Game of Mirrors

by Andrea Camilleri

Catarella rang to tell them as how there was summon called Imbilicato on the premisses . . .

  Japico Indelicato was smiling.

  “Is everything all right, Inspector?”

  “Did your number win?”

  “Nah.”

  “Well, it won for me.”

  “How’s that, Inspector?”

  “Was the license plate of the big car you saw in the rearview mirror by any chance GI 866 CP?”

  Japico slapped his forehead.

  “That’s it! How did I ever forget it?”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Because GI are the initials of Giovanni Indelicato, who’s my father, and CP is for Carmela Pirro, who’s my mother.”

  The tern had paid off.

  “Now, Signor Indelicato, I want you to give me a straight answer.”

  “Okay.”

  “Would you be willing to testify, now, in my presence, and later, in a court of law, that that was the car you saw at the drinking trough in Spinoccia, and that you saw it there with another car, the one that was later set on fire?”

  “Of course. Why would that be a problem?”

  “Because the car belongs to a Mafia boss.”

  “I don’t care who it belongs to, I’ll say what I saw.”

  “Thank you. Fazio, get ready to type the declaration.”

  After Japico left, Fazio commented:

  “There should be more young people like that!”

  “There are, there are,” said Montalbano.

  “So what do we do now?” Fazio asked.

  “I’m gonna go eat. If in the meantime you get permission to talk with Tallarita, ring me at Enzo’s.”

  At Enzo’s the TV was on and tuned in to TeleVigàta.

  “Shall I turn it off or leave it on?” Enzo asked him.

  “Leave it on.”

  “What can I get you?”

  “I should keep to light stuff. I have a lot to do this afternoon.”

  “Tell you what. No antipasti, just first and second courses.”

  As the inspector was eating a dish of pasta alla carrettiera, Ragonese’s face appeared on the TV screen. The newsman spoke at great length about some legislation passed by the regional government concerning the fishing industry, and not until the end of his report did he say:

  Concerning the widespread recent reports about the possible involvement of a well-known local personality in the murder of Liliana Lombardo, a development we duly broadcast here at TeleVigàta, the Office of the Commissioner of Police of Montelusa has issued a statement asserting that all such reports are entirely without foundation and that the investigation of the crime still remains in the hands of Chief Inspector Salvo Montalbano of the Vigàta Police. Have a good day.

  Old Ragonese seemed to be taking it a little hard. But Mr. C’mishner had kept his word, and Montalbano at least had to give him credit for that.

  He was paying the bill when Fazio rang him on his cell phone. Before answering, he made sure there were no other clients within earshot.

  “I can get you a consultation with Tallarita tomorrow morning at nine.”

  Montalbano spoke softly.

  “All right. For now, though, don’t leave the office, because I’m about to go to Tommaseo and ask him for an arrest warrant for Nicotra. And I’ll have it sent to you; that way you can go and get him for me immediately. I want to talk to the guy before taking him to the prosecutor. Got that?”

  “Got it.”

  He hung up and called Tommaseo’s office.

  “Can you see me in about half an hour?”

  “Come.”

  As he’d expected, Tommaseo put up some resistance to issuing the arrest warrant.

  “Well, only one witness . . .”

  And the inspector had to thank the Lord that there was even one! In the past there wouldn’t have been any.

  “But we may have conclusive proof.”

  “And what would that be?”

  “In addition to the arrest warrant, I want you to order the confiscation of all of Nicotra’s cars. Especially the Mercedes.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I’m absolutely certain that Liliana Lombardo was taken to the house in which she was murdered in the trunk of that Mercedes. A careful examination by Forensics should come up with, say, some of the victim’s hair. The body’s still in the morgue, so it wouldn’t be hard to make a comparison.”

  In the end, Tommaseo let himself be talked into it, and then sent a copy of the warrant to Fazio.

  Justice was on the move. But Montalbano wasn’t convinced that justice would, in the end, do itself justice. It would encounter many and unceasing obstacles along the way: lawyers paid their weight in gold, honorable parliamentarians who owed their seats in government to the Mafia and had to repay the debt, some judges a bit less courageous than others, and a truckload of false testimonies in favor of the defendant . . .

  But there might still be a way to screw Nicotra once and for all . . .

  After leaving Tommaseo’s office, the inspector went for a half-hour walk to allow Fazio time to do what he had to do; then he got into his car and headed for the studios of the Free Channel.

  He parked, got out, and went in.

  “How nice to see you!” said Zito’s secretary.

  “It’s nice to see you, too. You’re fresh as a rose. Is Nicolò in?”

  “Yes, he’s in his office.”

  Nicolò was writing. As soon as he saw Montalbano, he got up.

  “What a lovely surprise! I watched Ragonese’s report. Everything taken care of?”

  “Everything.”

  “So much the better. You need something?”

  “Yes. I want you to interview me and broadcast it this evening.”

  “At your service. Interview you about what?”

  “Wait just a second. Can I make a phone call?”

  “Of course.”

  He called Fazio on the cell phone.

  “What point are we at?”

  “We’re taking him to the station.”

  “Did he put up any resistance?”

