Authors: Andrea Camilleri
Youll never take me alive, said the kid, and he shot his
water pistol at the inspector, hitting him square in the forehead.
The scuffle that followed was brief, and as the disarmed
child started to cry, Montalbano cold-bloodedly squirted him
in the face, drenching him.
What is this? Whats going on here?
The little angels mother, Signora Gullotta, had nothing
in common with the young mother next door. As a preliminary
measure she slapped her son hard, then she grabbed the
water pistol the inspector had let fall to the floor and hurled
it out the window.
There! Thatll put an end to all this aggravation!
With a heartrending wail, the little boy ran into another
room.
Its his fathers fault, always buying him these toys! Hes
out of the house all day long, doesnt give a damn, and Im
stuck here to look after that little demon! And what do you
want?
Im Inspector Montalbano. Did Mr. Lapra by any
chance come up to your apartment this morning?
Mr. Lapra? To our apartment? Why would he do
that?
Thats what Im asking you.
I guess I knew the man, but it was never anything more
than good morning, good evening . . . Not a word more.
Perhaps your husband
My husband never spoke to Lapra. Anyway, when
could he have? The guys always out. He just doesnt give
a damn.
Where is your husband?
Hes out, as you can see.
Yes, but where does he work?
At the port, at the fish market. Hes up at four-thirty in
the morning and back at eight in the evening. Im lucky I
ever see him at all.
An understanding woman, this Mrs. Gullotta.
On the door to the third and last apartment on the fifth floor
was the name piccirillo. The woman who answered the
door, a distinguished-looking fifty-year-old, was clearly upset
and nervous.
What do you want?
Im Inspector Montalbano.
The woman looked away.
We dont know anything.
Montalbano immediately smelled a rat. Could this woman
have been the reason Lapra went one flight up?
Let me in. I still have to ask you some questions.
Signora Piccirillo gruffly stepped aside to let him in, then
led him into a small but pleasant sitting room.
Is your husband at home?
Im a widow. I live with my daughter, Luigina, whos
unmarried.
Call her in here, if shes at home.
Luigina!
A jeans-clad girl in her early twenties appeared. Cute but
very pale, and literally terrified.
The rat smell grew even stronger, and the inspector decided
to go on the attack.
This morning Mr. Lapra came to see you here.
What did he want?
No! said Luigina, almost yelling.
He didnt, I swear it! the mother proclaimed.
What was your relation to Mr. Lapra?
We knew him by sight, said Mrs. Piccirillo.
We havent done anything wrong, Luigina whined.
Well, listen closely: if you havent done anything wrong,
you shouldnt be afraid. We have a witness who claims that
Mr. Lapra was on the fifth floor when
But why hold that against us? There are two other families
living on this floor who
Stop it! Luigina exploded, in the throes of an hysterical
fit. Stop it, Mama! Tell him everything! Tell him!
Oh, all right. This morning, my daughter, on her way
out for an appointment at the hairdressers, called the elevator,
which arrived at once. It must have been stopped at the
floor below us, the fourth floor.
What time was it?
Eight oclock, five past ...She opened the door and
saw Mr. Lapra sitting on the floor. When I looked inside
the elevatorId gone out with her to wait for itthe man
seemed drunk. He had a bottle of wine, unopened, and,
uh...it looked like hed soiled himself. My daughter felt
disgusted. She closed the elevator door and started going
down the stairs. At that moment the elevator left, somebody
downstairs had called it. Well, my daughter has a delicate
stomach, and that sight made us both a little queasy. So Luigina
went back inside to freshen up, and so did I. Not five
minutes later, Mrs. Gullotta came and told us that poor Mr.
Lapra wasnt drunk at all, but dead! And thats the whole
story.
No, said Montalbano. Thats not the whole story.
What did you say? I told you the truth! the woman
said, upset and offended.
The truth is slightly different and more unpleasant. You
both immediately realized the man was dead. But you didnt
say anything; you acted as if youd never seen him at all. Why?
