. On the way there, it occurred to him he hadnt told Livia he was going out. Despite their quarrel, he should have. Even if only to avoid another spat. Livia was liable to think hed gone to spend the night at a hotel out of spite. Too bad.

  But now, how was he going to get somebody to open the gate for him? By the light of the headlamps, he could see there was no bell, no intercom, nothing. The only solution was the car horn. He hoped he didnt have to keep honking until he woke up the whole town. He started with a timid, quick toot, and immediately a man came out of the house. Fiddling with the keys, the man opened the gate and Montalbano drove through, pulled up, and got of the car. The man whod come out introduced himself.

  Im Carlo Mistretta.

  The doctor-brother was a well-dressed man of about fifty-five, rather short, with fine eyeglasses, a ruddy face, little facial hair, and a hint of a potbelly. He looked like a bishop in civvies. He continued:

  When your colleague informed me that the kidnappers had called, I came running, because Salvatore felt ill.

  How is he now?

  I gave him something I hope will let him sleep.

  How about his wife?

  The doctor threw his hands up by way of reply.

  Has she still not been informed of the

  No, the doctor said, thats the last thing she needs. Salvatore told her Susannas in Palermo for exams. But my poor sister-in-law is not exactly lucid; she often goes blank for whole hours at a time.

  In the living room there was only Fazio, whod fallen asleep in the usual armchair, and Fifinutolo, sitting in the other armchair, smoking a cigar. The French doors were wide open, letting in cool, penetrating air.