“What did Liguori want this morning?”
“To sensitize us.”
“Which means?”
“We’ve got to aim higher.”
“Meaning?”
“We’ve got to go in deep.” Montalbano suddenly lost patience.
“Mimi, if you don’t start speaking clearly, you know where I’m going to go in deep on you?”
“Salvo, it seems the upper spheres of Montelusa are not pleased with our efforts in the fight against drug dealers.”
“What are they talking about? In the last month we’ve put six dealers behind bars!”
“It’s not enough, according to them. Liguori says what we do is just small potatoes.”
“So what’s big potatoes?”
“Not limiting oneself to arresting a few dealers by chance, but rather acting according to a precise plan, provided by him, of course, which will supposedly lead us to the suppliers.”
“But isn’t that his responsibility? Isn’t he chief of Narcotics? Why’s he coming here breaking our balls? Let him make his plan and, instead of giving it to us, let his own men carry it out.”
“Salvo, apparently, according to his investigations, one of the biggest suppliers is here, in Vigata. So he wants our help.”
Montalbano stood there staring at him, lost in thought.
“Mimi, this whole business stinks to me. We need to talk about it, but I don’t have the time right now. I have to take care of something with Catarella and then run off to Montelusa to meet with the commissioner.”
Catarella was waiting for him in the doorway to his office, still dancing like a bear. He came in behind him and set two printed pages down on the desk. The inspector glanced at them and understood nothing. There was a string of six-figure numbers piled one on top of the other, and each of these numbers corresponded to another number. For example: 213452 136000
431235 235000
and so on. He realized that to understand the matter he had to dispatch Catarella, whose little tribal dance was getting on his nerves.
“Well done! My compliments, Catarella!”
Now he changed from a bear into a peacock. But since he had no tail to spread, he raised and extended his arms, fanned out his fingers, and spun around.
“How did you find the password?”
“Ah, Chief, Chief! That dead man is so clever he drove me crazy! The word was the name of the sister, the dead man’s, who’s called Michela, combined in combination wit’ the day, month, an’ year of birth when she’s born—his sister, I mean, the dead man’s—but written wittout numbers, only litters.”
Since, in his delight at having found the solution, Catarella uttered the whole sentence in a single breath, the inspector had trouble understanding, but grasped as much as he needed to.
“I think I remember you saying you needed three passwords… “
“Yessir, Chief, I do. Iss ongoing work.”
“Good, then go on working. And thanks again.”
Catarella staggered visibly.
“You dizzy?”
“A little, Chief.”
“You feel all right?”
“Yessir.”
“So why are you dizzy?”
” ‘Cause you just gave me tanks, Chief.”
He walked out of the room as if he were drunk. Montalbano cast another glance at the two sheets of paper. But since it was already time to go to Montelusa, he slipped them into the pocket holding the little songbook. Which he could have sworn contained the code for making some sense of all those numbers.
“My dear Inspector! How goes it? Everyone doing well at home?”
“Fine, fine, Dr. Lattes.”
“Make yourself comfortable.” “Thank you, Doctor.”
He sat down. Lattes looked at him, and he looked at Lattes. Lattes smiled, and so did he.
“To what do we owe the pleasure of your visit?” Montalbano’s jaw dropped.
“Actually, I…the commissioner told me …” “You’re here for the meeting?” Lattes asked in wonderment.
“Well, yes.”
“What? You mean the receptionist there, Cavarella—” “Catarella.”
“—didn’t tell you? I called late this morning to inform you that the commissioner had to leave for Palermo and will expect to see you here tomorrow at this same hour.”
“No, nobody told me anything.”
“But that’s very serious! You must take measures!”
“I will, Doctor, don’t you worry about that.”
What fucking measures could one possibly take against Catarella? It would be like trying to teach a crab to walk straight.
Since he was already in Montelusa, he decided to drop in on his friend Nicold Zito, the newsman. He pulled up in front of the Free Channel studios, and the moment he walked in, the secretary told him Zito had fifteen free minutes before going on the air.
“I haven’t heard from you for a while,” Nicold reproached him.
“Sorry, I’ve been busy.”
“Is there anything I can do for you?”
“No, Nicold. I just wanted to see you.”
“Listen, are you giving Giacovazzo a hand in the investigation into Angelo Pardo’s murder?”
It was nice of the Flying Squad captain not to have denied that the investigation had been turned over to him. This spared Montalbano from being besieged by journalists. But it was still hard for Montalbano to have to lie to his friend.
“No, no hand at all. You know what Giacovazzo’s like. Why do you ask?”
“Because nobody can drag a single word out of him.”
Naturally. The captain of the Flying Squad wasn’t talking to journalists because he had nothing to say.
“And yet,” Zito went on, “I think that, considering what’s happening now, he must have some idea.”
“Why, what’s happening now?”
“Don’t you read the papers?”
“Not always.”
“A nationwide investigation has led to the arraignment of over four thousand doctors and pharmacists.”
“Okay, but what’s that got to do with it?”
“Salvo, use your brain! “What did former doctor Angelo Pardo do for a living?”
“He was a representative for pharmaceutical concerns.”
“Exactly. And the charges being leveled at these doctors and pharmacists are collusion and kickbacks.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning the doctors let themselves be corrupted by some pharmaceutical informers. In exchange for money or other gifts, these doctors and pharmacists would choose and prescribe medications indicated by the informers. And when they did this, they were handsomely rewarded. You see how it works now?”
“Yes. The informers didn’t limit themselves to informing.”
“Exactly. Of course, not all doctors are corrupt, and not all informers are corrupters, but the phenomenon has proved to be very widespread. And, naturally, some very powerful pharmaceutical firms are also implicated.”
“And you think that may be why Pardo was murdered?”
“Salvo, do you realize what kind of interests are behind a setup like this? But, in any case, I don’t think anything. All I’m saying is that it’s a lead that might be worth pursuing.”
All things considered—the inspector reflected while driving back to Vigata at five miles per hour—the visit to Montelusa had not been in vain. The lead suggested by Nicold hadn’t remotely occurred to him but had to be taken into consideration. But how to proceed? Open up Angelo Pardo’s big datebook—the one with the names, addresses, and telephone numbers of doctors and pharmacists—pick up the receiver, and ask: “Excuse me, but did you by any chance let yourself be corrupted by the pharmaceutical representative Angelo Pardo?”
That approach surely would not get any results. Maybe he needed to ask for a helping hand from the people who knew all about this sort of investigation.
Back in his office, he called the headquarters of the Customs Police of Montelusa.
“Inspector Montalbano here. I’d like to speak with Captain Aliotta.”
“I’ll put the major on right away.”
Apparently he’d been promoted.