IM2 The Terra-Cotta Dog (2002) Page 20

  Montalbano, whod been sitting on the veranda rereading Faulkners Pylon for the fifth time, rushed inside. Before picking up the receiver, however, he quickly established a plan of action for getting De Dominicis out of his hair once hed obtained the information.

  Yes? Hello? Whos this? he said in a tired voice full of disappointment.

  You were right, it was easy. Calogero Rizzitano graduated on November 13, 1942. Youd better write this down, because the title is a long one.

  Wait while I look for a pen. For what its worth...

  De Dominicis noticed the flatness in Montalbanos voice.

  Are you all right?

  Complicity had made De Dominicis more concerned and personal.

  Am I all right? Need you ask? I told you I needed an answer by last night! Im no longer interested! Youre too late. Everythings fucked now, fizzled out.

  I couldnt have done it any sooner, believe me.

  All right, all right. Lets have the title.

  The Use of Macaronic Latin in the Mystery Play of the Seven Sleepers by an Anonymous Sixteenth-Century Author.Now you tell me what the Mafia could have to do with a title

  It has a lot to do with it! It has everything to do with it! Except that now, because of you, I dont need it anymore and I certainly cant thank you for it.

  He hung up and burst into a high-pitched whinny of joy. Immediately a sound of breaking glass could be heard in the kitchen: in terror, Adelina must have dropped something. Taking a running start, he leapt from the veranda onto the sand, executed a somersault, then a cartwheel, then a second somersault and a second cartwheel. The third somersault failed, and he collapsed on the sand, out of breath. Adelina ran towards him from the veranda screaming:

  Madunnuzza beddra! Hes gone crazy! Hes broke is neck!

  282

  To set his own mind at rest, Montalbano got in his car and drove to the Montelusa public library.

  Im looking for a mystery play, he said to the chief librarian.

  The chief librarian, who knew him as a police inspector, was mildly astonished but said nothing.

  All weve got, she said, are the two volumes of DAn- cona and two more by De Bartholomaeis. But these books cant be taken out. Youll have to consult them here.

  He found the Mystery Play of the Seven Sleepers in the second tome of the DAncona anthology. It was a short, very na text. Lillos thesis must have centered around the dialogue between two heretical scholars who expressed themselves in an amusing macaronic Latin. But what most interested the inspector was the long preface by DAncona. It contained everything: the quotation from the Koranic sura, the legends itinerary through various European and African countries, in all its different variants and mutations. Professor Lovecchio had been correct: sura number eighteen of the Koran, taken by itself, would have proved a very tough nut to crack. It had to be complemented with the contributions of other cultures.

  Im going to venture a hypothesis, and Id like to have your approval, said Montalbano, who had brought the Burgios up-to-date on his latest discoveries. You both told me, with a great deal of conviction, that Lillo saw Lisetta as a little sister and was crazy about her. Right?

  Yes, the two said in chorus.

  Good. Now, let me ask you a question. Do you think Lillo would have been capable of killing Lisetta and her young lover?

  No, said the old couple without a moments hesitation.

  Im of the same opinion, said Montalbano, precisely because it was Lillo who put the two bodies in a position so to speakto be hypothetically resurrected. No killer wants his victims to come back to life.

  And so? asked the headmaster.

  If, in an emergency, Lisetta had asked him to put them up, she and her boyfriend, at the Rizzitano house on the Crasto, how do you think Lillo would have responded?

  Signora Angelina didnt pause to think twice.

  He would have done whatever Lisetta asked of him.

