IM10 August Heat (2008) Page 4

  “There’s another apartment down here!” said Guido in astonishment.

  At this point, Montalbano suddenly understood everything.

  “Stop digging!” he ordered.

  Everyone stopped and looked at him questioningly.

  “Has anyone got a flashlight?” he asked.

  “I’ll go get one!” said one of the firemen.

  “Break the plastic over the window,” the inspector further ordered.

  Two jabs of the shovel sufficed. The firemen brought him the flashlight.

  “You all wait here,” Montalbano said, straddling the window.

  He immediately no longer needed the flashlight, since the light coming in through the opening was more than enough.

  He found himself inside a small bathroom, identical with the one on the floor above it. It was, moreover, a perfectly finished bathroom, with tiled floors and walls, a shower, sink, toilet, and bidet.

  As he was looking around, wondering what this all could mean, something grazed against his leg, making him jump into the air from fright.

  “Mrrrow,” said Ruggero.

  “Nice to see you again,” said the inspector.

  He turned on the flashlight and followed the animal into the room next door.

  There, the weight of the water and soil had broken through the plastic over the window, turning the room into a bog.

  And there was Bruno, standing in a corner, eyes shut tight. He had a cut on his forehead and was trembling all over as if he had malaria.

  “Bruno, it’s me, Salvo,” the inspector said softly.

  The little boy opened his eyes, recognized Montalbano, and ran to him, open-armed. The inspector embraced him, and Bruno started crying.

  At that moment, Guido, who couldn’t wait any longer, burst into the room.

  “Livia? Bruno’s all right.”

  “Is he injured?”

  “He has a cut on his forehead, but I don’t think it’s serious. In any case, Guido is taking him to the emergency room in Montereale. Tell Laura and, if it’s all right with her, you should accompany her there. I’ll wait for you all here.”

  Straddling the window through which Montalbano had entered, the fire chief came out. He looked bewildered.

  “There’s a whole apartment down here, exactly like the one upstairs. There’s even a terrace with a railing around it! All you’d have to do is install the internal and external casings, which are stacked in the living room, and you could move right in! There’s even running water! And the electrical system is all ready to be hooked up! What I don’t understand is why they buried everything underground.”

  Montalbano, for his part, had a very precise idea of why they’d done it.

  “I think I know why. I’m sure they were originally granted a permit for a house without an upstairs. But the owner, in league with the builder and the work foreman, had the house built exactly the way we see it now. Then he had the ground floor completely covered with sandy soil, so that only the upstairs remained visible, turning it into the ground floor.”

  “Yes, but why did he do it?”

  “He was waiting for amnesty on code violations. The moment the government approved it, he would remove all the dirt covering the other apartment overnight, then put in his request for amnesty. Otherwise he risked having the whole thing demolished, even though that’s very unlikely around here.”

  The fire chief started laughing.

  “Demolished? Around here there are entire towns built illegally!”

  “Yes, but I found out that the owner lived in Germany. It’s possible he forgot about our wonderful ancient customs and thought that people respected the law here the way they do in Cologne.”

  The fire chief looked unconvinced.

  “Okay, but this government has granted one amnesty after another! Why, then—”

  “I found out he died a few years ago.”

  “What should we do? Put everything back the way it was?”

  “No, leave everything just the way it is now. Could that create any problems?”

  “For the upstairs, you mean? No, none whatsoever.”

  “I want to show this fine handiwork to the owner of the agency that rented out the house.”

  Left alone, the inspector took a shower, dried himself off in the sun, then got dressed. He grabbed another bottle of beer. He had worked up a serious appetite. What was taking the gang so long?

  “Hello, Livia? Are you still in the emergency room?”

  “No, we’re on our way. Bruno’s fine, there’s nothing wrong with him.”

  He hung up and dialed the number of Enzo’s trattoria.

  “Montalbano here. I know it’s late and you’re about to close, but if I came with a party of four plus a little kid, think we could still get something to eat?”

  “For you, Inspector, we’re always open.”

  As always happens, the narrow escape made everyone so giddy and ravenous that Enzo, hearing them laughing and eating nonstop as if they’d just broken a weeklong fast, asked what they were celebrating. Bruno acted as if he’d been bitten by a tarantula, continually jumping about, knocking first the cutlery off the table, then a glass that luckily didn’t break, and, last, spilling a bottle of olive oil all over Montalbano’s pants. For a brief moment the inspector regretted having been so quick to pull him out of that hole in the ground. But he immediately felt guilty for having the thought.When everyone had finished eating, Livia and her friends drove back to Pizzo. Montalbano, on the other hand, raced home to change his pants, then went to the office to work.

  That evening, he asked Fazio if there was a squad car available to take him home.

  “There’s Gallo, Chief.”

  “Nobody else?”

  He wanted to avoid another Indianapolis-style dash like the one he’d endured in the morning.

  “No, sir.”

  Once in the car, he admonished Gallo.

  “Listen, Gallo.We’re in no hurry this time. Drive slowly.”

  “Tell me how fast you want me to go, Chief.”

  “Twenty miles per hour, max.”

