18
“Oh, no you don’t!” Montalbano raved. “You can’t wreck my performance like that! It’s not fair! I’m supposed to be the one to say the name! You have to show more respect for your superiors!”
“I won’t say another word,” Fazio promised.
Montalbano calmed down, but Fazio couldn’t tell if he was seriously angry or only joking.
“How did you figure it out?”
“Chief, you went to Punta Raisi to confirm something. Until proven to the contrary, Punta Raisi is an airport. Now who, among the suspects, took an airplane? Spitaleri. Angelo Speciale and his stepson Ralf went by train. Correct?”
“Correct. So, when I heard the word ‘strike,’ it occurred to me that we had always taken for granted that Spitaleri’s alibi was true. I had also learned that when our colleagues in Fiacca, who were handling the case of the disappearance, had pressed Spitaleri with questions, he had wiggled out with the story of his trip to Bangkok.And I thought they’d checked it out.Which is why we never asked him to give us proof that he actually left for Bangkok that day.”
“But, Chief, we have indirect confirmation: Dipasquale and his secretary received a phone call from Spitaleri from a stopover along the way. And I’m convinced that phone call did take place.”
“Yes, but who says it came from a stopover? If you call me long-distance direct from a public phone or cell phone, I don’t know where you’re calling from.You can say you’re in Ambaradam or at the Arctic Circle, and I have no choice but to believe you.”
“True.”
“That’s why I went to police headquarters at Punta Raisi. They were very nice. It took four hours, but I was right on target.That October twelfth was a Wednesday. The Thai Airways flight takes off from Fiumicino in Rome at two-fifteen P.M. Spitaleri leaves for Punta Raisi to catch a plane to Fiumicino that should get him there in time to catch the other flight. But, once at Punta Raisi, he finds out that the plane that’s supposed to take him to Rome is delayed for two hours due to technical problems.Therefore he’s not going to make it in time to catch the plane to Bangkok. So he’s stranded at Punta Raisi. He manages to get his ticket changed to the next day. Not a big problem. The Thai flight for Thursday leaves Rome at two forty-five in the afternoon. Thus far, we’re on safe ground.”
“In what sense?”
“In the sense that we can document everything I’ve said. Now I’m going to make a conjecture.That Spitaleri, having nothing to do in Palermo, returns to Vigàta. I believe he took the Trapani road which, before getting here, passes by Montereale. He decides then to see if the work at Pizzo has been finished. Bear in mind that the decision to wait till the following day to bury the illegal apartment was made by Dipasquale, and therefore Spitaleri doesn’t know this.When he gets there, everybody’s gone: the masons, Speciale, Ralf. He can see, however, that the illegal floor has not been covered up. One can still get inside. At this point—and this is my boldest conjecture—he happens to notice Rina in the vicinity. And it must have occurred to him that he himself, at that moment, in that place, did not exist.”
“What do you mean, he didn’t exist?”
“Think. There’s no way Spitaleri can be at Pizzo at that time of the day. Everyone thinks he’s on his way to Bangkok and, what’s more, he hasn’t yet returned to Vigàta.Therefore nobody knows he never left. What better opportunity? So he calls his office from his cell phone.That way he confirms his alibi. He thinks everything is all set, but he makes a big mistake.”
“Namely?”
“The phone call itself. Apparently it had been at least three months since Spitaleri last went to Bangkok, because as of July, the Thai Airways flights from Rome became direct. There were no more stopovers.”
“And what happened next, in your opinion?”
“Always remember I’m sailing on the seas of hypothesis. Thinking he’s safe, he approaches Rina and, when he sees that the girl’s not interested, he pulls out the knife he always carries with him—which he also pointed at Ralf, as Adriana told us—and forces her into the underground apartment. You can imagine the rest.”
“No,” said Fazio. “I don’t want to imagine it.”
“And this also explains the contract.”
“The one with Speciale?”
