Therefore—the inspector recapitulated while driving back to Vigata—Signora (pardon,Signorina)Michela Pardo had only told him half the story concerning the abortion performed on Teresa Cacciatore, completely leaving out her own major role. For Teresa it must have been like a scene from a horror film: first the deception and the trap, then, in crescendo, her boyfriend turning into her torturer and poking around inside her while she lay there naked on the examination table unable even to open her mouth; then her future sister-in-law in a white smock, preparing the instruments …
What sort of complicity had there been between Angelo and Michela? Out of what twisted instinct of sibling attachment had it arisen and solidified? How far had they taken their bond? And, given all this, what else were they capable of?
Then again, on second thought, what had any of this to do with the investigation? From Teresa’s words—and there was no doubt she was telling the truth—it became clear that Angelo was a rascal, which Montalbano had been thinking for some time, and that his dear sister wouldn’t have hesitated to commit murder just to please her dear brother, which Montalbano had also been thinking for some time. What Teresa had told him confirmed what the brother and sister were like, but it didn’t move the investigation a single inch forward.
“Ahh, Chief, Chief!” Catarella yelled from his closet. “I got some importance to tell ya!”
“Did you beat the last last word?”
“Not yet, Chief. Iss complex. What I wannet a say is ‘at Dacter Arquaraqua called.”
What was going on? The chief of Forensics called for him?The tombs shall open, the dead shall rise…
“Arqua, Cat, his name’s Arqua.”
“His name’s whatever ‘is name is, Chief, you got the pitcher anyways.”
“What did he want?”
“He didn’t say, Chief. But he axed me to ax you to call him when you got back.” “Fazio here?” “I tink so.”
“Go find him and tell him to come to my office.” While waiting, he called the lab in Montelusa. “Arqua, were you looking for me?”
The two men didn’t like each other, and so, by mutual, tacit agreement, they dispensed with greetings whenever they spoke.
“I suppose you already know that Dr. Pasquano found two threads of fabric stuck between Angelo Pardo’s teeth.”
“Yes.”
“We’ve analyzed the threads and identified the fabric. It’s Crilicon.”
“Does that come from Krypton?”
It was a stupid quip that just slipped out of him. Arqua, who obviously didn’t read comic books and didn’t know of the existence of Superman, balked.
“What did you say?”
“Nothing, never mind. Why does that fabric seem important to you?”
“Because it’s very particular and is mainly used for a specific article of clothing.”
“Namely?”
“Women’s panties.”
Arqua hung up, and Montalbano sat there flummoxed, receiver in hand.
Another noir film? As he set the phone down, he imagined the scene.
TERRACE WITH ROOM. Outside/inside shot, night.
Through the open door, from out on the terrace, the camera frames the interior of the former laundry room. Angelo is sitting on the arm of the armchair. A woman, standing in front of him and seen from behind, puts her purse on the table and, moving very slowly, removes first her blouse, then her bra. The camera zooms entirely inside.
(Sensual music)
With desire in his eyes, Angelo watches the woman unfasten her skirt, letting it drop to her feet. Angelo slides off the arm and into the chair, almost lying down.
The woman takes off her panties, but keeps them in her hand.
Angelo opens the zipper on his jeans and gets ready to have sex.
(Extremely sensual music)
The woman opens her purse and extracts something we can’t see. Then she straddles Angelo, who embraces her.
Long, passionate kiss. Angelo’s hands caress the woman’s back. She suddenly breaks free of his embrace and points the pistol she took out of her purse at Angelo’s face.
CLOSE-UPof Angelo, terrified.
ANGELO:What…what are you doing?WOMAN:Open your mouth.
Angelo automatically obeys. The woman sticks the panties in his mouth.
Angelo tries to scream but can’t.
WOMAN:Now I’m going to ask you a question. If you want to answer, just nod, and I’ll take them out of your mouth.
The camera follows her movements as she leans forward. She whispers something in his ear.
His eyes open wide as he starts desperately shaking his head no.
(Dramatic music)
WOMAN:I’ll repeat my question.
She leans forward again, brings her mouth to Angelo’s ear, her lips move.
CLOSE-UPof Angelo still refusing, in the throes of uncontrollable panic.
WOMAN:As you wish.
She gets up, takes a step back, and shoots Angelo in the face.
EXTREME CLOSE-UPof Angelo’s devastated head, a black, bloody hole where his eye used to be.
(Tragic music)
DETAILof Angelo’s half-open mouth. Two tapered fingers reach into the mouth and extract the panties. To put them on, the woman turns toward the camera, but the frame is shot from an angle that keeps her face hidden. The woman continues getting dressed, without any hurry. There’s no trace of nervousness in her gestures.
EXTREME CLOSE-UPof Angelo’s head, a horrendous sight.
SLOW FADE-OUT.
Granted, a dreadful script from a B movie of the erotic-crime genre. It might, however, have had decent success on television, given all the other crap that gets broadcast. You know, TV movies. The inspector consoled himself with the thought that if he had to leave the police force, he could try his hand at this new profession.
Leaving his private cinema to return to his office, he saw Fazio standing in front of his desk, staring at him inquisitively.
“What were you thinking, Chief?”
“Nothing, I was just watching a film. What do you want?”
“Chief, you’re the one who called me.”
“Ah, yes. Have a seat. Got any news for me?”
“You said you wanted to know everything I could find out about Emilio Sclafani and Angelo Pardo. As for the schoolteacher, I have to add a little detail to what I already told you.”
“What’s this little detail?”
“Remember how the schoolteacher sent his wife’s lover to the hospital?”
“Yes.”
“Well, he, too, was sent to the hospital.”
“By whom?”
“A jealous husband.”
“That’s not possible. The guy can’t—”
“Chief, I assure you it’s true. It happened before his second marriage.”
“He was caught in bed with the man’s wife?”
Montalbano couldn’t accept that Elena had told him a lie, a lie so big that it cast everything into doubt.
“No, Chief. The bed’s got nothing to do with it. The teacher lived in a great big apartment building, and two of his windows gave onto the courtyard. You remember that movie …”
Another film? This wasn’t an investigation anymore, it was one of the countless film festivals!
“… the one about a photographer with a broken leg who spends his time looking out his window across the courtyard and finds out some lady’s been killed?”
“Yes.Rear Window,by Hitchcock.”
“Well, the schoolteacher bought himself a powerful set of binoculars, but he only watched the window across from his, where a young bride of about twenty lived, and since she didn’t know she was being watched, she walked around her apartment half naked. Then one day the husband got wise to the teacher’s tricks, went over to his place, and busted his head and his binoculars.”
Montalbano became almost certain that Mr. Sclafani demanded that his wife give him a detailed report of what she did at each of her encounters with her lover. Why hadn’t Elena told him this? Perhaps because this little detail (and what a detail!) cast the schoolteacher in a different light from that of the understanding, impotent husband and brought to the surface all the murk deep down in his soul?