We didnt want our names ending up on everyones lips,
Signora Piccirillo admitted in defeat. Then in a sudden burst of
energy, she shouted hysterically: Were honest people!
So those two honest people had left the corpse to be discovered
by someone else, perhaps someone less honest. And
what if Lapra hadnt been dead yet? Theyd left him there
to rot, to save . . . to save what?
He went out, slamming the door behind him, and found
Fazio, who was on his way to keep him company, standing
before him.
Here I am, Inspector. If you need anything
An idea flashed in his brain.
Yes, I do need something. Knock on this door. There
are two women inside, mother and daughter. Failure to offer
assistance. Haul em in, and make as much racket as possible. I
want everyone in the building to think theyve been arrested.
Then, when I get back to headquarters, well let em go.
Upon opening the door, Mr. Culicchia, an accountant who
lived in the first apartment on the fourth floor, gave the inspector
a little push backwards.
We cant let my wife hear us, he said, standing outside
the doorway.
Im Inspector
I know, I know. Did you bring me back my bottle?
What bottle? Montalbano asked in shock, staring at
the skinny seventy-year-old, who had assumed a conspiratorial
air.
The one that was next to the dead man, the bottle of
Corvo white.
Wasnt it Mr. Lapras?
Absolutely not! Its mine!
Im sorry, I dont quite understand. Explain.
I went out this morning to go shopping, and when I
got back, I opened the elevator door, and there was Mr.
Lapra inside, dead. I realized it at once.
Did you call the elevator?
Why would I do that? It was already on the ground
floor.
And what did you do?
What could I have done, my boy? Ive got injuries to
my left leg and right arm. Got shot by the Americans. I had
four bags in each hand. I couldnt very well have taken the
stairs now, could I?
Are you telling me you came up in the elevator with
the body inside?
I had no choice! But then, when the elevator stopped at
my floor, which was also the deceaseds floor, the bottle of
wine rolled out of one of my bags. So I opened the door to
my apartment, took all the bags inside, and then came back
out to get the bottle. But I didnt get back in time; some-
bodyd called the elevator to the next floor up.
How is that possible if the door was open!
But it wasnt! Id closed it without thinking! Ah, the
mind! At my age one doesnt think so clearly anymore. I
didnt know what to do. If my wife found out Id lost a bottle
of wine shed skin me alive. You must believe me, Inspector.
Shes capable of anything, that woman.
Tell me what happened next.
The elevator passed by in front of me again and went
down to the ground floor. So I started going down the stairs.
When I finally arrived, bum leg and all, I found the security
guard there, who wasnt letting anyone get near. I told him
about the wine and he promised hed mention it to the authorities.
Are you the authorities?
In a sense.
Did the guard mention the bottle of wine to you?
No.
So what am I supposed to do now? Eh? What am I supposed
to do? That woman counts the money I spend! he
complained, wringing his hands.
Upstairs they could hear the desperate voices of the Piccirillo
women, and Fazios imperious commands:
Down the stairs! On foot! And keep quiet!
Doors opened, questions were asked aloud from floor to
floor.
Whos been arrested? The Piccirillo girls? Are they
being taken away? Are they going to jail?
When Fazio came within reach, Montalbano handed him
ten thousand lire.
After youve taken them to headquarters, go buy a bottle
of Corvo white and bring it to this gentleman here.
Montalbanos interrogation of the other tenants did not yield
any important new information. The only one who said anything
of interest was the elementary-school teacher Bonavia,
who lived on the third floor. He explained to the inspector
that his eight-year-old son Matteo had fallen down and
bloodied his nose when getting ready for school. As it
wouldnt stop bleeding, he had taken him to the emergency
room. This was around seven-thirty, and there was no trace of
Mr. Lapra, dead or alive, in the elevator.
Aside from the elevator rides hed taken as a corpse, two
things about the deceased seemed clear to Montalbano: one,
he was a decent man, but decidedly unpleasant; and two, he
was killed in the elevator, between seven thirty-five and eight
oclock.