“Exactly. The agreement he made with Speciale to fix up the house after amnesty was granted.There was one thing in it that seemed fishy to me, the bit about Speciale not being allowed to turn to any other business for the work. This meant Spitaleri wanted to be absolutely certain that he would be the one to dig out the illegal apartment, which would enable him to get rid of the trunk with the dead girl inside. This idea occurs to him while he’s abroad, and that’s why the moment he gets back, he races over to Speciale’s, hoping he’s still in Vigàta. Make sense to you?”
“Makes sense.”
“So, in your opinion, what should I do now?”
“What do you mean, what should you do? Tomorrow morning you go to Prosecutor Tommaseo, you tell him the whole story and—”
“And I take it you know where.”
“Why?”
“Because, since it involves somebody with connections like Spitaleri’s, Tommaseo will proceed as if he’s walking on eggshells. Not only. He’ll find himself confronted by lawyers who’ll eat him raw. Laying hands on Spitaleri means making life unpleasant for too many people: mafiosi, MP’s, mayors. Everyone around him’s on the take.”
“Chief, Tommaseo may have a habit of losing his head around women, but when it comes to integrity—”
“But Tommaseo will be surrounded! If you like, I’ll give you a little preview of Spitaleri’s line of defense:
“‘But on the morning of the twelfth, my client left Palermo on an earlier flight than the one that had the breakdown.’
“‘But Spitaleri’s name does not appear in any of the manifests of the earlier flights!’
“‘Yes, but Rossi’s does!’
“‘And who is this Rossi?’
“‘A passenger who gave up his seat, allowing Spitaleri to leave earlier to catch the flight to Bangkok.’”
“Can I do Tommaseo’s part?” asked Fazio.
“Sure.”
“‘So how do you explain the telephone call from a stopover that never occurred?’”
After asking the question, he eyed the inspector with a look of triumph on his face. Montalbano laughed.
“You know how the lawyer will respond? Like this:
“ ‘But my client called from Rome! The Thai flight that day took off at six-thirty P.M, not at two-fifteen!’”
“Is that really when it left?” asked Fazio.
“Yes. Except that Spitaleri didn’t know there would be a delay. He thought the flight was already on its way to Bangkok.”
Fazio twisted his face up in doubt.
“Of course, when you put it that way . . .”
“Don’t you see I’m right? Our case risks ending up like the Arab mason’s.”
“So, what do think we should do?”
“We absolutely have to obtain a confession.”
“Easy to say!”
“Look, there’s no guarantee that we’ll succeed in sending him to prison even with a confession. He’ll say we tortured and beat him into confessing. A confession is the minimum we need just to take him to court.”
“Okay, but how?”
“I’ve got a vague idea.”
“Really?”
“Yes. But I don’t want to talk about it here. Could we meet at my place tonight, around ten-thirty?”
It was eight o’clock when he got back to Marinella.The first thing he did was go out on the veranda.
There wasn’t a breath of wind. The air felt like a heavy mantle that had been cast over the earth.The heat absorbed by the sand during the day was only now beginning to rise in a vapor, making the atmosphere feel hotter and more humid. The sea seemed dead, the white foam of the surf a kind of drool.
His agitation over Adriana’s visit and the things he would have to ask her made him sweat as if he were in a sauna.
He took off his clothes and went to the refrigerator in only his underpants. He was dumbstruck. He remembered that he hadn’t looked inside the fridge since Adelina told him she was going to make him enough food for two days.
What he was looking at wasn’t the inside of a refrigerator, but a corner of LaVuccirìa, the great Palermo market. He inhaled the scent of dish after dish, and it was all still fresh.
He set the table on the veranda. He brought out green olives, cured black
passuluna
olives, celery, caciocavallo cheese, and six dishes, one with fresh anchovies, one with
calamaretti,
another with
purpiteddri,
another with squid, another with tuna, and another with sea snails. Each was dressed in a different manner, and there were still other things to eat in the fridge.
Afterwards he took a shower, changed his clothes, and decided to call Livia. He needed to hear her voice at the very least. Perhaps to steel himself for Adriana’s imminent visit? He was greeted by the same recording of a woman’s voice telling him that the telephone of the person he’d called was either turned off or unreachable.
