“I never knew that Angelo had a strongbox. He never told me he did, and I never saw it in his apartment.”
Montalbano stared hard at the tip of his left shoe. “Did you find it?” she continued.
“No. We found the keys but not the box. Doesn’t that seem strange to you?” “Quite strange.”
“And that’s another one of those things that should definitely have been in the apartment but weren’t.”
Michela gave a sign that she understood what Montalbano was getting at. She leaned her head back—she had a beautiful, Modiglianiesque neck—and looked at him through— luckily—half-closed eyes.
“You’re not thinkingItook it?”
“Well, you see, I made a mistake.”
“What?”
“I left you alone at your brother’s place that first night. I shouldn’t have. You therefore would have had all the time in the world to—”
“To remove things? Why would I do that?”
“Because you know a lot more about Angelo than we do.”
“Of course I do! Some discovery! We grew up together. We’re brother and sister.”
“And therefore you’re inclined to cover for him, even unconsciously. You told me that at one point your brother decided to stop practicing medicine. But that’s not really how things went. Your brother had his license revoked.”
“Who told you that?”
“Elena Sclafani. I spoke to her this morning, before coming here.”
“Did she tell you why?”
“No. Because she didn’t know. Angelo’d only made vague mention of it to her, but since she wasn’t interested in the matter, she didn’t ask any more questions.”
“Ah, the poor little angel! She wasn’t interested in the matter, but she was certainly in a rush to cast suspicion on it. She attacks, then looks the other way.”
She said this in a voice unfamiliar to the inspector, a voice that seemed produced not by vocal cords but by two sheets of sandpaper rubbed forcefully together.
“Well, why don’tyoutell me the reason?”
“Abortion.”
“Tell me more.”
“Angelo got an underage girl pregnant; what’s more, she was a patient of his. The girl, who was from a certain kind of family, didn’t dare say a thing at home and couldn’t turn to any public institution either. That left clandestine abortion as the only option. Except that the girl, once she got home, suffered a violent hemorrhage. Her father accompanied her to the hospital and learned the whole story. Angelo assumed full responsibility.”
“What do you mean, he ‘assumed full responsibility’? It seems clear to me he was fully responsible!”
“No, not fully. He had asked a colleague of his, a friend from his university days, to perform the abortion. The friend didn’t want to, but Angelo managed to persuade him. When the whole story came out, my brother claimed that he had done the abortion. And so he was condemned and barred from practicing medicine.”
“Tell me the girl’s name and surname.”
“But, Inspector, that was more than ten years ago! I know the girl got married and no longer lives in Vigata … Why do you want—”
“I’m not saying I want to interrogate her, but if it proves necessary, I’ll do so with the utmost discretion, I promise.”
“Teresa Cacciatore. She married a contractor named Mario Sciacca. They live in Palermo and have a little boy.”
“Signora Sclafani told me that she and your brother always met at his place.”
“Yes, that’s right.”
“How is it you never crossed paths with her?”
“It was I who didn’t want to meet her. Not even by chance. I’d begged Angelo always to let me know whenever Elena was coming over.”
“Why didn’t you want to meet her?”
“Antipathy. Aversion. Take your pick.”
“But you saw her only once!”
“Once was enough. Anyway, Angelo often talked about her.”
“What did he say?”
“That she had no equal in bed but was too money-hungry.”
“Did your brother pay her?”
“He used to buy her very expensive gifts.”
“Such as?”
“A ring. A necklace. A sports car.” “Elena confided to me that she had made up her mind to leave Angelo.”
“Don’t believe it. She wasn’t done squeezing him yet. She was always throwing jealous fits to keep him close.” “So were you this hostile to Paola the Red, too?” She leapt, literally, out of her armchair. “Who…who told you about Paola?” “Elena Sclafani.” “The slut!”
The sandpaper voice had returned.
“I’m sorry, but who are you referring to?” the inspector asked angelically. “Paola or Elena?”
“Elena, for bringing her into this. Paola was …is a good person who fell sincerely in love with Angelo.”
“Why did your brother leave her?”
“The affair with Paola had gone on for so long …he met Elena at a moment when he was feeling tired of her… To Angelo she represented something new and intriguing that he couldn’t resist, even though I …”
“Give me Paola’s surname and address.”
“Inspector! Do you expect me to give you personal information on all the women who had relationships with Angelo? On Maria Martino? Stella Lojacono?”
“Not all of them. Just those you mentioned.”
“Paola Torrisi-Blanco lives in Montelusa, Via Millefiori 26. She teaches Italian at theliceo.”
“Married?”
“No, but she would have made an ideal wife for my brother.”
“Apparently you knew her well.”
“Yes. We became friends. And we continued to see each
other even after my brother broke up with her. I called her just this morning, to tell her my brother had been murdered.”
“By the way, have any journalists contacted you?”
“No. Have they found out?”
“The news is starting to leak out. You should refuse to speak to them.” “Of course.”
“Let me have the addresses, if you’ve got them, or the phone numbers of the other two women you remembered.”
“I don’t have them right at hand. I need to look in some old datebooks. Is it all right if I give them to you tomorrow?”
“All right.”
“Inspector, can I ask you something?” “Go right ahead.”
“Why are you centering your investigation on Angelo’s women friends?”
“Because you and Elena are doing nothing but serving me women’s names on a platter—or, better yet, on a bed,”he wanted to say, but didn’t.
“You think it’s a mistake?” he asked instead.
“I don’t know whether or not it’s a mistake. But there certainly must be many other leads one could follow concerning the possible motive for my brother’s murder.”
“Such as?”
“Oh, I don’t know … something concerning his business…maybe some envious competitor… “
At this point the inspector decided to cheat, laying a trick card down on the table. He put on an embarrassed air, like someone who wants to say something but doesn’t really feel like it.
“What’s led us to favor the…ahem…the feminine hypothesis… “
He congratulated himself for coming up with the right words; even the British-cop-like “ahem” had emerged from his throat to perfection. He continued his masterly performance.
“…was…ahem… a detail that perhaps I’d … ahem…better not… “
“Tell me, tell me,” said Michela, assuming for her part the air of someone expecting to hear the worst.
“Well, it’s just that your brother, when he was killed, had just had …ahem…er,sexual relations with a woman.”
It was a whopper, since Pasquano had said something else. But he wanted to see if his words would have the same effect they had the first time. And they did.
The woman sprang to her feet. Her dressing gown opened. She was completely naked underneath. No panties, no bra. A splendid, lush, compact body. She arched her back. In the motion her hair fell down onto her shoulders. She clenched her fists, arms extended at her sides. Her eyes were popping out of her head. Fortunately they weren’t looking at the inspector. Watching obliquely as if through a window, Montalbano saw a raging sea uncoil in those eyes, with force-eight waves rising to peaks like mountains and crashing back down in avalanches of foam, then reforming and falling back down again. The inspector got scared. A memory from his school days came back to him, that of the terrible Erinyes. Then he thought the memory must be wrong; the Erinyes were old and ugly. Whatever the case, he clung tightly to the arms of the easy chair. Michela was having trouble speaking; her fury kept her teeth clenched.“Shedid it!”