IM8 The Patience of the Spider (2007) Page 15

  Legal offices of Francesco Luna, said a female voice.

  This is Inspector Montalbano. Is Mr. Luna there?

  Yes, but hes in a meeting. Let me see if he picks up.

  Various noises, recorded music.

  My dear friend, said Luna. I cant talk to you right now. Are you in your office?

  No, Im at home. You want the number?

  Please.

  Montalbano gave it to him.

  Ill call you back in about ten minutes, said the lawyer.

  The inspector noted that during their brief exchange, Luna didnt once call him by his name or title. One could only imagine what sort of clients he was meeting with; no doubt they would have been troubled to hear the word inspector.

  About half an hour passed, give or take a few minutes, before the phone rang.

  Inspector Montalbano? Please excuse the delay, but first I was with some people and then I thought Id better call you from a safe phone.

  What are you saying, Mr. Luna? Have the phones to your office been tapped?

  Im not sure, but the way things are going . . . What did you want to tell me?

  Nothing you dont already know.

  Are you referring to the bag full of clippings?

  Exactly. You realize, of course, that this development is a serious impediment to the resuscitation of Peruzzos reputation, to which youd asked me to contribute.

  Silence, as if theyd been cut off.

  Hello? said Montalbano.

  Im still here. Answer me sincerely, Inspector: Do you think that if Id known there was only scrap paper inside that well, I would have told you and Inspector Minutolo?

  No.

  Well, the moment he heard the news, my client called me up, extremely upset. He was in tears. He realized that this discovery was like cementing his feet and throwing him into the sea. Death by drowning, with no chance of ever coming back to the surface. Inspector, that duffel bag was not his. Hed put his money in a suitcase.

  Can he prove it?

  No.

  And how does he explain that police found a duffel instead of a suitcase?

  He cant explain it.

  And hed put the money in this suitcase?

  Of course. Lets say roughly sixty-two bundles of five- hundred-euro bills totaling three million ninety-eight thousand euros and seventy-four cents, rounded off to the euro, and equaling six billion old lire.

  And you believe that?

  Inspector, I have to believe my client. But the point is not whether I believe him. Its whether the public believes him.

  But there may be a way to prove that your client is telling the truth.

  Oh, really? What?

  Simple. As you yourself said, Mr. Peruzzo had very little time to scrape together the ransom money. Therefore there must be bank documents with the related data attesting to the withdrawal of the amount. All you have to do is make these documents public, and your client will have proved his absolute good faith.

  Deep silence. Did you hear me, Counsel? Of course. Its the same solution I promptly suggested to

  him myself. So, as you can see Theres a problem. What? Mr. Peruzzo didnt get the money from any banks. Oh, no? Then where did he get it? My client agreed not to reveal the names of those who

  so generously consented to assist him at this delicate moment. In short, nothing was written down on paper. Out of what filthy, stinking sewer had come the hand that

  gave Peruzzo the money? Then the situation seems hopeless to me. To me, too, Inspector. So hopeless, in fact, that Im begin

  ning to wonder if my counsel is still of any use to Mr. Peruzzo. So the rats, too, were getting ready to abandon the sinking ship.

  The press conference began at five-thirty sharp. Behind a large table sat Minutolo, the judge, the commissioner, and Dr.

  Lattes. The conference hall was packed with journalists, photographers, and cameramen. Nicolto and Pippo Ragonese were there, too, at a proper distance from one another. The first to speak was Commissioner Bonetti-Alderighi, who thought it best to start at the beginningthat is, to explain how the kidnapping came about. He pointed out that this first part of the account was based on declarations made by the girl. On the evening of the abduction, Susanna Mistretta was returning home on her moped, along the road she normally took, when, at the intersection with the San Gerlando trail, right near her house, a car pulled up beside her and forced her to turn onto the dirt road to avoid collision. Upset and confused by the incident, Susanna barely had time to stop before two men got out of the car, their heads covered by ski masks. One of them lifted her bodily and threw her into the car.

