IM11 The Wings of the Sphinx (2009) (14 page)
BOOK: IM11 The Wings of the Sphinx (2009)
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“The point is to figure out which of the available girls has the necessary requisites to satisfy the particular needs of the people who come to us. Once we’ve found the right girl, we put her in touch with the applicant. And there you have it.”
There you have it, my ass
, thought Montalbano, who had taken an immediate dislike to the cavaliere for no plausible reason.
, thought Montalbano, who had taken an immediate dislike to the cavaliere for no plausible reason.
“And what are the particular needs of your clients?”
The cavaliere slid his finger under his nose three times.
“I’m sorry, Inspector, but ‘clients’ is not the right word.”
“Then what is the right word?”
“I wouldn’t know. But I would like it to be clear that the people who come to us looking for a girl don’t pay a cent. Ours is a social service, not-for-profit, the purpose of which is to rescue and—why not?—to redeem—”
“Okay, but where does the money come from?”
Cavaliere Piro’s face looked troubled by the brutality of the question.
“Providence.”
“And who’s hidden behind that pseudonym?”
This time the cavaliere became irritated.
“We’ve got nothing to hide, you know. We get help from a lot of people, including donations, and then there are the regional and provincial administrations, not to mention town hall, the bishopric, charitable contributions . . .”
“Not the national government?”
“Yes, in a small way.”
“How much?”
“Eighty euros a day for each guest.”
Which was a pretty fair contribution, however “small,” as the cavaliere called it.
“How many girls have you got at the moment?”
“Twelve. But we’re at our limit.”
Which came to 960 euros a day. Calculating an average of ten girls a year, that meant 292,000 euros. And that was the least of it? Not bad for a not-for-profit association.
Montalbano was beginning to smell a rat.
9
There was, moreover, something in the cavaliere’s attitude that seemed fishy to the inspector. Was he resentful of the way the inspector was asking him questions, or was he afraid he might ask the right question? One that the cavaliere might have trouble answering? And, if so, what was the right question?
“Have you got a place for the girls to stay while they are awaiting placement?” Montalbano asked, taking a wild stab.
“Of course. There’s a little villa a bit outside of Montelusa.”
“Do you own it?”
“I wish! No, we pay a rather high rent for it.”
“To whom?”
“To a company based in Montelusa. It’s called Mirabilis.”
“Have you got a staff assigned to it?”
“Yes, a permanent staff. But we also need outside people, temporary workers.”
“Such as?”
“Well, doctors, to give one example.”
“In case the girls get sick?”
“Not only in case of illness. You see, every new girl who comes here is immediately given a medical examination.”
“To see if she has any sexually transmitted diseases?”
Cavaliere Piro did not hide his annoyance at the question. He furrowed his brow, raised his eyes to the heavens, and ran his finger under his nose, all to fine comic effect.
“That, too, naturally. But mostly to find out if they have healthy and strong constitutions.You know, with the wretched lives they were forced to lead before . . .”
“Are the doctors paid by you?”
“No, we have an arrangement with the bishopric, and so—”
Imagine them ever coughing up a lira!
“Do you get the medications free as well?”
“Naturally.”
Naturally. How could you go wrong?
“Let’s backtrack a moment. I asked you what the particular needs that you alluded to were.”
“Well, there are people who want home care, others who want a housekeeper, others a cook. Understand?”
“Perfectly. Is that all?”
The cavaliere rubbed his nose.
“Age and religion are also important.”
“Anything else?”
Nose rubbed at the threshold of the speed of sound.
“What else could they want?”
“I don’t know . . . hair color . . . eye color . . . length of legs . . . breast measurement . . . waist measurement . . .”
“Why would they make such requests?”
“You know, Cavaliere, there might be some old geezer dreaming of a home care assistant who looks like the blue fairy.”
The cavaliere ran first his right forefinger, then his left, under his nose. Montalbano changed the subject.
“What’s the average age?”
“At a rough guess, I’d say twenty-seven, twenty-eight.”
“But these girls come to you from an entirely different universe. How do they learn to become cooks or housekeepers?”
Guglielmo Piro looked a little relieved.
“It doesn’t take them long, you know. They’re very sharp girls. And whenever we notice that one of them has a particular knack for something, we help her, so to speak, to perfect herself . . .”
“Let me get this straight. Do you hire instructors to teach them how to cook, how to—”
“What need is there to hire instructors? They learn from our own staff.”
And that way they also saved on labor costs.
“Monsignor Pisicchio told me that some girls are brought to your attention by parish priests, others by associations like yours, and others still are directly recruited . . .”
The cavaliere ran his finger frantically under his nose.
“Good God, what an ugly word! ‘Recruited’!”
“Have I said the wrong thing again? Please forgive me, Cavaliere, I have a rather limited vocabulary. How would you yourself describe it?”
“Bah, I dunno . . . persuaded . . . saved, that’s it.”
“And how are they persuaded to be saved?”
“Well, every now and then Masino takes it upon himself and makes the rounds on the nightclub circuit.”
“That must be an onerous task.”
Cavaliere Piro didn’t grasp the irony.
“Yes,” he said.
“Does he limit himself to Sicilian nightclubs?”
“Yes.”
“Does he pay for his, er, entertainment out of his own pocket?”
“That would be nice! No, he presents us with a list of expenses.”
“So how does he work?”
“Well, once he notices a girl a little, how shall I say, different from the others—”
“Different in what way?”