  “No, he wasn’t expecting it.”

  “How did he react?”

  “He said he wants his lawyer.”

  “He’ll have to wait till I get there. Oh, and do me a favor and inform Tommaseo that he’ll have Nicotra standing before him in about two hours.”

  Montalbano hung up and turned towards Zito.

  “I’m giving you exclusive rights to the scoop: I’ve just had Carlo Nicotra arrested for double homicide.”

  “Holy shit!” said Nicolò, jumping out of his chair. “Nicotra’s the number two of the Sinagra clan! That’s a blockbuster! Give me some of the details.”

  Montalbano filled him in. Then he said:

  “So, are you going to interview me or not?”

  “Yes, but I’m going to reveal the news of the arrest first, and separately.”

  “Do whatever you like.”

  “Inspector Montalbano, could you please tell us how you arrived at the decision to request a warrant for the arrest of Carlo Nicotra?”

  “Well, as you know, during a preliminary investigation we are required to maintain secrecy on many points, so I’ll just limit myself to saying that it was Nicotra himself who took me by the hand and led me to the solution of the case.”

  “Really? Could you give me a better sense of how he did that?”

  “Certainly. Nicotra made such a string of mistakes that at first I almost couldn’t believe it. I actually thought they were red herrings to throw me off the scent.”

  “Could you give us a couple of examples?”

  “Well, he made an anonymous telephone call to a well-known journalist and made no effo
rt to camouflage his very recognizable voice, and he went personally, in his own Mercedes, to the killing of Arturo Tallarita, not bothering to mask the license plate . . . These blunders were so gross that I wonder how his bosses can still have faith in such a wreck of a man.”

  “And what, in your opinion—provided you’re allowed to tell us—what was the motive behind these two savage murders?”

  “Well, Arturo Tallarita fell in love with the married Liliana Lombardo, who was also in love with him. And their affair did not go down well with Nicotra. He did everything in his power to separate the two lovers—wrecking the engine of Signora Lombardo’s car, trying even to have her shot, but the bullet missed. . . .

  “Finally, in exasperation, he had both of them murdered in particularly cruel fashion. Inexplicable behavior. Or perhaps it can be explained, since at first he was only trying to get the woman. But such matters are beyond my competence.”

  “Are you trying to tell me Nicotra saw Signora Lombardo as a rival?”

  “I repeat that is not within my competence to plumb the depths of the soul of a multiple murderer like Carlo Nicotra, but that is one of the possible explanations.”

  “How is it that there has been no news of Signora Lombardo’s husband?”

  “I don’t know the answer to that. But since he works as the representative of a large computer company—and in fact there are still a few computers at his house—and travels a great deal, it’s possible he still doesn’t know what happened to his wife. We’re hoping he comes forward as soon as possible.”

  He’d taken care of Nicotra. After saying what he said, it was unlikely the Sinagras would pull out all the stops to defend him. They had no more use now for Nicotra; indeed, they might even consider him a risk. Better to let him rot in the bowels of some prison. And he’d quite purposely thrown down the trump card by insinuating that Nicotra might prefer boys, a sin that his bosses would never forgive.

  After the interview, he phoned Fazio again.

  “I’ll be back at the office in half an hour at the most. I want Mimì Augello there, too, so I can explain to him how we narrowed things down to Carlo Nicotra. He’ll be the one to escort him to the prosecutor’s office. And have a television with a DVD player ready on my desk.”

  Then, turning to Zito:

  “Could you make me a copy of the interview?”

  He was parking in the station’s lot when Fazio, who had apparently been waiting for him, came and opened the car door.

  “What is it?”

  “Zaccaria the lawyer’s here. He’s in the waiting room. He was obviously sent by the Sinagras.”

  Michele Zaccaria, elected to Parliament in the majority party by a landslide in the last elections, was the top lawyer of the Sinagra family. He was very good at his job, one of the best. He’d come just in the nick of time.

  “Did you find a video monitor and a DVD player?”

  “Yup.”

  They went into the office. Montalbano took a video disk out of his pocket and handed it to Fazio.

  “See if this works.”

  “What is it?”

  “An interview I did with Zito.”

  “And why do you want us to see it?”

  “You’ll understand as soon as you see it.”

  They set up the chairs in such a way that Augello, Fazio, Nicotra, and the defense counsel Zaccaria could watch the show. Montalbano himself wasn’t interested in the video. He wanted to enjoy another, much more interesting show, the one put on by Nicotra’s and Zaccaria’s faces as they watched the interview.

  “Okay, bring ’em all in.”

  18

  Carlo Nicotra, a tiny man of about sixty with fine features and extremely well groomed, a sort of cross between a chief physician and a ministerial division head, was known to be a cold-blooded fish. They said he never, under any circumstance, lost his cool. Indeed he didn’t look the least bit uncomfortable and acted as if he were among friends.

  Montalbano and Zaccaria greeted each other with a barely perceptible nod of the head. After everyone had sat down, the inspector turned to the lawyer and began to speak.

