IM10 August Heat (2008) (20 page)

“When I get back, I want it all cleaned up.”

He had to swim out a ways to find a bit of clean water, since closer to shore there was all manner of foreign objects, from turds to plastic cups, floating on the surface. A pigsty.

Before going back, he looked shoreward, searching for a spot where there were fewer people and therefore the water was probably less filthy. This meant, however, that he had to walk for half an hour on the beach to get back to his house.

The kids were gone. And the veranda was clean.

In the shower, which was still warm, he thought of the punch that had half knocked the kid out. How could he possibly be still capable of such strength? Then he realized it wasn’t only a question of strength, but also of the violent release of all the tension he had built up inside him on that August 15.

15

Late that evening, the families with little kids crying one minute and screaming the next, the drunken, brawling parties of friends, the young couples stuck so tightly together that you couldn’t have separated them with a knife, the solitary males with cell phones glued to their ears, the other young couples with radios, CD players, and other noisemaking gadgets finally vacated the beach.

They went away, but their garbage remained.

Garbage, the inspector thought, had become the unmistakable sign that man had passed through any given place. In fact, they say Mount Everest has become a trash heap and that even outer space is a dump.

Ten thousand years from now, the sole proof that man once lived on this earth will be the discovery of enormous car cemeteries, the only surviving monument of a former, ahem, civilization.

After he’d been sitting awhile on the veranda, he began to notice that the air stank. The garbage covering the beach was no longer visible in the darkness, yet the stench of rapid putrefaction from the extreme heat still wafted up to his nostrils.

There was no point in remaining outside. But neither was it possible to stay inside with all the windows closed to keep out the stink, because the heat that the walls had absorbed during the day would never have a chance to dispel.

So he got dressed, took the car, and headed off in the direction of Pizzo. Arriving at the house, he pulled up, got out, and headed towards the staircase that led down to the beach.

He sat down on the first step and lit a cigarette. He’d been right. The spot was too high up to be affected by the smell of rot from the garbage that must surely lie scattered across that beach, too.

He tried not to think of Adriana, but didn’t succeed.

He stayed that way for two hours, and by the time he got up to go back home, he had come to the conclusion that the less he saw of the girl, the better.

 

 

 

“So what did Miss Adriana tell you yesterday?” Fazio asked.

“She told me something I didn’t know for certain but had imagined. Do you remember when Dipasquale told us, and Adriana confirmed, that Rina had been assaulted by Ralf and that Spitaleri had saved her?”

“Of course I remember.”

The inspector then recounted the whole story of how from that moment on Spitaleri had been constantly after Rina until he finally groped her in his car, and the girl was saved when a peasant appeared on the scene. And he also mentioned how the peasant had been run through the gauntlet by police when one of Adriana’s earrings was found in his house even though the poor guy had nothing to do with the crime.

He said not a word about the fact that he had gone back to the house in Pizzo with Adriana or about what had happened there.

“In conclusion,” said Fazio, “we’ve got nothing to work with. It can’t have been Ralf, because he was impotent, it can’t have been Spitaleri because he was gone, and it can’t have been Dipasquale because he’s got an alibi . . .”

“Dipasquale’s position is the weakest,” said the inspector. “His alibi may have been made up.”

“Yeah, but try and prove that.”

 

 

 

“Chief, iss Porxecutor Dommaseo.”

“Put ’im on.”

“Montalbano? I’ve made a decision.”

“Tell me.”

“I’m going to do it.”

And he’s telling
him
about it?

“You’re going to do what?”

“Hold a press conference.”

“But what need is there?”

“Oh, there’s need, Montalbano, there’s need!”

The only need was Tommaseo’s need to appear on television.

“The newsmen,” the prosecutor continued,“have gotten wind of something and are starting to ask questions. I don’t want to run the risk of them giving a distorted image of the overall picture.”

What overall picture?

“It’s true that’s a pretty big risk.”

“So you agree?”

“Have you already set it up?”

“Yes, for tomorrow morning at eleven. Will you be there?”

“No. And what will you say?”

“I’ll talk about the crime.”

“Will you say she was raped?”

“Well, I’ll suggest it.”

Great! It took less than a suggestion to have the journalists jump all over that sort of subject!

“And what if they ask if you have any idea as to the murderer?”

“Well, one has to be adroit in these situations.”

“As you are.”

“In all modesty . . . I’ll say that we’re following two leads: The first is that we’re checking on the alibis of the masons, and the second is that we’re investigating a maniac drifter who forced the girl to go with him into the underground apartment. Are you in agreement?”

“Perfectly.”

A maniac drifter! And how would a maniac drifter have known about the secret illegal apartment if the construction site was fenced off?

“For today, I’ve called Adriana back in for questioning,” Tommaseo said.“I want to break down any residual defenses she may have, to interrogate her thoroughly—thoroughly and at great length, to lay her completely bare.”

His voice had turned shrill. Montalbano was afraid that, two more words and the guy would have started moaning and saying
ah, ah, ah,
just like in a porn flick.

 

 

 

It was already becoming a habit. Before going to Enzo’s trattoria, he changed his clothes and gave the sweaty ones to Catarella.Then, after eating—though he ate little, having almost no appetite—he felt sort of listless and decided to go home to Marinella.

Miracle of miracles! Four garbage collectors had nearly finished cleaning the beach! He put on his bathing suit and dived into the sea in search of relief from the heat.Afterwards he dozed off for an hour.

 

 

 

By four o’clock he was back at the station. But he didn’t feel like doing anything.

“Catarella!”

“Whattya need, Chief?”

“Don’t let anyone into my office without alerting me first, is that clear?”

“Yessir.”

“Oh, and, did anyone call from Montelusa about the questionnaire?”

“Yessir, Chief, I sennit over to ’em.”