Unreachable! What the hell was that supposed to mean?
But why was Livia making herself unavailable at the very moment he needed her most? Was it possible she couldn’t hear the silent SOS he was sending her? Was the young lady perhaps too distracted by the diversions, indeed the entertainments, being provided by cousin Massimiliano?
As he grew more and more furious, not knowing whether the cause was a bout of jealousy or wounded pride, the doorbell rang. He was unable to move. A second ring, longer this time.
He finally went to open the door, walking like a combination of a condemned man on his way to the electric chair and a fifteen-year-old on his first date, already drenched in sweat.
Adriana, wearing jeans and a blouse, kissed him lightly on the lips, as if they’d long been intimate, and entered the house, brushing against him.
How could it be that in this terrible heat the girl always smelled so cool and fresh?
“It took some doing,” she said, “but I finally made it here! Would you believe I feel sort of moved? Let me see.”
“See what?”
“Your house.”
She had a careful look around, room after room, as if she was going to buy it.
“What side do you sleep on?” she asked, standing at the foot of the bed.
“Over there.Why?”
“No reason. Just curious.What’s your girlfriend’s name?”
“Livia.”
“Where’s she from?”
“Genoa.”
“Let me see the picture.”
“Of what?”
“Your girlfriend, what else?”
“I haven’t got one.”
“Come on, I won’t eat it.”
“It’s true, I haven’t got any.”
“Why not?”
“Dunno.”
“Where’s she now?”
“She’s unreachable.”
It had slipped out. Adriana gave him a confused look.
“She’s on a boat with other friends,” he explained.
Why hadn’t he told her the truth?
“Everything’s ready on the veranda, come,” he said, to steer her away from that delicate subject.
Seeing the table set, Adriana balked.
“It’s true I like to eat, but all this stuff . . . God, it’s so beautiful here!”
“You sit down first.”
Adriana sat down on the bench but slid over only a little, so that in order for Montalbano to sit down, he practically had to press against her.
“I don’t like this,” said Adriana.
“You don’t like what?”
“Sitting this way.”
“You’re right, it’s too tight. If you would just slide over a little . . .”
“That’s not what I meant. I don’t like eating without looking at you.”
Montalbano went to get a chair and sat down in front of her.
He, too, felt better with a little distance between them.
But how was it that, even as the night progressed, the heat remained so intense?
“Could I have a little wine?”
He took out a strong, chilled white. It went down the throat like a dream.There were two more bottles of it in the fridge.
“Before I begin, I have to ask you something I’m anxious to know.”
“I haven’t got a boyfriend. And right at this moment I’m not with anyone.”
The inspector felt embarrassed.
“That’s not what . . . I didn’t mean . . . Do you know Spitaleri personally?”
“The builder? The one who saved Rina from Ralf ? No, we were never introduced.”
“How come? After all, you and your sister lived just a few yards away from his worksite.”
“True. But, you see, during that period I was living more with my aunt and uncle in Montelusa than with my parents in Pizzo. I never met him.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“What about afterwards? During the search for Rina?”
“My aunt and uncle took me back to Montelusa almost immediately. My parents were too involved with the search, they couldn’t sleep, couldn’t eat. My aunt and uncle wanted to take me away from that stressful atmosphere.”
“More recently?”
“I don’t think so. I didn’t go to the funeral, I stayed away from the television interviews. Only one newspaper wrote that Rina had a sister, but they didn’t specify that we were twins.”
“Shall we start eating?”
“Gladly.Why did you ask me about Spitaleri?”
“I’ll tell you later.”
“You’d said earlier there was some news.”
“We’ll talk about that later, too.”
They were eating in silence, occasionally looking each other in the eye, when all of a sudden Montalbano felt one of Adriana’s knees press against his. He spread his legs slightly, and the girl’s leg slid between them.Then, with her other leg, Adriana took one of his prisoner, squeezing it hard.