IM1 The Shape of Water (2002) Page 3

  With a shudder, Montalbano remembered a news story hed seen the previous year on some local TV station. In the town of Belfi, his grandfathers birthplace, Luparello was dedicating a small orphanage,

  named after this same grandfather. Some twenty small children, all dressed alike, were singing a song of thanks to the engineer, who listened with visible emotion. The words of that little song had etched themselves indelibly in the inspectors memory:

  What a good man,

  What a fine fellow

  Is our dear

  Signor Luparello.

  In addition to glossing over the circumstances of the engineers death, the newspapers also carefully ignored the rumors that had been swirling for untold years around far less public affairs in which hed been involved. There was talk of rigged contract competitions, kickbacks in the billions of lire, pressures applied to the point of extortion. And in all these instances the name that constantly popped up was that of Counselor Rizzo, first the caddy, then the right- hand man, and finally the alter ego of Luparello. But these always remained rumors, voices in the air and on the wind. Some even said that Rizzo was a liaison between Luparello and the Mafia, and on this very subject the inspector had once managed to read a confidential report that spoke of currency smuggling and money laundering. Suspicions, of course, and

  nothing more, since they were never given a chance to be substantiated; every authorization request for an investigation had been lost in the labyrinths of that same courthouse the engineers father had designed and built.

  At lunchtime Montalbano phoned the Montelusa flying squad and asked to speak with Corporal Ferrara. She was the daughter of an old schoolmate of his who had married young, an attractive, sharp-witted girl who every now and then, for whatever reason, would try to seduce him.

  Anna? I need you.

  What? I dont believe it.

  Do you have a couple of free hours this afternoon?

  Ill get them, Inspector. Always at your service, night and day. At your beck and call, even, or if you like, at your whim.

  Good. Ill come and pick you up in Montelusa, at your house, around three.

  This must be happiness.

  Oh,and,Anna,wear feminine clothes.

  Spike heels and slit dress, that sort of thing?

  I just meant not in uniform.

  Punctually, at the second honk, Anna came out the front door in skirt and blouse. She didnt ask any questions and limited herself to kissing Montalbano on the cheek. Only when the car turned onto one of the three small byways that led from the provincial road to the Pasture did she speak.

  Um, if you want to fuck, lets go to your house. I dont like it here.

  At the Pasture there were only two or three cars, but the people inside them clearly did not belong to Gegullottas evening shift. They were students, boys and girls, married lovers who had nowhere else to go. Montalbano took the little road to the end, not stopping until the front tires were already sinking into the sand. The large shrub next to which Luparellos BMW had been found was on their left but could not be reached by that route.

  Is that where they found him? asked Anna.

  Yes.

  What are you looking for?

  Im not sure. Lets get out.

  As they headed toward the waters edge, Montalbano put his arm around her waist and pressed her toward him; she rested her head on his shoulder, smiling. She now understood why the inspector had invited

  her along: it was all an act. Together they would look like a pair of lovers who had found a place to be alone at the Pasture. In their anonymity they would arouse no curiosity.

  What a son of a bitch! she thought. He doesnt give a shit about my feelings for him.

  At a certain point Montalbano stopped, his back to the sea. The shrub was in front of them,about a hundred yards away as the crow flies. There could be no doubt: the BMW had come not by way of the small roads but from the beach side and had stopped after circling toward the bush, its nose facing the old factory; that is, in the exact opposite position to that which all the other cars coming off the provincial road had to take, there being absolutely no room in which to maneuver. Anyone who wanted to return to the provincial road had no choice but to go back up the byways in reverse. Montalbano walked another short distance, his arm still around Anna,his head down:he could find no tire tracks;the sea had erased everything.

  So what now?

  First I have to call Fazio. Then Ill take you back home.

  Inspector, may I tell you something in all honesty?

  Of course.

  Youre an asshole.

  4

  Inspector? Pasquano here. Where the hell have you been hiding? Ive been looking for you for three hours, and at headquarters they couldnt tell me anything.

  Are you angry at me, Doctor?

  At you? At the whole stinking universe!

  What have they done to you?

  They forced me to give priority to Luparello, the same way, exactly, as when he was alive. So even in death the guy has to come before everyone else? I suppose hes first in line at the cemetery, too?

  Was there something you wanted to tell me?

  Just an advance notice of what Im going to send you in writing. Absolutely nothing: the dear departed died of natural causes.

  Such as?

  To put it in unscientific terms, his heart burst, literally. In every other respect he was healthy, you

  know. It was only his pump that didnt work, and thats what screwed him, even though they made a valiant attempt to repair it.

  Any other marks on the body?

  What sort of marks?

  I dont know, bruises, injections...

  As I said, nothing. I wasnt born yesterday, you know. And anyway, I asked and obtained permission for my colleague Capuano, his regular doctor, to take part in the autopsy.

  Covering your ass, eh Doc?

  What did you say?

  Something stupid, Im sorry. Did he have any other ailments?

