He drifted like a branch, a leaf.
Returning to headquarters, he phoned Dr. Pasquano, who answered in his customary fashion.
“I was expecting your ball-busting call. Actually, I was wondering if something had happened to you, since I hadn’t heard from you yet. I was worried, you know! What do you want? I plan to work on the two corpses tomorrow.”
“In the meantime, Doctor, you need only answer me with a simple yes or no. As far as you can tell, were they killed late Sunday night?”
“Yes.”
“A single shot to the nape of the neck, execution-style?”
“Yes.”
“Were they tortured before they were killed?”
“No.”
“Thank you, Doctor. See how much breath I saved you? That way you’ll still have plenty left, when you’re on death’s doorstep.”
“How I’d love to perform your autopsy!” said Pasquano.
For once Mimì Augello was punctual, showing up at five o‘clock on the dot. But he was wearing a long face. It was clear he was stewing about something.
“Did you find time to rest a little, Mimì?”
“When would I have done that? We had to wait for Judge Tommaseo, who in the meantime had driven his car into a ditch.”
“Have you eaten?”
“Beba made me a sandwich.”
“And who’s Beba?”
“You introduced her to me yourself. Beatrice.”
So he was already calling her Beba! Things must be proceeding very nicely. But then why was Mimì wearing that funereal face? He didn’t have time to probe any further, however, because Mimì asked him a question he hardly expected.
“Are you still in touch with that Swedish woman, what’s her name, Ingrid?”
“I haven’t seen her in a while. But she did call me last week. Why do you ask?”
“Can we trust her?”
Montalbano hated it when somebody answered a question with another question. He did it himself at times, but always with a specific purpose in mind. He played along.
“What do you think?”
“Don’t you know her better than I do?”
“What do you need her for?”
“If I tell you, do you promise not to think I’m crazy?”
“Do you think I’m capable of that?”
“Even if it’s a really big deal?”
The inspector got bored with the game. Mimì hadn’t even noticed how absurd the dialogue had become.
“Listen, Mimì, Ingrid’s discretion I can vouch for. As for thinking you’re crazy, I’ve done that so many times already that it won’t make much difference if it happens one more time.”
“Well, I didn’t sleep a wink last night.”
Beba was coming on strong!
“Why not?”
“There was this letter, one of the ones Nenè Sanfilippo wrote to his lover. You have no idea, Salvo, how hard I’ve been studying them! I practically know them by heart.”
You’re such an asshole, Salvo! Montalbano reproached himself. All you ever do is think ill of Mimi, and here the poor guy’s working through the night!
Having duly rebuked himself, the inspector deftly overcame that brief moment of self-criticism.
“Okay, okay. What was in the letter?”
Mimi waited a moment before deciding to answer.
“Well, he gets very angry, at first, because she shaves off her body hair.”
“What’s there to get angry about? All women shave their armpits nowadays.”
“It wasn’t her armpits.”
“Ah,” said Montalbano.
“All her hair, understand?”
“Yes.”
“Then, in the letters that follow, he starts to get into the novelty of it.”
“Okay, but how’s this of any importance to us?”
“It’s important, believe me! Because I think, after losing sleep and my eyesight to boot, I’ve figured out who Nenè Sanfilippo’s lover is. Some of the descriptions he gives, the little details, are better than a photograph. As you know, I really like to look at women.”
“Not just look at them.”
“Okay. And I’ve become convinced that I recognize this woman. Because I’m sure I’ve met her. It would take very little to make a positive identification.”
“Very little! Mimi, what on earth are you thinking! You want me to go to this lady and say: ‘I’m Inspector Montalbano, ma’am. Er, would you please drop your panties for a moment?‘ Why, she’d have me put away, at the very least!”
“That’s why I thought of Ingrid. If it’s the woman I think it is, I actually saw her a few times with Ingrid in Montelusa. They must be friends ...”
Montalbano twisted his mouth.
“You’re not convinced?” asked Mimi.
“Oh, I’m convinced all right. But the whole idea has one major problem.”
“What?”
“I don’t think Ingrid would be capable of betraying a friend.”
“Who ever said anything about betrayal? We just need to find a way, any way at all, to create a situation where she might blurt something out—”
“How, for example?”
“Bah, I don’t know, you could invite Ingrid out for dinner, then bring her to your place, give her something to drink, a little of that red wine of ours that the girls are so crazy about, and—”
“—And then start talking about body hair? She’s likely to have a fit if I mention certain things with her! She doesn’t expect it from me.”
Mimi’s jaw dropped in surprise.
“She doesn’t expect it? Do you mean to tell me that, between you and Ingrid ... Never?”
“What are you thinking?” said Montalbano, irritated. “I’m not like you, Mimi!”
Augello looked at him for a moment, then joined his hands in prayer, eyes raised to the heavens.
“What are you doing?”
“Tomorrow I’m going to write a letter to His Holiness,” Mimi replied coyly.
“Saying what?”
“That you should be canonized while still alive.”
“Spare me the bonehead humor,” the inspector said gruffly.
Mimi quickly turned serious again. With certain subjects, when dealing with Montalbano, one had to tread lightly.
“Anyway, as for Ingrid, give me a little time to think about it.”
“Okay, but don’t take too long, Salvo. You know, it’s one thing to kill someone over a question of infidelity, and it’s something else—”
“I am well aware of the difference, Mimi. And you’re not exactly the person to be teaching me about it. Compared to me, you’re still wrapping your ass in diapers.”
Augello took this in without reacting. He’d pushed the wrong button, talking about Ingrid. He had to try to dispel the inspector’s bad mood.
“Salvo, there’s another thing I wanted to talk to you about. Yesterday, after we ate, Beba invited me over to her place.”
Montalbano’s gloom immediately lifted. He held his breath. Had what was supposed to happen between Mimi and Beatrice already happened, just like that? If Beatrice slept with Mimi too quickly, the affair might soon be over, and Mimi would inevitably go back to his Rebecca.
“No, Salvo, we didn’t do what you’re thinking,” said Augello, as if he could read Montalbano’s mind. “Beba’s a nice girl. And very serious.”
How did Shakespeare put it? Oh, yes: “These words content me much.” If Mimi spoke this way, there was hope.
“At a certain point she went to change her clothes. Left to myself, I picked up a magazine that was on the coffee table. When I opened it, a photo that had been inserted between the pages fell out. It showed the inside of a bus, with the passengers in their seats. In the background, you could see Beba from behind, with a frying pan in her hand.”