"The undersecretary is supposed to leave this afternoon at five," the commissioner whispered to Montalbano. "Unfortunately, I guess he won't be able to see you. Doctors orders."
They exchanged smiles.
...
A few days later they removed the IV from his arm and put a telephone on his bedside table. That same morning, he received a visit from Nicolto, who came in like Santa Claus.
"I've brought you a TV, a VCR, and a cassette. I've even brought the newspaper articles that talk about you."
"What's on the cassette?"
"I taped and spliced together all the idiocies that I, Tele-Vig, and all the other TV stations said about the incident."
...
"Hello, Salvo? It's Mim. How are you feeling today?"
"Better, thanks."
"I'm calling to let you know they killed our friend Ingrassia."
"I expected as much. When did it happen?"
"This morning. They shot him as he was driving into town. Two guys on a high-powered motorcycle. The officer who was tailing him couldn't do anything but try to give him first aid, but it was too late. Listen, Salvo, I'm coming to see you tomorrow morning. You're going to have to tell me, for the record, every detail of your shoot-out."
...
He told Livia to put in the cassette. Not that he was so curious; it was just to pass the time. On TeleVig, Galluzzo's brother-in-law indulged in a fantasy worthy of a scriptwriter for films like Raiders of the Lost Ark. In his opinion, the shooting was a direct consequence of the discovery of the two mummified bodies in the cave. What terrible, indecipherable secret lay behind that distant crime? The newsman did not blush to recall, however briefly, the sad end to which the discoverers of the pharaohs tombs had come, and likened this to the ambush of the inspector.
Montalbano laughed so hard he felt a stab of pain in his side. Next appeared the face of Pippo Ragonese, the same stations political commentator, a former Communist, former Christian Democrat, and now a representative of the Renewal Party. Mincing no words, Ragonese asked himself: What was Montalbano doing in that place with a pimp and drug dealer who was rumored to be his friend? Were such associations consistent with the rigorous moral standards that every public servant should abide by? Times have changed, the commentator noted sternly; thanks to the new government, an atmosphere of renewal was shaking up the country, and we must all march in step. The old attitudes, the old collusions, must end, once and for all.
Montalbano felt another stab of pain in his side, from rage this time, and he cried out. Livia got up at once and turned off the video.
"You're getting upset over what that asshole says?"
After half an hour of insistence and entreaties, Livia gave in and turned the video back on. Nicolto's commentary was affectionate, indignant, and rational. Affectionate towards his friend, the inspector, to whom he sent his sincerest good wishes; indignant because, despite all the politicians promises, the Mafia had a free hand across the island; and rational because it connected Tano the Greek's arrest with the discovery of the weapons. As the man responsible for these two powerful blows against organized crime, Salvo Montalbano had become a dangerous adversary, one who must be liquidated at all costs. Zito ridiculed the conjecture that the ambush might be an act of revenge for desecrating the dead. With what money would the assassins have been paid? With the obsolete coins that were found in the bowl?
The picture then switched back to the TeleVig newsman, who was now interviewing Alcide Maraventano, presented to the viewing public as a specialist in the occult. The defrocked priest was wearing a cassock sewn with multicolored patches and sucking from a baby bottle. In response to a series of insistent questions intended to make him acknowledge a possible connection between the ambush of the inspector and the supposed desecration, Maraventano, like a masterly, consummate actor, both did and did not acknowledge the possibility, leaving everyone in nebulous suspense.
Zito's cassette concluded with the logo of Ragoneses editorial segment. But then an unknown newsman appeared, saying that his colleague was prevented from airing his commentary that evening because he'd been the victim of a brutal assault. A group of hoodlums, still unidentified, had roughed him up and robbed him the night before, as he was returning home from his job at TeleVig. The newsman then launched into a violent attack on the police, accusing them of no longer being able to guarantee the safety of the citizenry.
"Why did Zito want you to see that report, which has nothing to do with you?" naly asked Livia, who was from the North and didn't understand certain insinuations.
...
Augello interrogated him, and Tortorella took it all down. He explained that he'd been schoolmates and friends with Gege and that their friendship had endured over the years, even though they found themselves on opposite sides of the barricade. He had them write in the report that Gege that evening, had asked to see him, but they'd managed to exchange only a few words, barely more than a greeting.
"He started to mention the weapons traffic, said he'd heard talk of something that might interest me, but he didn't get a chance to tell me what it was."
Augello pretended to believe this, and Montalbano went on to recount the various stages of the gunfight.
"Now it's your turn to tell me," he said to Mim.
"First sign the statement," said Augello.
Montalbano signed, and Tortorella said good-bye and headed back to headquarters.
"There wasn't much to tell," said Augello. "Ingrassia's car was overtaken by the motorcycle; the guy in back turned around, opened fire, and that was that. Ingrassia's car ended up in a ditch."
"They were pruning a dead branch," Montalbano commented. Then, with a touch of melancholy because he felt left out of the game: "What do you think you'll do?"
'The people in Catania, whom I've informed, promised not to let Brancato get away."
"We can always hope."
Augello didn't realize it, "but by informing his colleagues in Catania, he may have signed Brancato's death warrant. So who was it?"
Montalbano asked bluntly after a pause. "Who was what? Take a look at this."
He pressed the remote and showed him the segment reporting the news of the assault on Ragonese. Mim played the part of someone in the dark to perfection.
"You're asking me?"
"Anyway, it doesn't concern us"
"Ragonese lives in Montelusa."
"You're such an innocent, Mim. Here, bite my pinky."
And he held out his little finger to him, as one does to teething babies.
18
After a week, the visits, embraces, phone calls, and congratulations gave way to loneliness and boredom. He had persuaded Livia to go back to her cousin in Milan; there was no point in wasting her holidays. The planned trip to Cairo, for the moment, was out of the question. They agreed that Livia would fly back down as soon as Montalbano got out of the hospital. Only then would she decide how and where to spend her two remaining weeks of vacation.
And little by little, the uproar surrounding the inspector and what had happened likewise died down to a mere echo, before disappearing entirely. Every day, however, Augello or Fazio would come to keep him company. But they didn't stay long, just enough to tell him the latest news and the state of certain investigations.
Every morning when he opened his eyes, Montalbano made a point of devoting his thoughts and speculations to the dead couple of the Crasticeddru. He wondered when he would again have the chance to be alone, in precious silence, with no disturbance of any kind, so he could develop a sustained line of reasoning from which he might receive a flash, a spark. He needed to take advantage of this situation, he would say to himself, and he'd begin to replay the whole affair in his mind with the speed of a galloping horse. Soon, however, he would find himself moving at a lazy trot, then at a walk, and finally a kind of torpor would ever-so-slowly overwhelm him, body and mind.