  “Twenty?! Chief, I don’t even know how to drive twenty miles an hour. I’m liable to crash into something. What do you say we go thirty-five, forty?”

  “Okay.”

  Everything went smoothly until they turned off the main road and onto the unpaved one leading to the house. Right in front of the rustic cottage, a dog dashed in front of them. To avoid him, Gallo swerved and nearly crashed into the cottage’s front door, shattering an earthenware jug that was beside it.

  “You broke something,” said Montalbano.

  As they were getting out of the car, the door to the cottage opened and the peasant of about fifty appeared, still wearing shabby clothes and a dirty beret on his head.

  “What happened?” asked the man, turning on a small light over the door.

  “We broke your jug and wanted to compensate you for the damage,” Gallo said politely.

  Then something strange happened. The man looked at the squad car, turned around, extinguished the light, went back in the house and locked the door. Gallo looked puzzled.

  “He saw the police car,” said Montalbano. “Apparently he doesn’t like us.Try knocking.”

  Gallo knocked. Nobody came to the door.

  “Hey! Anybody home?”

  Nobody answered.

  “Let’s get out of here,” said the inspector.

  Laura and Livia had set the table on the terrace.The evening was so beautiful it was heartbreaking.The heat of the day had mysteriously given way to a restorative cool, and the moon floating over the sea was so bright that they could have eaten by its light alone.

  The two women had prepared light fare, since they’d gone late to Enzo’s and had stuffed themselves into the bargain.

  As they were sitting around the table, Guido told the others what had transpired that morning between him and the peasant from the rustic cottage.

  “As soon as I said
a little boy had disappeared, he said ‘Ohh no’ and ran and shut himself up in the house. I knocked and knocked, but he wouldn’t open.”

  So it’s not just the police he has problems with, thought the inspector. But he didn’t say anything about the nearly identical treatment he himself had received.

  After they’d eaten, Guido and Laura suggested they all go for a walk on the beach in the moonlight. Livia declined, and so did Montalbano. Luckily Bruno chose to go with his parents.

  After they’d been sitting for a while in the deck chairs, enjoying a silence broken only by the purring of Ruggero, who was luxuriating in the inspector’s lap, Livia said:

  “Would you show me the place where you found Bruno? You know, ever since we’ve been back, Laura has forbidden me to go see where he fell.”

  “All right. Let me get a flashlight.There’s one in the car.”

  “Guido must also have one somewhere. I’ll see if I can find it.”

  They met back up in front of the excavated window, each with a flashlight in hand. Montalbano climbed through the opening first, checked to make sure there weren’t any rats, then helped Livia inside. Naturally, Ruggero hopped in after them.

  “Unbelievable!” said Livia, looking at the bathroom.

  The air was damp and heavy.The only window through which any fresh air could enter was not enough to ventilate the space.They went into the room where the inspector had found Bruno.

  “You’d better not go any further, Livia. It’s a swamp.”

  “The poor boy! He must have been so scared!” said Livia, heading towards the living room.

  In the beam of the flashlights they saw the window frames, all wrapped up in plastic. Montalbano noticed a rather large trunk pushed up against a wall. Overcome by curiosity, he opened it, since it wasn’t locked.

  At that moment he looked exactly like Cary Grant in Arsenic and Old Lace. He quickly slammed the trunk shut and sat down on top of it.When the beam from Livia’s flashlight shone on his face, he automatically smiled.

  “What are you smiling about?”

  “Me? I’m not smiling.”

  “So why are you making that face?”

  “What face?”

  “What’s in the trunk?” Livia asked.

  “Nothing. It’s empty.”

  How could he possibly have told her there was a corpse inside?

  4

  When Guido and Laura returned from their romantic stroll along the moonlit beach, it was past eleven.

  “That was amazing!” Laura exclaimed enthusiastically. “I really needed that, after a day like today.”

  Guido was a little less enthusiastic, given that halfway through their walk, Bruno had suddenly become very sleepy, and he’d had to carry him in his arms the rest of the way.

  Ever since he’d sat back down in the deck chair after visiting the phantom apartment with Livia, Montalbano had been beset with a dilemma worse than Hamlet’s: to tell or not to tell?

  If he did tell them there was a corpse downstairs, indescribable chaos would break out and the rest of the night would be hell, or almost. It was more than certain, in fact, that Laura would adamantly refuse to spend one minute more under the same roof as an unknown corpse and demand to sleep somewhere else.

  But where? At Marinella there wasn’t even a guest room. They would have to camp out.And how would they do that? He imagined how they would work things out, with Laura, Livia, and Bruno in the double bed, Guido on the sofa, and himself in the armchair. He shuddered.

  No, that was no solution. Better a hotel. But where, at midnight, inVigàta, were they going to find a hotel still open? Maybe Montelusa was a better bet. Which would mean phone call after phone call, back and forth in the car, to and from Montelusa, to keep their friends company, and, as icing on the cake, the inevitable all-night argument with Livia.

  “But why did you have to choose that house?”

  “Livia, darling, how was I to know there was a dead body in it?”