  Susanna was too stunned to react. The man removed her helmet, pressed a cotton wad to her nose and mouth, gagged her, tied her hands behind her back, and made her lie down at his feet.

  In confusion, the girl heard the other man get back in the car, take the wheel, and drive off. At this point she lost consciousness. Investigators hypothesize that the second man had gone to remove the motorbike from the road.

  When Susanna woke up, she was in total darkness. She was still gagged, but her hands had been untied. She realized she was in an isolated place. Moving about in the dark, she gathered that shed been put inside some sort of concrete vat at least ten feet deep. There was an old mattress on the ground. She spent the first night this way, despairing not so much over her own situation, but for her dying mother. Then she must

  have drifted off to sleep. She woke up when someone turned on a light, a lamp of the sort used by mechanics to light up a cars motor. Two men in ski masks were watching her. One of them took out a small portable cassette recorder, and the other came down into the vat on a ladder. The man with the tape recorder said something while the other removed Susannas gag. She cried for help, and the gag was put back on. They returned a short while later. One of them came down the same ladder, removed her gag, then climbed back up. The other took a Polaroid snapshot of her. They never gagged her again. To bring her foodalways cannedthey always used the ladder, which they would lower each time. In one corner of the vat there was a pail for bodily functions. As of that moment the light remained on.

  At no time during her confinement was Susanna subjected to any mistreatment. She had no way, however, to attend to her personal hygiene. Nor did she ever hear her abductors speak. And they never once answered her questions or addressed her in any manner. They didnt even say she was about to be freed when they had her come up out of the vat. Later Susanna was able to lead investigators to where she was released. And there, in fact, police found the rope and the handkerchief that had been used to gag her. In conclusion, the commissioner said, the girl was in fairly good condition, considering the terrible ordeal shed just been through.

  Lattes then pointed to a journalist, who stood up and asked why they couldnt interview the girl.

  Because the investigation is still ongoing, replied the judge.

  In short, was the ransom paid or not? asked Zito.

  Were not at liberty to reveal that right now, the judge answered again. At this point Pippo Ragonese stood up. His lips were pursed so tightly that the words came out compressed.

  Id like nt task a questn bt tmake a sttmnt

  Speak clearly! shouted the Greek chorus of journalists.

  I want to make a statement, not to ask a question. Shortly before I came here, our studios received a phone call that was forwarded to me. I recognized the voice of the same kidnapper who had phoned me before. He declared, and I quote, that the ransom had not been paid, and that although the person who was supposed to pay had tricked them, they had decided to set the girl free anyway, because they didnt want to have a death on their conscience.

  Mayhem broke out. People leapt to their feet, gesticulating, other people ran out of the room, the judge inveighed against Ragonese. The uproar got so loud that you couldnt understand a word anyone was saying. Montalbano turned off the television, went out on the veranda, and sat down.

  Livia got home an hour later and found S
alvo looking out at

  the sea. She didnt seem the least bit angry.

  Where were you?

  I dropped in to say hi to Beba and then went over to Kolymbetra. Promise me youll go there one of these days. And where were you? You didnt even phone to say you werent coming home for lunch.

  Im sorry, Livia, but

  Dont apologize. I have no desire to quarrel with you.

  These are our last few hours together, and I dont want to spoil them.

  She flitted about the house a bit, then did something she almost never did. She went and sat on his lap and held him tight. She stayed there awhile, in silence. Then:

  Shall we go inside? she whispered in his ear.

  Before going into the bedroom Montalbano, for one reason or another, unplugged the telephone.

  As they lay in each others arms, dinnertime passed. And after- dinnertime as well.

  Im so happy Susannas kidnapping was solved before I left, Livia said at a certain point.

  Yeah, replied the inspector.

  Hed managed to forget about the abduction for a few hours. But he was instinctively grateful to Livia for having reminded him of it. Why? What did gratitude have to do with it? He had no explanation.