“More reserved . . . less open to the sexual advances the clients make at her ...Then Masino approaches her and starts to talk to her. Masino is, how shall I say, rather loquacious.”
“Loquacious! Thank you for enriching my vocabulary. Does Masino make these rounds every night?”
“Heavens, no! Only Saturday nights. Otherwise, staying up all hours of the night, his work would go, how shall I say . . .”
“To pot?”
The Cavaliere shot him a scornful glance.
“To the dogs.”
“What’s Masino’s full name?”
“Tommaso Lapis, which would be the third name on the list that the monsignor gave you. But Anna also sometimes does the same thing. Anna Degregorio is the fourth name on the list.”
“Anna Degregorio hangs out alone in nightclubs?”
“Absolutely not. She’s a very attractive girl, and that could give rise to misunderstandings. She goes with her boyfriend, who does not, however, belong to our association.”
“But he knows how to combine benefit and delight.”
“I’m not sure what you—”
“Does the young lady also present a list of expenses?”
“Of course.”
“And does she also go out on Saturday nights?”
“No. Sundays. She has Mondays off.”
“What does she do for a living?”
“She’s a hairdresser.”
“Listen, I’ll tell you now why I wanted to meet with you. I’m going to give you two names: Irina and Katya, Russian, both a little over twenty, both born in Schelkovo.”
“I imagined that’s what it was, you know. Has Irina got into trouble again? Ragioniere Curcuraci complained bitterly to us about the theft of Signora Sjostrom’s jewelry. But there’s no way we can guarantee the ethical conduct of these girls. So what’s she done this time?”
“I don’t know that she’s gotten into any more trouble. I know that Irina’s surname is Ilych. I would like to know Katya’s surname.”
“Wait just a minute.”
He went over to the computer and fiddled around a bit.
“Katya Lissenko, born at Schelkovo on the third of April, 1984. Did she do something wrong, too?”
“I don’t think so.”
“It says here that we placed her as an assistant at the home of a Vigàta man, Beniamino Graceffa. Is she still working for him?”
“No, she left. Did she ever get back in touch with you?’
“No, we never heard from her again.”
“And what about Irina?”
“Never heard from her, either, and anyway, if we had, we would have been forced to have her arrested. It couldn’t be helped. We are absolutely respectful of—”
“Have you had many cases where the girls have disappointed you, betrayed your trust?”
“Only twice, fortunately. An almost laughable percentage, as you can see. Irina and a Nigerian girl.”
“What did the Nigerian do?”
“She pulled a knife on the lady she was working for. It happened about four years ago. We haven’t had any other complaints, thank God.”
The inspector couldn’t think of any other questions to ask. He continued to smell a rat, even stronger than before, but had been unable to tell where the smell was coming from. He stood up.
“Thank you for everything, Cavaliere. If I need you again in the future—”
“I am entirely at your disposal. Let me show you out.”
When he was in the doorway, Montalbano thought to ask:
“Do you remember if Katya and Irina arrived at the same time at your association?”
The cavaliere answered without hesitation.
“They came together, I remember it perfectly.”
“How come?”
“They were very frightened.Terrified, in fact. Michelina—whose name is the second one on the list—is the person in charge of welcoming new arrivals—didn’t know what to do. She had to call me to help her calm them down a little.”
“Did they tell you why they were so frightened?”
“No. But it’s not hard to figure out.”
“Meaning?”
“They had probably escaped from their—how shall I say?—exploiters, without giving notice.”
“What makes you think they were being exploited? They weren’t prostitutes, as far as we know, but dancers.”
“Of course. But maybe they hadn’t finished paying whoever it was who had them come to Italy. You know how these expatriations work, don’t you? Their friend, on the other hand, arrived a week later.”
Certainly a surprise blow to the head from a billy club would have had less of an effect on Montalbano.
“Th-their . . . f-friend?”
The cavaliere was bewildered by Montalbano’s extreme bewilderment.
“Yes . . . Sonya Meyerev, also from Schelkovo. She—”
“Where did you place her?”
“We didn’t have enough time to place her, because after a week with us, she didn’t come home to the villa one evening. She disappeared.”
“But didn’t you ask her friends if they knew anything?”
“Of course we did. But Irina reassured us, saying that Sonya had run into a friend of her father’s and that she—”
“Was it Masino who persuaded all three to come to your association?”
“No. They showed up of their own accord.”
“Have you got photos of the girls?”
“I’ve got photocopies of their passports.”
“Let’s go back inside. I want them.”
As the cavaliere was printing them off the computer, Montalbano asked him:
“Would you give me the address of the villa where the girls live?”
“Certainly. It’s on the road to Montaperto. Just past the filling station. It’s a rather large villa . . .”
“How large?”
“Three floors. You’ll recognize it at once.”
The little villa had suddenly grown considerably in size. “Do the girls eat there?”
“Yes. We employ a cook and a maid. There’s also a woman, a sort of manager, who sleeps there with them. Sometimes our guests get a little restless. They quarrel over the silliest things, get into fights, do things to spite one another.”
“Can I go there?”
“Where?”
“To the little villa.”
The cavaliere did not look pleased.
“Well, at this hour . . . The night watchman is already on duty. He has explicit orders not to let anyone in. As you can imagine, with all those women there, some good-for-nothings might try to . . . If you like, I could phone ahead and . . . but I don’t really see why you . . .”
“Do the maid and the cook also sleep there?”
“The cook, yes. The maid, no. She comes in at nine in the morning and works until one P.M.”
“Write down the first and last name of the maid, along with her address and telephone number.”
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