  Lets try, then, to imagine what happened during those days in July. Lisetta runs away from Serradifalco, with luck she makes it to Vig, meets up with Mario Cunich, and the boyfriend deserts his postor strays from his ship, lets say. The two now have nowhere to hide. Going to Lisettas house would be like walking into the wolf s den; its the first place her father would look. So she asks Lillo Rizzitano for help; she knows he wont say no. Lillo puts the couple up at his house at the foot of the Crasto, where hes been living alone since the rest of his family was evacuated. Who killed the two lovers, and why, we dont know, and perhaps we never will. But there can be no doubt that it was Lillo who buried them

  in the cave, because he followed, step by step, both the Christian and the Koranic versions of the story. In both cases, the sleepers will one day awake. But what did he mean, what was he trying to say by staging that scene? Was he trying to tell us that the two lovers are asleep and will one day awake or be awakened? Or was he hoping, in fact, that someone in the future would find them and wake them up? Purely by chance, it was I who found them and woke them up. But, believe me, I really wish I had never discovered that cave.

  He was telling the truth, and the old couple realized this.

  I could stop here, he continued. Ive managed to satisfy my own personal curiosity. Im still missing some answers, its true, but the ones Ive found are probably enough for me. As I said, I could stop here.

  They may be enough for you, said Signora Angelina, but I would like to see Lisettas killer before me.

  If you see him, itll be in a photograph, her husband said wryly, because by now its ninety-nine percent certain that the killer is dead and buried.

  Ill leave it up to you two, said Montalbano. You tell me:What should I do? Should I continue? Should I stop? Its your decision, since these murders are no longer of any interest to anyone. You are perhaps the only link the two dead lovers still have to this world.

  I say you should go ahead, said Mrs. Burgio, bold as ever.

  Me too, said the headmaster, seconding her after a pause.

  285

  When he arrived at the exit for Marinella, instead of turning and heading home, he let the car continue along the coastal highway as if of its own will. There was little traffic, and in just a few minutes he was at the foot of the Crasto mountain. He got out of the car and climbed up the slope that led to the Crasticeddru. A stones throw from the weapons cave, he sat down on the grass and lit a cigarette. He remained seated, watching the sunset while his brain was whirring: he had an obscure feeling that Lillo was still alive. But how would he ever flush him out? As darkness began to fall, he headed back to the car, and at that moment his eye fell on the gaping hole in the side of the mountain, the entrance to the unused tunnel, boarded up since time immemorial. Right near the mouth, there was a pile of sheet metal and, beside it, a sign on two stakes. His legs took off in that direction before his brain had even given the order. He arrived out of breath, his side smarting from the dash. The sign said: gaetano nicolosi & son construction co.palermo via lamarmora,33project for the excavation of a highway tunnelworks manager, cosimo zirretta, eng.asst. manager, salvatore perricone. This was followed by some other information of no interest to Montalbano.

  He made another dash to his car and sped like a bullet back to Vig.

  23

  At the Gaetano Nicolosi & Son Construction Co. of Palermo, whose number Montalbano had got from directory assistance, nobody was answering the phone. It was too late in the day; the companys offices must have been deserted. Montalbano tried and tried again, eventually losing hope. Having cursed a few times to let off steam, he then requested the number of the engineer Cosimo Zirretta, assuming that he, too, was from Palermo. Hed guessed right.

  Hello, this is Inspector Montalbano from Vig. How did you manage the expropriation?

  What expropriation?

  The land that the road and tunnel you were building cuts through, outside of Vig.

  Look, thats not my domain, Im only responsible for the construction. That is, I was responsible until an ordinance put a halt
to the whole project.

  So who should I talk to?

  Somebody from the company.

  I phoned there but nobody answered.

  Then try Commendatore Gaetano or his son Arturo. When they get out of Ucciardone.

  Oh, really?

  Yes. Extortion and bribery.

  So theres no hope?

  Well, you can hope that the judges will be lenient and let them out in five years. Just kidding. Actually, you could try the companys lawyer, Di Bartolomeo.

  Listen, Inspector, its not the companys job to deal with expropriation procedures. Thats up to the City Council of the district in which the expropriated land is located.

  Then what are you people doing there?

  Thats none of your business.

  And the lawyer hung up. A little touchy, this Di Bartolomeo. Maybe his job was to cover the asses of Nicolosi father and son from the repercussions of their frauds, except that this time he hadnt succeeded.

