As he was leaving, Fazio practically ran into Mimi Augello in the doorway.
“Mimi!” the inspector bellowed. “What a lovely surprise! A sight for sore eyes!”
“Leave me alone, Salvo, I haven’t slept a wink for two days.”
“Is the little one sick?”
“No, but he cries all the time. For no reason.” “That’s your opinion.” “But the doctors—”
“Forget about the doctors. Obviously the kid’s not in agreement with you and Beba about having been brought into the world. And considering the way the world is, I can’t say I blame him.”
“Listen. Don’t start in with your jokes. I just wanted to tell you that five minutes ago I got a call from the commissioner.”
“And what the hell do I care about your lovey-dovey phone calls? ‘Cause nowadays you and Bonetti-Alderighi are downright hand in glove with each other, except it’s not clear who’s the hand and who’s the glove.”
“Did you get it out of your system? Can I talk now? Yes? The commissioner told me that tomorrow morning, around eleven o’clock, Inspector Liguori’s coming here, to the station.”
Montalbano darkened. “The asshole from Narcotics?” “The asshole from Narcotics.” “What’s he want?” “I don’t know.”
“I don’t even want to see his shadow.”
“That’s precisely why I came in to tell you. You, tomorrow, as of eleven o’clock, should make yourself scarce. I’ll talk to him.”
“Thanks. My best to Beba.”
He phoned Michela Pardo. He wanted to see her, not only because he had to ask her some questions, but also to find out why and what she’d taken from her brother’s apartment. The stupidity of having let her sleep at Angelo’s place weighed heavily on his mind.
“How’d it go this morning with Judge Tommaseo?” he asked her.
“He made me wait half an hour in the anteroom and then had someone inform me that the meeting had been postponed until tomorrow at the same hour. I’m glad you called, Inspector. I was about to call you.”
“What is it?”
“I wanted to know when we could have Angelo back. For the funeral.”
“To be honest, I don’t know. But I’ll find out. Listen, could you come by the station?”
“Inspector Montalbano, I decided it was better to tell Mama that Angelo is dead. I told her he died in a car accident. She had a very violent reaction, and I had to call our doctor. He gave her some sedatives, and she’s resting now. I don’t want to leave her alone. Couldn’t you come here?”
“Sure. When?”
“Whenever you like. In any case, I can’t leave the house.”
“I’ll be there around seven o’clock this evening. Let me have the address.”
About an hour later, Galluzzo returned. “How’s Orazio doing?”
“Pretty far gone, Chief. He’s waiting for you to come see him.”
He pulled the key out of his pocket and handed it to the inspector.
“According to Orazio, this is the key to a portable Exeter strongbox, forty-five centimeters by thirty by twenty-five centimeters tall. He says you can’t open those boxes even with an antitank mine. Unless you’ve got the key.”
He and Fazio had searched the apartment and the room on the terrace for a wall safe. Surely they would have seen a strongbox that size. Which must mean that somebody had taken it away. But what could they do with it without the key? Or maybe the person who took it owned a duplicate key? And did Michela know nothing about this? It was becoming more and more necessary to talk with that woman. He’d promised her he would find out about the funeral, so he called Pasquano.
“Hello, Doctor, am I disturbing you?”
One had to approach Pasquano carefully. He had a decidedly nasty, unstable character.
“Of course you’re disturbing me. Actually, to be more precise, you’re breaking my balls. You’re making me get blood all over the receiver.”
Someone else who didn’t know the doctor would have hung up in embarrassment, apologizing profusely. But the inspector had been so long associated with him that he knew that sometimes it was better to throw fuel on the fire.
“Doctor, I don’t give a fuck.”
“About what?”
“Whether I’m disturbing you or not.”
It worked. Pasquano let out a big fat belly laugh.
“What do you want?”
“Angelo Pardo’s family wants to know when we can give back the body for the funeral.” “Five.”
What the hell had gotten into Fazio and the doctor? Had they both become Cumaean sibyls? Why had they taken to reciting numbers?
“What’s that mean?”
“I’ll tell you what it means. It means that before I get to Pardo, I have five other autopsies to perform. Therefore the family will have to wait a bit. Tell them their dear departed is not having such a bad time of it in the freezer. Oh, and while I’ve got you on the line, I should tell you I was mistaken.”
Madunnuzza santa,the patience one needed with this man!
“About what, Doctor?”
“About whether Pardo had had sexual relations before he was killed. I’m sorry to disappoint Judge Tommaseo, who was off to such a flying start.”
“So you did examine him!”
“Just superficially, and only the part I was curious about.”
“But then why…?”
“Why was it out, you mean?”
“Exactly.”
“Well, maybe he’d gone and taken a piss in a corner of the terrace and wasn’t allowed the time to put it back in. Or maybe he was planning a moment of solitary pleasure but they beat him to it and shot him. But that sort of thing’s not my province. It’s you, Mr. Inspector, who’s conducting the investigation, isn’t it?”
He hung up without saying good-bye.
So, come to think of it, Elena was right when she refused to believe that Angelo had met with another woman while he was waiting for her. But the doctor’s hypothesis didn’t hold water either.
There was no bathroom in the former laundry room, only a sink. If Angelo needed to go and didn’t feel like going downstairs to his flat, there was no need to do it in some dark corner of the terrace; he could have used the sink as a toilet bowl.
Nor was the masturbation hypothesis very convincing.
Yet in both cases it was very odd that Pardo hadn’t had time to put himself back in order. No, there must be some other explanation. Something not so simple as Pasquano’s theories.
Mimi Augello appeared in the doorway. “What do you want?”
He had dark circles under his eyes, worse than when he used to spend his nights womanizing. “Seven,” said Mimi.
Montalbano looked like he’d suddenly gone mad. He sprang out of his chair, red in the face, and screamed so loudly they must have heard him all the way to the port: “Eighteen, twenty-four, thirty-six! Fuck! And seventy, too!”
Augello got scared, and chaos erupted all over the station, doors slamming, footsteps racing. In an instant, Galluzzo, Gallo, and Catarella were in the doorway.
“What’s going on?”
“What happened?”
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing, nothing,” said Montalbano, sitting back down. “Go back to your posts. I had a little attack of nerves, that’s all. It’s over.”
The three men left. Mimi was still staring at him
“What got into you? What were those mysterious numbers you said?”
“Ah, so it’s me who’s being mysterious with numbers? Me? Didn’t you come in here and say ‘seven’?”
“What, is that a mortal sin or something?”
“Never mind. What did you want to tell me?”
“That since Liguori’s coming tomorrow, I did some research. You know how many drug deaths we’ve had in the province in the last ten days?”
“Seven,” said Montalbano.
“Exactly. How did you know?”
“Mimi, you told me yourself. Let’s drop the Campanile dialogue.”
“What campanile?”
“Forget it, Mimi, or I’ll have another attack of nerves.” “Do you know what people are saying about Senator Nicotra?”