  “How were you to know? What kind of policeman are you anyway?”

  No, he decided, it was better, for now, to say nothing to anyone.

  After all, God only knew how long the corpse had been in that trunk. One day more or one day less wasn’t going to make any difference. Nor would it affect the investigation in any way.

  Having said good-bye to their friends, then, Livia and the inspector headed back to Marinella.

  The moment Livia went to take a shower, Montalbano, from the terrace, called Fazio on the cell phone, keeping his voice down.

  “Fazio? Montalbano here.”

  “What’s wrong, Chief?”

  “I haven’t got time to explain. In ten minutes, I want you to call me back at home and say you urgently need me to come in to the station.”

  “Why, what’s happened?”

  “Don’t ask questions. Just do as I say.”

  “Then what do I do afterward?”

  “You hang up and go back to sleep.”

  Five minutes later Livia emerged from the bathroom and Montalbano went in. As he was brushing his teeth, he heard the telephone ring. As expected, Livia went to pick up. This would make the whole scene he had staged more credible.

  “Salvo, it’s Fazio on the phone!”

  He went into the dining room with his toothbrush still in his mouth, lips frothing with toothpaste, muttering to himself for Livia’s benefit, as she glared at him:

  “Can’t anyone get a little peace and quiet around here, even at this hour?”

  He grabbed the phone gruffly:

  “What is it?”

  “You’re needed down at the station at once.”

  “Can’t you guys handle it yourselves? No? Okay, okay, I’ll be right there.”

  He slammed the receiver down hard, feigning anger:

  “Won’t those guys ever grow up? Do they always need Daddy’s help? I’m sorry, Livia, but, unfortunately I—”

  “I understand,” said Livia in a tone straight from the polar ice caps. “I’m going to bed.”

  “Will you wait up for me?”

  “No.”

  He got dressed, went out, got in the car, and headed to Marina di Montereale.

  He drove extremely slowly, because he wanted to waste as much time as possible, to be more or less certain that Laura and Guido had gone to bed.

  When he got to Pizzo, he went as far as the second house—the uninhabited but well-maintained one—stopped, and got out, bringing the flashlight with him. He traveled the remaining stretch of the dirt road on foot, afraid that if he came any closer with the car, the sound, in the stillness of the night, might wake up his friends.

  No light shone in any of the windows, a good sign that Laura and Guido were well on their way to dreamland.

  With a light step he sidled up to the window that served as a door, climbed through, and went in.When he was inside, he turned on the flashlight and headed towards the living room.

  He lifted the trunk’s lid. The corpse was barely visible, having been wrapped several times over in the same kind of plastic sheets that had been used to seal off the secret apartment, and then bound in brown packing tape wound many times around the bundle.The corpse looked like a cross between a mummy and a giant parcel ready for shipping.

  He shone the flashlight closer and realized, at least from what he was able to see, that the body was fairly well preserved. Apparently all that plastic had created a sort of hard vacuum, not allowing even a trace of the terrible stench of death to leak out.

  Forcing himself to look harder, he noticed a great mass of long blond hair on and around the head.The face, on the other hand, he couldn’t make out, because it had been wrapped twice around with the brown adhesive tape.

  It was a woman, that much was clear.

  There was nothing more to see or do. He closed the trunk, exited the apartment, got back in his car, and drove home.

  He found Livia in bed but still awake. She was reading a book.

  “Darling, I got
back as quickly as I could. I’ll just take the shower I wasn’t able to—”

  “Go on, hurry. Don’t waste any more time.”

  When Livia came out of the bathroom at nine o’clock the following morning, she found Montalbano sitting on the veranda.

  “What, are you still here? You told me you had to go to the station to deal with that business of last night.”

  “I’ve changed my mind. I’m going to take a half day’s vacation. I’m coming with you to Pizzo to spend the morning with you and your friends.”

  “Oh, goody!”

  By the time they got there Laura, Guido, and Bruno were ready to go down to the beach. Since they had decided they would spend the whole day outside, Laura had filled some baskets with food.

  But how and when—the inspector anxiously wondered in the meantime—was he going to break the good news to them?

  As luck would have it Guido helped him out.

  “Did you call the people at the agency to tell them about the illegal apartment?”

  “No, not yet.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I’m afraid they might raise your rent, since you now have another apartment at your disposal.”

  He was trying to make a joke of it, but Livia intervened.

  “Come on, what are you waiting for? I want to see the look on the face of the guy that rented it to you.”

  And I can’t wait to see yours, in a few minutes! thought Montalbano.

  But he said instead:

  “Well, there’s a major complication.”

  “What?”

  “Could you send Bruno away for a minute?” Montalbano asked Laura under his breath.

  She gave him a puzzled look, but did as he said.

  “Bruno, do Mommy a little favor. Go in the kitchen and get another bottle of mineral water from the refrigerator.”

  The others stared at him, their curiosity aroused by his question.

  “So?”

  “The fact is, I found a dead body. A woman.”

  “Where?” Guido asked.

  “In the apartment downstairs. In the living room. Inside a trunk.”