A Voice in the Night (7 page)

‘Too many worries.’

‘Inspector, don’t you know that worries are the worst enemies there are of your stomach and your cock, if you’ll pardon my language?’

‘But you can’t always control what’s going through your head. I’m sorry, because your pasta was magnificent.’

Even the customary stroll along the jetty to the lighthouse failed to dispel his bad mood.

*

‘According to what everyone says, Tumminello has always been an honest, upstanding man,’ Fazio began. ‘Fired from his first job at thirty, he found his present
stint as a nightwatchman shortly afterwards, when a relative of his wife became one of the founding members of the security firm. He’s not known to have any secret girlfriends or other
vices. He’s a family man, all work and no play.’

‘Listen, Fazio, I tried to persuade his wife to file a missing-persons report, but didn’t succeed. You should try again yourself.’

‘Already taken care of.’

God, what a pain!

‘You went to see her?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘How was she?’

‘Desperate.’

‘And what did she say to you?’

‘She said she’s too superstitious to file a missing-persons report. She’s convinced that if she does, her husband really will disappear.’

‘She said the same thing to me. So my question is: does she think her husband only pretended to disappear?’

Fazio threw up his hands.

‘How do you see things?’ the inspector asked him.

‘I already told you. The whole thing looks really bad to me.’

‘Meaning?’

‘That as Tumminello was passing in front of the supermarket at that hour of the night, the poor bastard saw someone opening one of the doors . . .’

‘But he wasn’t worried because he recognized him,’ Montalbano continued. ‘It was someone belonging to the company that owns the supermarket.’

‘Exactly. So he continues his rounds, completes his shift, and goes home to bed. When the burglar calls him at home and his wife wakes him up, the poor guy has no reason not to believe
what the man says. He really thinks he’s calling from the institution.’

‘Also bear in mind that he still knows nothing about the robbery. Nobody’s had any time to inform him yet.’

‘Exactly. The minute he steps out of his house he finds the burglar there waiting for him. And he has no reason not to trust him. He may even have accepted his offer for a ride. And so
he’s fucked.’

‘Poor guy,’ was Montalbano’s only comment.

After a moment of silence, Fazio spoke up: ‘To conclude, if things are the way we think they are, this burglary has led to a murder and a suicide.’

‘Two murders.’

Fazio stopped and stared at the inspector for a moment, speechless and open-mouthed. Then he got it.

‘The manager!’

‘Exactly.’

The inspector then told him everything he’d learned from Pasquano.

‘There’s something about this whole thing that doesn’t convince me,’ Fazio said at the end.

‘What do you mean?’

‘I think the total amount of money stolen from the supermarket comes to under twenty thousand euros.’

‘So?’

‘Isn’t that a little skimpy to justify two murders?’

‘What are you saying? Let me remind you first of all that people nowadays will kill just to snatch five hundred euros from a pensioner’s hands. And secondly, don’t forget that
if it had been any other supermarket that had been robbed, I would certainly agree with you. But robbing the Cuffaros is another matter. If they catch you, you’re dead, there’s no
getting around it.’

‘That’s true.’

Montalbano had an idea. But he didn’t want to tell Fazio about it right away. He thought it over first, then made up his mind.

‘Listen, tell me something: is the supermarket still closed?’

‘Yes, until the day after tomorrow.’

‘Do you know whether anyone’s gone in after the suicide?’

‘Who would go in? Tommaseo had the place sealed off at my request.’

Good man, Fazio!

‘And do you know where Borsellino’s copy of the keys ended up?’

‘No. Probably in one of his pockets. His clothes are all at Dr Pasquano’s lab at the institute.’

‘Call him right now. Oh, and listen: don’t speak directly to him – talk to his assistant. Otherwise Pasquano’s liable to go ballistic and never stop. Call from
here.’

The answer was yes: everything that belonged to Borsellino was still with Pasquano.

‘Go there straight away, get everything, and bring it back to me here. I’ll wait for you.’

‘The clothes too?’

‘The clothes too.’