  The office hadnt been open five minutes before the company land surveyor Tumminello saw Inspector Montalbano standing in front of him, looking somewhat agitated. And, in fact, it had been a restless night for Montalbano; hed been unable to fall asleep and so stayed up reading Faulkner. The surveyor, whose troubled sonwho was mixed up with hoodlums, brawls, and motorcyclesonce again hadnt come home

  that night, turned pale, and his hands began to shake. Montalbano, noticing the others reaction upon seeing him, imagined the worst.

  This guys trying to hide something.

  He was still a cop, no matter how well read.

  Is anything wrong? asked Tumminello, expecting to hear that his son had been arrested. Which, in fact, would have been a stroke of luck, or the least of all evils, since he might as easily have had his throat slit by his little friends.

  I need some information. About an expropriation.

  Tumminello visibly relaxed.

  You over your scare now? Montalbano couldnt resist asking him.

  Yes, the surveyor admitted frankly. Im worried about my son. He didnt come home last night.

  Does he do that often?

  Yes, actually. You see, hes mixed up with

  Then you shouldnt worry, Montalbano cut him off. He didnt have time for the problems of youth. I need to see the bill of sale or expropriation for the land used to build the Crasto tunnel. Thats your area, isnt it?

  Yes, it is. But theres no point in taking out the documents; I know all the information. Tell me specifically what it is you want to know.

  I want to know about the land that belonged to the Rizzitano family.

  As I expected, said the surveyor. When I heard about the weapons being discovered, and then about the two dead

  bodies, I thought: Didnt those places belong to the Rizzi

  tanos? And so I went and looked at the documents.

  And what do the documents say?

  First, theres something you should know. There were a lot of proprietors whose land stood to be damaged, so to speak, by the construction of the road and tunnel. Forty-five, to be exact.

  Jesus!

  Theres even a little postage stamp of land, two thousand square meters, which, because it was divided up in an inheritance, has five owners. The note of transfer cant be made out collectively to the heirs; it must be made out individually to each one. Once our order was granted by the prefect, we offered the proprietors a modest sum, since most of the land in question was farmland. For Calogero Rizzitano, who was a presumed proprietor, since theres no piece of paper confirming his ownershipI mean theres no deed of inheritance, since his father died without leaving a will for Calogero Rizzitano we had to resort to Article 143 of the Code of Civil Procedure, which concerns rightful claimants who cannot be found. As you probably know, Article 143 states

  Im not interested. How long ago did you make out this note of transfer?

  Ten years ago?

  Therefore, ten years ago, Calogero Rizzitano could not be found.

  Nor after that, either. Because out of the forty-five

  landowners, forty-four appealed for a higher figure than the sum we were offering. And they got it.

  And the forty-fifth, the one who did not, was Calogero Rizzitano.

  Exactly. And we put the money due him in escrow. Since for us, to all intents and purposes, hes still alive. Nobody asked for a declaration of presumed death. So when he reappears, he can pick up his money.

  When he reappears, the land surveyor had said. But everything pointed to the conclusion that Lillo Rizzitano was in no mood to reappear. Or, more likely, was no longer in any condition to reappear. Headmaster Burgio and Montalbano had taken for granted that the wounded Lillo, carried on board a military truck and driven who-knows-where on the night of July 9, had survived. But they had no idea how serious his wounds might have been. He could well have died in transit or in hospital, if theyd even brought him to a hospital. Why keep conjuring visions out of nothing? It was very possible that, at the moment of their discovery, the two corpses in the Crasticeddru were in better shape than Lillo Rizzitano had been in for some time. For fifty years and more, not a word, not a line. Nothing. Not even when they requisitioned his land and demolished the remains of his house and everything else that belonged to him. The meanders of the labyrinth the inspector had willingly entered led him straight into a wall. But perhaps the labyrinth was being kind to him

  by preventing him from going any further, stopping him in front of the most logical, most natural solution.