He locked the door to his room, stripped down to his underpants, threw the papers that were on the armchair onto the floor, pulled it up next to the minifan, which he turned in such a way that it blew onto his chest, and then sat down, hoping to survive.

 

 

 

An hour later the telephone rang.

“Chief, iss a marshal called La Caña says ’e’s wit’ da Finance Police.”

“Put him on.”

“I can’t put ’im on, seeing as how the beforementioned marshal is ’ere poissonally in poisson.”

God, and he was practically naked!

“Tell him I’m on the phone, wait five minutes, then let him in.”

He got dressed in a hurry. His clothes were exactly the same as when he’d just stretched them out to dry, still saturated with heat. He opened the door and went out to meet Laganà, brought him into the office, sat him down, and locked the door. He felt embarrassed to find the marshal dressed in a suit that looked like he’d just picked it up from the cleaners.

“Would you like anything to drink, Marshal?”

“No thanks, Inspector.Whatever I drink only makes me sweat.”

“Why’d you put yourself out? You could have phoned—”

“Inspector, nowadays it’s better not to say certain things over the phone.”

“Maybe we ought to use little folded-up pieces of paper, like Provenzano.”

“They’d probably get intercepted, too.The only way is to talk in person and, if possible, in a safe place.”

“I think it’s safe here.”

“Let’s hope so.”

The marshal slipped a hand into his jacket pocket, extracted a sheet of paper folded in four, and handed it to Montalbano.

“Is this what you were interested in?”

It was the receipt from Ribaudo Enterprises for some innocent pipes and some safety railings, delivered on July 27 to the Spitaleri construction site in Montelusa. It was signed by Filiberto Attanasio, the watchman.

Montalbano felt heartened.

“Thank you, this is exactly what I was looking for. Did anyone notice?”

“I don’t think so. This morning we seized two crates of documents. As soon as I found that receipt, I had it photocopied and brought it here to you.”

“I don’t know how to thank you.”

Marshal Laganà stood up. So did Montalbano.

“I’ll see you out.”

As they were shaking hands in the main entrance to the station, Laganà said with a smile:

“There’s no point in my insisting that you say nothing to anyone about how that document was obtained.”

“Marshal, you’re offending me.”

Laganà hesistated a moment, turned serious, and then said in a low voice:

“Be careful how you deal with Spitaleri.”

 

 

 

“Federico? Montalbano here.”

Inspector Lozupone seemed truly happy to hear from him.

“Salvo! What a pleasant surprise! How are you?”

“Fine. And you?”

“Fine, thanks. Do you need anything?”

“I’d like to speak with you.”

“Sure, go ahead.”

“In person.”

“Is it urgent?”

“Fairly.”

“Look, I’ll definitely be in my office until—”

“Better outside somewhere.”

“Ah.We could meet at the Caffè Marino at—”

“Not in public.”

“You’re starting to frighten me, Salvo.Where, then?”

“Either at my place or yours.”

“I have a curious wife.”

“Then come to my house in Marinella.You know where it is.Ten o’clock tonight okay with you?”

 

 

 

At eight, as the inspector was leaving the office, Tommaseo called. He sounded disappointed.

“I want a confirmation from you.”

“I confirm.”

“Excuse me, Montalbano, but what are you confirming?”

“Ah, well, I don’t know what, but if you’re asking me for a confirmation, I’m ready to give you one.”

“Even if you don’t know what you’re supposed to confirm?”

“I see, you don’t want a generic confirmation, but a specific one.”

“I’d say so!”

Every now and then he liked to fuck with Tommaseo’s head.

“Then tell me what it is.”

“That girl, Adriana, today . . . among other things, she was even more beautiful. I don’t know how she does it; she’s like the essence of woman. Whatever she says, whatever she does, one is left utterly charmed and . . . ah, never mind, what was I saying?”

“That one is left utterly charmed.”

“My God, no, I was just saying that incidentally. Ah, yes, Adriana told me her sister had once been assaulted, luckily without consequences, by a young German who later died in a railway disaster in Germany. I’m going to mention this at the press conference.”

Railway disaster? What the hell had Tommaseo understood?

“But no matter how much pressure I put on her,” the prosecutor continued, “she couldn’t or wouldn’t tell me any more, claiming that it was pointless for me to continue interrogating her, since she and her twin sister never confided in each other and, she added, often quarreled so violently that their parents did all they could to keep them apart. In fact, the day Rina was murdered, Adriana wasn’t even in Vigàta. So, since the girl told me you questioned her yesterday, my question to you is, did she also tell you she didn’t get along with her sister?”

“Absolutely! She said they even came to blows two or three times a day.”

“So it’s pointless to call her in for further questioning?”

“I’m afraid so.”

Obviously Adriana got sick and tired of Tommaseo and made up that lie, knowing she could count on the inspector’s complicity.

 

 

 

Adriana phoned him at home around nine that evening.

“Can I drop by in about an hour?”

“I’m sorry, but I have an engagement.”

And if he hadn’t, what would he have answered?

“Too bad. I wanted to take advantage of the fact that my aunt and uncle are here from Milan. I told you about them; they were the ones who lived in Montelusa.”

“Yes, I remember.”

“They came down for the funeral.”

He’d completely forgotten about it.

“When is it?”

“Tomorrow morning. They’re leaving immediately afterwards. Don’t make any engagements for tomorrow evening; I’m hoping my nurse friend can come.”

“Adriana, I have a job that—”

“Try to do your best. Oh, Tommaseo called me in for questioning today. He was positively drooling as he stared at my tits. And to think that I’d put on a reinforced bra for the occasion. I told him a lie, just to get him out of my hair, once and for all.”

“I know what you told him. He phoned me to ask if it was true that you and Rina couldn’t stand each other.”