Since the murderer had run the risk of being surprised
with the corpse in the elevator by a tenant, this meant the
crime had not been premeditated, but committed on impulse.
It wasnt much to go on. Back at headquarters, the inspector
thought about this a little, then glanced at his watch.
Two oclock! No wonder he felt so famished. He called
Fazio.
Im going to Calogeros for some lunch. If Augello arrives
in the meantime, send him to me. And one more thing:
post a guard in front of the deceaseds apartment. Dont let
her in before I get there.
Dont let who in?
The victims wife, Mrs. Lapra. Are the Piccirillos
still here?
Yessir.
Send em home.
Whatll I tell them?
Tell em the investigation is continuing. Let those honest
people shit their pants a little.
3
What can I serve you today?
Whatve you got?
For the first course, whatever you like.
No first course for me today, Id rather keep it light.
For the main course, Ive prepared alalonga allagrodolce,
and hake in a sauce of anchovies.
Going in for haute cuisine, eh, Cal
Now and then I get the urge.
Bring me a generous serving of the hake. Ah, and, while
Im waiting, make me a nice plate of seafood antipasto.
He was overcome by doubt. Was that a light meal? He
left the question unanswered and opened the newspaper. It
turned out that the little economic measure the government
had promised would not be for fifteen billion lire, but twenty.
There were sure to be price increases, gasoline and cigarettes
among them. The unemployment rate in the South had
reached a figure that was better left unmentioned. The
Northern League, after their tax revolt, had decided to expel
the local prefects, a first step towards secession. Thirty youths
in a town near Naples had gang-raped an Ethiopian girl. The
town was defending them: the black girl was not only black,
but a whore. An eight-year-old boy had hung himself. Three
pushers were arrested, average age twelve. A twenty-year-old
man had blown his brains out playing Russian roulette. A
jealous old man of eighty
Heres your appetizer.
And a good thing too. A few more news items and his
appetite would have been gone. Then eight pieces of hake arrived,
enough to feed four people. They were crying out
their joythe pieces of hake, that isat having been cooked
the way God had meant them to be. One whiff was enough
to convey the dishs perfection, achieved by the right amount
of breadcrumbs and the delicate balance between the anchovies
and the whisked egg.
He brought the first bite to his mouth, but did not swallow
it immediately. He let the flavor spread sweetly and uniformly
over his tongue and palate, allowing both to fully
appreciate the gift theyd just been given. Then he swallowed,
and Mimugello appeared in front of the table.
Sit down.
Mimugello sat down.
I wouldnt mind a bite myself, he said.
Do whatever you want, but dont talk. Im telling you
as a brother, for your own good. Dont talk for any reason in
the world. If you interrupt me while Im eating this hake, Im
liable to wring your neck.
Could I have some spaghetti with clams? Mimunfazed,
asked Calogero as he was passing by.
White sauce or red?
White.
While waiting, Augello appropriated the inspectors
newspaper and started reading. When the spaghetti arrived,
Montalbano had fortunately finished his hake. Fortunately,
because Mimroceeded to sprinkle a generous helping of
Parmesan cheese over his plate. Christ! Even a hyena, which,
being a hyena, feeds on carrion, would have been sickened to
see a dish of pasta with clam sauce covered with Parmesan!
How did you act with the commissioner?
What do you mean?
I just want to know if you licked his ass or his balls.
What on earth are you thinking?
Cmon, MimI know you. You pounced on the case of
the machine-gunned Tunisian just to make a good impression.
I merely did my duty, since you were nowhere to be
found.
Apparently the Parmesan was not enough, as he added
two more spoonfuls, then ground a bit of pepper on top.
And how did you enter the prefects office, on your
hands and knees?
Knock it off, Salvo.
Why should I? Since you never miss a single opportunity
to stab me in the back!
I? Stab you in the back? Listen, Salvo, if after working
for four years with you I had really wanted to stab you in the
back, youd now be running the most godforsaken police station
in the most godforsaken backwater in Sardinia, while I
would be vice-commissioner at the very least. You know
what you are, Salvo? Youre a colander that leaks water out of