  Supper was light, yet cooked, in every regard, with a touch the Lord grants only very rarely to the Chosen. But Montalbano did not thank the commissioners wife; he merely looked at her with the eyes of a stray dog awarded a caress.The two men then retired to the study to chat. For Montalbano the com- missioners dinner invitation had been like a life preserver thrown to a man drowning not in a stormy sea, but in the flat, unrippled calm of boredom.

  The first thing they discussed was Catania, and they concurred that informing the Catania police of their investigation of Brancato had led, as its first result, to the elimination of the very same Brancato.

  Were like a sieve, the commissioner said bitterly. We cant take one step without our enemies knowing about it. Brancato had Ingrassia killed because he was getting too nervous, but when the people pulling the strings learned that we had Brancato in our sights, they took care of him as well. And so the trail we were so painstakingly following was conveniently obliterated.

  He was gloomy. The idea that moles were planted everywhere offended him; it embittered him more than a betrayal by a family member.

  Then, after a long pause during which Montalbano did not open his mouth, the commissioner asked:

  Hows your investigation of the Crasticeddru murders coming along?

  From the commissioners tone of voice, Montalbano could tell that his superior viewed this investigation as mere recreation for the inspector, a pastime he was being allowed to pursue before he returned to more serious matters.

  Ive managed to find out the mans name, too, he said, feeling vindicated in the eyes of the commissioner, who gave a start, astonished and now interested.

  You are extraordinary! Tell me how.

  Montalbano told him everything, even mentioning the theatrics hed performed for De Dominicis, and the commissioner was quite amused. The inspector concluded with an admission of failure of sorts. It made no sense to continue the search, he said, since, among other things, nobody could prove that Lillo Rizzitano wasnt dead.

  All the same, the commissioner said after a moments reflection, if somebody really wants to disappear, it can be done. How many cases have we seen where people apparently vanish into thin air and then, suddenly, there they are? I dont want to cite Pirandello, but lets take Sciascia at least. Have you read the little book about the disappearance of Majorana, the physicist?

  Of course.

  I am convinced, as was Sciascia himself, that in the end Majorana wanted to disappear, and succeeded. He did not co
mmit suicide. He was too religious.

  I agree.

  And what about that very recent case of the Roman university professor who stepped out of his home one day and was never seen again? Everybody looked for himpo- lice, carabinieri, even his students, who loved him. It was a planned disappearance, and he also succeeded.

  True, Montalbano concurred. Then he thought about what they were saying and looked at his superior. It sounds to me as if youre encouraging me to continue the investigation, though on an another occasion you reproached me for getting too involved in this case.

  So what? Now youre convalescing, whereas the other time you were on the job. Theres quite a difference, I think, the commissioner replied.

  He returned home and paced from room to room. After his meeting with the surveyor, he had decided to screw the whole investigation, convinced that Rizzitano was good and dead. Now the commissioner had gone and resurrected him, so to speak. Didnt the early Christians use the word dormitio to mean death? It was quite possible Rizzitano had put himself in sleep, as the Freemasons used to say. Fine, but if that was the case, Montalbano would have to find a way to bring him out of the deep well in which he was hiding. That would require something big, something that would make a lot of noise, something the newspapers and television stations all over Italy would talk about. He had to unleash a bomb

  shell. But what? He needed to forget about logic and dream up something fantastic.

  It was eleven oclock, too early to turn in. He lay down on the bed, fully dressed, and read Pylon.

  At midnight last night the search for the body of Roger Shumann, racing pilot who plunged into the lake on Saturday p.m., was finally abandoned by a threeplace biplane of about eighty horsepower which managed to fly out over the water and return without falling to pieces and dropping a wreath of flowers into the water approximately three quarters of a mile away from the spot where Shumanns body is generally supposed to be....

  There were only a few lines left until the end of the novel, but the inspector sat up in bed with a wild look in his eyes.

  Its insane, he said, but Im going to do it.

  Is Signora Ingrid there? I know its late, but I need to speak