  Why are you starting over from the top? There was nothing wrong with him, just a little high blood pressure. He treated it with a diuretic, took a pill every Thursday and Sunday, first thing in the morning.

  So on Sunday, when he died, he had taken it.

  So what? What the hells that supposed to mean? That his diuretic pill had been poisoned? You think were still living in the days of the Borgias? Or have you started reading remaindered mystery novels? If hed been poisoned, dont you think I would have noticed?

  Had he dined that evening?

  No, he hadnt.

  Can you tell me at what time he died?

  Youre going to drive me crazy with questions like that. You must be watching too many American movies, you know, where as soon as the cop asks what time the crime took place, the coroner tells him the murderer finished his work at six-thirty-two P.M., give or take a few seconds, thirty-six days ago. You saw with your own eyes that rigor mortis hadnt set in yet, didnt you? You felt how hot it was in that car, didnt you?

  So?

  So its safe to say the deceased left this world between seven and nine oclock the evening before he was found.

  Nothing else?

  Nothing else. Oh yes, I almost forgot: Mr. Luparello died, of course, but he did manage to do it first to have sex, that is. Traces of semen were found around his lower body.

  Mr. Commissioner? Montalbano here. I wanted to let you know I just spoke with Dr. Pasquano on the phone. The autopsys been done.

  Save your breath, Montalbano. I know every

  thing already: around two oclock I got a call from Jacomuzzi, who was there and filled me in. Wonderful, eh?

  Im sorry, I dont understand.

  Its wonderful, that is, that someone in this fine province of ours should decide to die a natural death and thereby set a good example. Dont you think? Another two or three deaths like Luparellos and well start catching up with the rest of Italy. Have you spoken to Lo Bianco?

  Not yet.

  Please d
o so at once. Tell him there are no more problems as far as were concerned. They can get on with the funeral whenever they like, if the judge gives the go-ahead. Listen, MontalbanoI forgot to mention it this morningmy wife has invented a fantastic new recipe for baby octopus. Can you make it Friday evening?

  Montalbano? This is Lo Bianco. I wanted to bring you up to date on things. Early this afternoon I got a phone call from Dr. Jacomuzzi.

  What a wasted career! Montalbano thought furiously to himself. In another age he would have made an excellent town crier.

  He told me the autopsy revealed nothing abnormal, the judge continued. So I authorized burial. Do you have any objection?

  None.

  Can I therefore consider the case closed?

  Think I could have two more days?

  He could hear, literally hear, the alarm bells ringing in the judges head.

  Why, Montalbano? Is there something wrong?

  No, Your Honor, nothing at all.

  Well,why then,for the love of God? Ill confess to you, InspectorIve no problem doing sothat I, as well as the chief prosecutor, the prefect, and the commissioner, have been strongly pressured to bring this affair to an end as quickly as possible. Nothing illegal, mind you. Urgent entreaties, all very proper, on the part of thosefamily, political friendswho want to forget the whole sad story as soon as possible. And theyre right, in my opinion.

  I understand, Your Honor. But I still need two days, no more.

  But why? Give me a reason!

  He found an answer, a pretext. He couldnt very well tell the judge his request was founded on nothing, or rather on the feeling that hed been hoodwinked he didnt know how or whyby someone

  who at that moment was proving himself to be shrewder than he.

  If you really must know, its out of concern for public opinion. I wouldnt want anyone to start whispering that we closed the case in haste because we had no intention of getting to the bottom of things. As you know, it doesnt take much to start people thinking that way.

  If thats how you feel, then all right. You can have your forty-eight hours. But not a minute more. Try to understand the situation.

  GegHows it going, handsome? Sorry to wake you

  at six-thirty in the evening.

  Fucking shit!

  Gegis that any way to speak to a representative of the law? Especially someone like you, who before the law can only shit your pants? And speaking of fucking, is it true youre doing it with a ten-andchange black man?

  Ten-and-change?

  Inches of cock.

  Cut the shit. What do you want?

  To talk to you.

  When?

  Tonight, late. You tell me what time.

  Lets make it midnight.

  Where?

  The usual place, at Puntasecca.

  A big kiss for your pretty lips, Geg

  Inspector Montalbano? This is Prefect Squatrito. Judge Lo Bianco communicated to me just now that you asked for another twenty-four hoursor forty- eight, I cant rememberto close the case of the late Mr. Luparello. Dr. Jacomuzzi, who has politely kept me informed of all developments, told me that the autopsy established unequivocally that Luparello died of natural causes. Far be it from me to thinkwhat am I saying, to even dreamof interfering in any way, since in any case thered be no reason to do so, but do let me ask you: why this request?

  My request, sir, as I have already explained to Justice Lo Bianco and will now reiterate, was dictated by a desire for transparency, to nip in the bud any malicious supposition that the police department might prefer not to clarify every aspect of the case and wish to close it without due verification of all leads. Thats all.

  The prefect declared himself satisfied with the reply,and indeed Montalbano had carefully chosen two

  verbs (clarify and reiterate) and one noun (transparency) which had forever been key words in the prefects vocabulary.