*

At the Institute for Forensic Medicine, Fazio found Borsellino’s shirt, vest, pants, socks, and shoes. In the trouser pockets they’d found a handkerchief, a set of
keys, and nine euros in coins of different sizes.

‘The jacket and tie are missing,’ Fazio observed to Montalbano.

‘I remember clearly that when he was hanging from the beam he wasn’t wearing either. The killers must have taken them off the body, since you can’t really hang yourself in a
jacket and tie. You’ve got more freedom of movement in shirtsleeves.’

‘So the jacket and tie should still be at the supermarket.’

‘They almost certainly are. I think I even remember seeing them hanging in the office. But look at this shirt. Do you remember the one he was wearing when he called us about the
burglary?’

‘Yeah, I think it was dark blue.’

‘I think so too. Whereas this one is white. Which means that there’s no way that Borsellino, as they want us to believe, hanged himself as soon as we left because he was upset over our
interrogation. Pasquano’s right. Borsellino went home, had a little something to eat – he wasn’t very hungry, given all the worries he had on his mind – changed his shirt
– remember how much he sweated in front of us? – and then went back to the supermarket.’

‘Then he must’ve got a phone call, or a knock at the door, at which point he let his killers in.’

‘Something like that,’ said the inspector.

Then, looking Fazio in the eye, he added:

‘Maybe we should go and have a look at the office.’

‘We would need the prosecutor’s authorization.’

‘And what would I say to him? If Pasquano had written his doubts into the report, it would be easy . . .’

‘Can I ask a question?’

‘Of course.’

‘Why didn’t Pasquano want to mention the bruises?’

‘He said it wouldn’t stand up in court. But in my opinion he’s just protecting himself.’

‘From what?’

‘My dear Fazio, do you somehow think that Pasquano, as well informed as he is, doesn’t know that the Cuffaros are behind this whole affair? He must have decided that it
wouldn’t hurt to be a little careful.’

‘So, you were saying?’ Fazio asked.

‘I was saying that since we’ve got nothing to show Tommaseo, I don’t think it’s such a good idea to go and stir him up.’

‘You’re right,’ said Fazio, already knowing where the inspector wanted to go with this.

And indeed:

‘You feel like coming with me tonight?’

‘To the supermarket?’

‘Where else do you think I’d want to go? Dancing?’

Fazio didn’t hesitate for a second.

‘OK.’

‘Listen, to save time, I want you to do something for me. Go and see which of these keys open the front door to Borsellino’s building and his apartment. So we don’t waste time
fumbling around in front of the supermarket. Then come by my place to pick me up around twelve-thirty, one o’clock.’

‘Chief, the later it is, the better.’

‘Then come by some time after one.’

But Fazio didn’t get up from his chair.

‘What is it?’

‘Chief, you really need to think hard before doing something like this.’

‘Meaning?’

‘If they find out we entered the supermarket with no authorization, there could be some serious consequences.’

‘Are you worried that the commissioner—’

‘No, Chief, don’t insult me. Nothing the commissioner says could ever make any difference to me.’

‘And so?’

‘I’m afraid that if anybody ever finds out – say, the Honourable Mongibello – they’re liable to claim that we went into the supermarket to plant false
evidence.’

‘That you can bank on. But we’ll make sure nobody ever finds out.’

*

Back at home he wolfed down another abundant helping of octopus. He had all the time in the world to digest. Then he cleared the table and went back out onto the veranda with a
pack of cigarettes, half a glass of whisky, and a local newspaper. Naturally it featured an article about the supermarket burglary and the manager’s suicide. The reporter seemed almost to
have written the piece under dictation. He never mentioned the inspector’s or Augello’s names. Everything revolved around the central thesis that the shop’s proceeds had been
stolen by the manager himself, who, upon realizing he’d been found out, had hanged himself.

‘Amen,’ said Montalbano.

At midnight he turned on the television.

Pippo Ragonese, more purse-lipped than ever, was saying that even admitting that the manager himself robbed the shop, this did not justify Inspector Montalbano’s brutal methods, which were
the real reason the unfortunate Mr Borsellino had hanged himself.