  “Let me start by saying that there will be no interrogation at this time. I consider it unnecessary. However, before turning the suspect over to the public prosecutor, I feel duty bound to have him listen to an interview I gave today that will be broadcast on the evening news tonight and on subsequent news reports.”

  Nicotra, who was certainly surprised but didn’t let it show, limited himself to whispering something in his counsel’s ear, to which the lawyer responded by doing the same.

  “Does either of you have any objections to the viewing?” Montalbano asked.

  “None whatsoever,” the lawyer replied.

  The inspector gestured to Fazio to begin.

  When he heard himself being called a “wreck,” Nicotra’s face turned as red as a beet and he squirmed in his chair. But at the point in the video where Montalbano insinuated that he might be in love with Arturo Tallarita, he suddenly emitted a sort of lionlike roar, stood up, and lunged at the inspector, but Fazio grabbed him by the shoulders and forced him to sit back down.

  “Can we go back a ways?” the lawyer asked, cool as a cucumber. “In all the confusion I missed something.”

  He seemed quite interested. Nicotra, on the other hand, kept his eyes fixed on the floor.

  “All right,” Montalbano said when it was over. “Now Inspector Augello is going to accompany the suspect to the prosecutor’s office. Have a good day.”

  “Just a moment,” said the lawyer Zaccaria. “Since I have another urgent engagement, an associate of mine, Barrister Cusumano, will accompany Signor Nicotra to the prosecutor’s office in my place. So I ask you please, Inspector, to wait for my colleague to get here before sending these men away. All right?”

  “All right,” said Montalbano.

  “Thank you, and good-bye,” said Zaccaria, practically running out of the room.

  “Fazio, take him to a holding cell and then come back.”

  As soon as he was alone with Augello, the inspector started laughing. Mimì looked at him darkly.

  “What’s so funny? I didn’t see the point of the interview.”

  “You didn’t either? Let’s wait for Fazio to return, and then I’ll explain.”

  Fazio returned.

  “Now I get it!” he exclaimed.

  “Then if you would be so kind as to share some of your wisdom with a poor ignoramus . . .” said Augello, getting more and more irritated.

  “Mimì,” said Montalbano. “What can be gathered from this interview is, first of all, that I come off as a first-class asshole who still doesn’t have a fucking clue as to the true motive of the double murder—that is, drugs. And that’s why the good lawyer dashed off to inform the Sinagras of my ignorance. Their next move will be to show that I’m right, and that Nicotra has always been gay. Is that clear now?”

  “When you put it that way, yes, it’s clear. But for what purpose?”

  “Wait. Secondly, in the interview I also blurted out that there were still a few of Lombardo’s computers and printers at the house. As Fazio must have told you, those are simply containers for cocaine. But I pretended not to know that. And by way of conclusion, I would bet the family jewels that that house is going to be mobbed tonight.”

  “I’m beginning to understand,” said Augello. “You’re setting a trap for Lombardo.”

  “Lombardo’s at the top of the list. Knowing that Nicotra’s behind bars, he’ll feel safe and will rush back to recover the merchandise before the court sequesters everything in the house. But the trap’s not only for him.”

  “So for who else, then?”

  “For the Sinagras, of course. I would say they’re practically obligated to get those computers and printers out of there without wasting another m
inute. That is, before I discover what’s inside them. Because if I never find out, then they’re completely out of the picture. But if I do, they’re in it up to their necks. Got it now?”

  “Got it,” said Augello.

  “So what’s the plan?” asked Fazio.

  “Simple,” said the inspector. “The interview will be aired three times this evening: at eight, at ten, and at midnight. I’m one hundred percent convinced that Lombardo is lurking nearby. But he won’t show up before two a.m., when the traffic on the main road becomes scarce. And the Sinagras will also come out around the same time. I want two teams. One on the sea side of the house under your command, Mimì, and one on the land side, directed by Fazio. You’ll go on duty at midnight.”

  “And what about you?” asked Mimì.

  “Around the same time, I’ll go into the Lombardo house and lie in wait in the small room with the computers.”

  “Wait a second,” said Mimì. “Let’s make sure we’re on the same page. When am I supposed to intervene?”

  “If it’s Lombardo, let him enter the house and I’ll deal with him. If, on the other hand, it’s the Sinagras’ men, arrest them the moment they set foot inside,” said Montalbano.

  “But how will we tell it’s them?” asked Mimì. “It’s not as if they’ll be wearing name tags.”

  “Look, Lombardo has the keys to the house and will be alone. He’ll surely come in through the front door. The Sinagras, on the other hand, will send at least two men, and they’ll try to enter through the back, on the beach side, where it’s safer. They’ll have to remove a few of the planks to enter through the boarded-up French door.”

  “And how will we communicate to you when someone is approaching?” asked Fazio.

  “I’ll bring a cell phone. Set it so that it doesn’t ring but just vibrates. That’ll be enough for me,” said the inspector.

  At that moment Catarella rang to announce the arrival of the lawyer Musulmano. Who naturally was Cusumano.

  “I’m going home to Marinella. You can call me, if necessary, up until midnight.”

  “Bring your weapon with you,” Fazio advised him before leaving the room.