  As they ate they spoke little. Livias imminent departure weighed heavy on both their minds.

  She got up from the table and went to finish packing. At some point he heard Livia call from the other room:

  Salvo, did you take the book of yours I was reading?

  No.

  It was a novel by Simenon, Monsieur Hire.

  Livia came and sat beside him on the veranda.

  I cant find it. I wanted to bring it with me so I can finish it.

  The inspector had a hunch where it might be. He got up.

  Where are you going? Ill be right back. The book was where he thought it would be, in the bed

  room, caught between the wall and the head of the bed, having fallen off the nightstand. He bent down, picked it up, and put it on top of the already closed suitcase. He went back out on the veranda.

  I found it, he said, and started to sit back down. Where? asked Livia. Montalbano froze, thunderstruck. One foot slightly

  raised, body leaning slightly forward. As if in the throes of a

  back spasm. He held so still that Livia got scared. Salvo, whats wrong? He was powerless to move. His legs had turned to lead,

  but his brain kept whirring, all the gears spinning at high

  speed, happy to be finally turning the right way. My God, Salvo, are you ill? No. Ever so slowly, he felt his blood, no longer petrified, begin to

  flow again. He managed to sit down. But he had an expression

  of utter astonishment on his face and didnt want Livia to see it. He rested his head on her shoulder and said: Thanks. At that moment he understood why, earlier, when they

  were lying in bed, hed felt a gratitude for which, at first, hed had no explanation.

  15

  When times mechanism jammed at three twenty-seven and forty seconds, Montalbano didnt wake up, since he was already awake. He hadnt been able to fall asleep. He would have liked to toss and turn in bed, letting himself be carried off by waves of thought following one upon the other like breakers in rough seas, but he was forcing himself not to disturb Livia, whod fallen asleep almost at once, and therefore he couldnt thrash his arms and legs about.

  The alarm went off at six, the weather looked promising, and by seven-fifteen they were already on the road to Punta Raisi, the airport of Palermo. Livia drove. Along the way they spoke little or not at all. Montalbano was already far away, thinking about what he was itching to do, to determine whether the idea hed had was an absurd fantasy or an equally wild reality. Livia was also lost in thought, worrying about what awaited her in Genoa, the backlog at work, the things left hanging because shed suddenly needed to go to Vig for a long stay at Salvos side.

  Before Livia entered the boarding area, they embraced in the crowd like two teenagers in love. As he held her in his arms, Montalbano felt two conflicting emotions that had no natural right to be together, yet there they were. On the one hand he

  felt deep sadness that Livia was leaving. Without a doubt the house in Marinella would underscore her absence at every turn, now that he was well on his way to becoming a man of a certain age and starting to feel the weight of solitude. On the other hand he felt rather pressed, anxious for Livia to leave right away, without further delay, so that he could race back to Vig to do what he had to do, totally free and no longer obliged to conform to her schedule or answer her questions.

  Then Livia broke away, looked back at him, and headed towards the security checkpoint. Montalbano stood still. Not because he wanted to follow her with his eyes until the last moment, but because a kind of astonishment had blocked his next move, which would have been to turn his back and head for the exit. For he thought hed glimpsed, deep in her eyes all the way insidea sort of glimmer, a twinkle that shouldnt have been there. It had lasted barely an instant, then gone out at once, cloaked by the opaque veil of emotion. Yet that flashmuted, yes, but still a flashhad lasted long enough for the inspector to see it and remain bewildered by it. Want to bet that Livia, too, as they were embracing, had felt the same contradictory feelings as he? That she too felt at once bitter over their parting and anxious to get back her freedom?

  At first he felt angry, then started laughing. How did the Latin saying go? Nec tecum nec sine te. Neither with nor without you. Perfect.

  Montalbano? This is Minutolo.

  Hi. Were you able to get any useful information out of the girl?