  Hello? This is Anna, sorry to disturb you.

  Why are you talking like that? Do you have a cold?

  No, Im at the squad office, but I dont want anyone to hear.

  What is it?

  Jacomuzzi called my boss and told him you dont want to close the Luparello case yet. The boss said youre just being an asshole as usual, which I agree with and actually had a chance to tell you just a few hours ago.

  Is that why you called? Thanks for the confirmation.

  Theres something else I have to tell you,Inspector, something I found out right after I left you, when I got back here.

  Look, Anna, Im up to my neck in shit. Tell me about it tomorrow.

  Theres no time to lose. It may be of interest to you.

  Im going to be busy here till one or one-thirty

  this morning. If you want to drop by now, then all right.

  I cant make it right now. Ill see you at your place at two.

  Tonight?!

  Yes, and if youre not there, Ill wait.

  Hello, darling? Its Livia. Sorry to call you at work, but

  You can call me whenever and wherever you want. What is it?

  Nothing important. I was reading in a newspaper just now about the death of a politician in your parts. Its just a brief notice. It says that Inspector Salvo Montalbano is conducting a thorough investigation of the possible causes of death.

  So?

  Is this death causing you any problems?

  Not too many.

  So nothings changed? Youre still coming to see me Saturday? You dont have some unpleasant surprise in store for me?

  Like what?

  Like an awkward phone call telling me the investigation has taken a new turn and so Ill have to wait

  but you dont know how long and so its probably better to postpone everything for a week? It certainly wouldnt be the first time.

  Dont worry, this time Ill manage.

  Inspector Montalbano? This is Father Arcangelo Bal

  dovino, secretary to His Excellency the bishop.

  Its a pleasure. What can I do for you, Father?

  The bishop has learned, with some astonishment, I must say, that you think it advisable to prolong your investigation into the sad and unfortunate passing of Silvio Luparello. Is this true?

  It was indeed, Montalbano confirmed, and for the third time he explained his reasons for acting in this manner. Father Baldovino seemed persuaded, yet begged the inspector to hurry up, to avoid untoward speculation and spare the already distraught family yet another torment.

  Inspector Montalbano? This is Mr. Luparello.

  What the hell! Didnt you die? Montalbano was about to say, but he stopped himself in the nick of time.

  Im his son, the other continued, in a very edu

  cated, polite tone that had no trace of dialect whatsoever. My name is Stefano. Im afraid I must appeal to your kindness and make what may seem to you an unusual request. Im calling you on my mothers behalf.

  By all means, if I can be of any help.

  Mama would like to meet you.

  Whats unusual about that? I myself was intending to ask your mother if I could drop by sometime.

  The thing is, Inspector, Mama would like to meet you by tomorrow at the latest.

  My God, Mr. Luparello, I really havent got a single free moment these days, as you can imagine. And neither do you, I should think.

  Dont worry, we can find ten minutes. How about tomorrow afternoon at five oclock sharp?

  Montalbano, sorry to make you wait, but I was

  On the toilet, in your element.

  Come on, what do you want?

  I wanted to let you in on something very serious. The pope just phoned me from the Vatican, really pissed off at you.

  What are you talking about?!

  Hes furious because hes the only person in the world who hasnt received your report on the Lupa

  rello autopsy. He felt neglected and told me he intends

  to excommunicate you. Youre screwed.

  Montalbano, youve completely lost your mind.

  Can y
ou tell me something, just out of curiosity?

  Sure.

  Do you kiss ass out of ambition or natural inclination?

  Natural inclination, I think.

  The sincerity of the response caught the inspector by surprise.

  Listen, have you finished examining the clothes Luparello was wearing? Did you find anything?

  We found what youd expect. Traces of semen on the underwear and trousers.

  And inside the car?

  Were still examining it.

  Thanks. Now go back to the toilet.

  Inspector? Im calling from a phone booth on the provincial road, near the old factory. I did what you asked me to do.

  Tell me about it, Fazio.

  You were absolutely right. Luparellos BMW came from Montelusa, not Vig.

  Are you certain?

  On the Vig side the beach is interrupted by cement blocks. You cant get through. He would have had to fly.

  Did you find out which way he might have come?

  Yes, but its totally crazy.

  Why? Explain.

  Because, even though from Montelusa to Vig there are dozens of roads and byways that one can take to avoid being seen, at a certain point, to get to the Pasture, Luparellos car would have had to pass through the dry bed of the Canneto.

  The Canneto? But its impassable!

  Well, I did it, and therefore somebody else could have done it. Its completely dry. The only problem is, my cars suspension is ruined. And since you didnt want me to take a squad car, Im going to have to

  Ill pay for the repairs myself. Anything else?

  Yes. As it was pulling out of the riverbed and turning onto the sand, the BMWs tires left some tracks. If we tell Jacomuzzi right away, we can get a cast of them.

  Fuck Jacomuzzi.

  Yes, sir. Need anything else?

  No, Fazio, just come back to headquarters. And thanks.