In grammar school he’d had an old priest as his religion teacher. “Truth is light,” the priest had said one day.
Montalbano, never very studious, had been a mischievous pupil, always sitting in the last row.
“So that must mean that if everyone in the family tells the truth, they save on the electric bill.”
He had made this comment aloud, which got him kicked out of the classroom.
Now, some thirty-odd years after the fact, in his mind he asked the old priest to forgive him.
~
“Boy, do you look ugly today!” exclaimed Fazio as soon as he saw the inspector come in to work. “Not feeling well?”
“Leave me alone” was Montalbano’s reply. “Any news of Gambardella? Did you find him?”
“Nothing. Vanished. I’ve decided we’ll end up finding him back in the woods somewhere, eaten by dogs.”
There was something, however, in the sergeant’s tone of voice that he found suspicious; he had known him for too many years.
“Anything wrong?”
“It’s Gallo. He’s gone to the emergency room, hurt his arm. Nothing serious.”
“How’d it happen?”
“With the squad car.”
“Did he crash it speeding?”
“Yes.”
“Are you going to spit it out or do you need a midwife to pull the words out of your mouth?”
“Well, I’d sent him to the town market on an emergency, some kind of brawl, and he took off in a hurry—you know how he is—and he skidded and crashed into a telephone pole. The car got towed to our depot in Montelusa and they gave us another.”
“Tell me the truth, Fazio: had the tires been slashed?”
“Yes.”
“And did Gallo check, as I had told him a hundred times to do? Can’t you clowns understand that slashing tires is the national sport in this goddamned country? Tell him he’d better not show his face at the office or I’ll bust his ass.”
He slammed the door to his room, furious.
Searching inside a tin can in which he kept most everything from postage stamps to buttons, he found the key to the old factory and went out without saying good-bye.
~
Sitting on the rotten beam near where he’d found Ingrid’s purse, he was staring at what had previously looked like an indefinable object, a kind of coupling sleeve for pipes, but which he now easily identified: it was a neck brace, brand-new, though it had clearly been used. As if by power of suggestion, his neck started hurting again. He got up, grabbed the brace, left the old factory, and returned to headquarters.
~
“Inspector? This is Stefano Luparello.”
“What can I do for you?”
“Yesterday I told my cousin Giorgio you wanted to see him this morning at ten. Just ten minutes ago, however, my aunt, Giorgio’s mother, called me. I don’t think Giorgio can come see you, though he had intended to do so.”
“What happened?”
“I’m not exactly sure, but apparently he was out all night, my aunt said. He got back just a little while ago, around nine o’clock, in a pitiful state.”
“Excuse me, Mr. Luparello, but I believe your mother told me he sleeps at your house.”
“He did, but only until my father died, then he moved back home. At our house, without Father around, he felt uneasy. Anyway, my aunt called the doctor, who gave him a shot of sedative. He’s in a deep sleep right now. I’m very sorry for him, you know. He was probably too attached to Father.”
“I understand. But if you see your cousin, tell him I really do need to talk to him. No hurry, though, nothing important, at his convenience.”
“Of course. Ah, Mama, who’s right next to me, tells me to give you her regards.”
“And I send mine. Tell her I— Your mother is an extraordinary woman, Mr. Luparello. Tell her I respect her immensely.”
“I certainly shall, thank you.”
~
Montalbano spent one hour signing papers and a few more hours writing. They were complicated, and useless, questionnaires for the public prosecutor’s office.
Suddenly Galluzzo, very upset, not only didn’t knock, but threw open the door with such violence that it crashed against the wall.
“What the fuck! What is it?”
“Montelusa headquarters just called. Counselor Rizzo’s been murdered. Shot. They found him next to his car, in the San Giusippuzzu district. If you want, I’ll find out more.”
“Forget it, I’m going there myself.”
Montalbano looked at his watch—eleven o’clock—
and rushed out the door.
~
Nobody answered at Saro’s flat. Montalbano knocked next door, and a little old lady with a belligerent face opened up.
“What is it? What you doin’, botherin’ people like that?” she said in thick dialect.
“Excuse me, signora, I was looking for Mr. and Mrs. Montaperto.”
“The mister and the missus! Some mister and missus! Them’s garbage people, scum!”
Relations apparently were not good between the two families.
“And who are you?”
“I’m a police inspector.”
The woman’s face lit up, and she started yelling in a tone of extreme contentedness.
“Turiddru! Turiddru! Come here, quick!”
“What is it?” asked a very skinny old man, appearing.
“This man’s a police inspector! Doncha see I was right! D’ya see who the cops are lookin’ for? D’ya see they were nasty folk! D’ya see they ran away so they wouldn’t end up in jail?”
“When did they leave, signora?”
“Not half an hour ago. With the li’l brat. You go after ’em right now, you might still catch ’em along the road.”
“Thank you, signora. I’m going after them right now.”
Saro, his wife, and their little son had made it.
~
Along the road to Montelusa the inspector was stopped twice, first by an army patrol of Alpinists and then by another patrol of carabinieri. The worst came on the way to San Giusippuzzu, where between barricades and checkpoints it took him forty-five minutes to go less than three miles. At the scene he found the commissioner, the colonel of the carabinieri, and the entire Montelusa police department on a full day. Even Anna was there, though she pretended not to see him. Jacomuzzi was looking around, trying to find someone to tell him the whole story in minute detail. As soon as he saw Montalbano, he came running up to him.
“A textbook execution, utterly ruthless.”
“How many were there?”
“Just one, or at least only one fired the gun. The poor counselor left his study at six-thirty this morning. He’d picked up some documents and headed toward Tabbìta, where he had an appointment with a client. He left the study alone—this much is certain—
but along the way he picked up someone he knew in the car.”
“Maybe it was someone who thumbed a ride.”
Jacomuzzi burst into laughter so loud that a few people nearby turned and stared at him. “Can you picture Rizzo, with all the responsibilities he has on his shoulders, blithely giving a ride to a total stranger?