  Thats just it, MontalbPart of the problem is that shes still shaken by the abduction, which is logical, and part of its that she hasnt slept a wink since shes been back, and so she hasnt been able to tell us much.

  Why hasnt she been able to sleep?

  Because her mothers taken a turn for the worse and she hasnt wanted to leave her bedside for even a minute. Thats why, when I got a call this morning telling me that Signora Mistretta had died during the night

  You dashed over there, very tactfully and opportunistically, to interrogate Susanna.

  I dont do those kinds of things, MontalbI came here because I felt it was my duty. After all the time Ive spent in this house

  Youve become like one of the family. Good for you. But I still dont understand why you called me.

  Okay. Since the funeral will be held tomorrow morning, I would like to begin questioning Susanna the day after tomorrow. The judge is in agreement. How about you?

  What have I got to do with it?

  Shouldnt you be there too?

  I dont know. The commissioner will decide whether I should or not. Actually, do me a favor. Give him a ring, see what his orders are, and call me back.

  Is that you, signore? Adelina Cirrincire.

  Adelina the housekeeper! How did she already know that Livia was gone? Sense of smell? The wind? Better not to probe too deep. He might discover that everyone in

  town also knew what tune he hummed when sitting on the

  john. What is it, Adel Can I come-a this aftanoon to clean house and make you

  somethin a eat? No, Adelnot today. Come tomorrow morning. He needed a little time to think, alone, with nobody else

  around. Djou decide yet abou ma granssons bappetism? the housekeeper continued.

  He didnt hesitate one second. Thinking she was being clever with her quip about evening things out, Livia had provided him with an excellent reason to accept.

  Ive decided, yes, Ill do it. Ah, Gesma so heppy! Have you set the date? Iss ahp to you, signore. Me? Yes, hit depends on when you free. No, it depends on when your son is free, the inspector wanted

  to say, since Pasquale, the childs father, was always in and out of jail. But he merely said: Arrange everything yourselves, then let me know. Ive got all the time in the world now.

  More than sit down, Francesco Lipari collapsed into the chair in front of the inspectors desk. Hi
s face was pale and the circles under his eyes had turned a dense black, as though painted on with shoe polish. His clothes were rumpled, as if hed slept

  in them. Montalbano was shocked. He would have expected

  the boy to be happy and relieved that Susanna had been freed.

  Are you not feeling well?

  No.

  Why?

  Susanna wont speak to me.

  Explain.

  Whats to explain? Ever since I first heard shed been released, Ive called her house at least ten times. Its always her father, her uncle, or someone else who answers the phone. Never her. And they always tell me Susannas busy and cant come to the phone. Even this morning, when I heard that her mother had died

  Where did you hear it?

  On a local radio station. I immediately thought: Its a good thing she got to see her again while she was still alive! And so I phoned, I wanted to be near her, but I got the same answer. She wasnt available.

  He buried his face in his hands.

  What did I do to be treated this way?

  You? Nothing, said Montalbano. But you have to try to understand. The trauma of being kidnapped is tremendous and very hard to get over. Everyone whos been through it says the same thing. It takes time.

  And the Good Samaritan Montalbano fell silent, pleased with himself. All the while he was forming his own, strictly personal opinion of the matter, but preferred not to reveal it to the young man. He therefore stuck to generalities.

  But wouldnt having someone beside her who truly loves her help her to get over the trauma?

  You want to know something? Okay. Ill make a confession. Like Susanna, I think that I, too,

  would want to be left alone to contemplate my wounds. Wounds? Yes. And not just my own, but those Ive inflicted on

  others. The boy looked at him, utterly at sea. I have no idea what youre talking about. Never mind. The Good Samaritan Montalbano wasnt about to waste

  his daily dose of goodness all at once. Was there anything else you wanted to tell me? he asked. Yes. Did you know that Peruzzo was left off the ballot of

  his partys candidates? No. And did you know that the Customs Police have been

  searching his offices since yesterday afternoon? Rumor has it that they found, right off the bat, enough material to put him behind bars.