‘Since when has a death sentence been the punishment for theft in
our country?’
he asked rhetorically at one point.

‘I’ll tell you since when,’ Montalbano answered. ‘Ever since your government made it legal for people to shoot at thieves.’

He turned the television off and went and had a shower.

*

At twelve-thirty, Livia rang.

‘Sorry for calling so late, but I went to the movies with a friend. Were you already in bed?’

‘No, I have to go out on a job.’

‘At this time of the night?’

‘At this time of the night.’

He heard her mutter something but couldn’t understand what she said.

‘What did you say?’

‘Nothing.’

But the way she’d said ‘nothing’ let Montalbano know what she was thinking. And he flew into a rage.

‘Livia, you continue to make a fuss over something we’ve discussed time and time again. I’m not some clerk with a fixed schedule. I don’t get off work at five-thirty in
the afternoon and go home. I—’

‘Wait a second. What are you getting so worked up about?’

‘Why shouldn’t I get worked up? You’re trying to insinuate that—’

‘I’m not trying to insinuate anything. I asked you a simple question and you flew off the handle. You must admit, however, that you policemen have the best excuses for staying out
all night.’

‘Excuses?!’

‘Yes, excuses. How could I ever verify that you’re going out for work?’

‘Verify?!’

‘Stop repeating what I say, please.’

Montalbano started seeing red.

‘And how could I ever verify that you were at the movies this evening with a friend?’

‘So who would I have gone with, in your opinion?’

‘How should I know? Maybe your little cousin, the one you spent a summer with on his boat!’

The spat was gargantuan this time.

*

Fazio arrived at quarter past one.

‘Are we going in my car or yours?’ he asked.

‘Let’s take yours.’

On their way there, the inspector said:

‘When we were at the station I forgot to mention that you should find out what time the nightwatchmen normally pass by the supermarket.’

‘Well, I didn’t forget.’

Which was the exact equivalent of the damn ‘already taken care of’. A simple variation on the theme. Montalbano bit his lower lip to avoid reacting the wrong way. ‘What did you
find out?’

‘That the nightwatchman checks the bank around one-thirty. He should already have come and gone by the time we get to the supermarket.’

‘And when does he come by again?’

‘An hour later.’

‘We don’t have a lot of time.’

‘No need to worry. The office is at the back of the supermarket. The nightwatchman won’t be able to see us back there.’

He was silent for a few moments and then said:

‘I wanted to ask you something, Chief.’

‘So go ahead.’

‘What are you looking for in that office?’

‘I’m not going there to search for anything.’

‘Then what are we going there for?’

‘I want to have another look at the office.’

Fazio didn’t understand.

‘But haven’t you already seen it a hundred times?’

‘I have, but always with different eyes.’

‘Can you explain a little better?’

‘When I went in there the first time, the office had been the scene of a burglary. So I looked at it as a place where a burglary had occurred. Then I went back there because it had been
the scene of a suicide. And so I saw it as a place where someone had committed suicide. Later Pasquano told me that it was a murder, not a suicide, that had taken place there. But I haven’t
had a chance to look at it again from that perspective. That’s what we’re going to do now.’

*

Fazio parked two streets away.

‘It’s better if it isn’t seen anywhere nearby.’ Then, instead of heading for the four main metal rolling shutters, he turned the corner and made for the back of the
supermarket.

‘The back door is the service entrance, Chief. It’s where they bring in the merchandise, where the cleaning ladies and staff enter. There aren’t any streets running past
it.’

This was true.

The back of the supermarket gave onto a large stretch of concrete that was fenced off and served as a parking area for delivery lorries.

Beyond the fence was the open countryside.

Fazio unstuck a part of the tape that held up the sheet of paper representing the police seal, then in the twinkling of an eye he opened the door, let the inspector in, followed him in, and
closed the door behind them.

Walking in complete darkness towards the manager’s office, at one point Montalbano stepped on a tin can and began skating along the floor, swearing like a madman and unable to stop his
advance, finally crashing into a stack of little tubs of detergent, making a terrible racket.