The Patience of the Spider (3 page)

back to the bedroom. Halfway there, he started cursing. What
kind of goddamn phone call was that? Catarella calls him at the
crack of dawn to find out if his watch has the right time? At
that moment the phone rang again. The inspector quickly
picked up the receiver after the first ring.

Beck ypardin, Chief, but that bizniss bout the time made
me forget to tell you the real reason for the phone call I jes
phoned you about.

So tell me.
Seems some girls motorbikes been seized.
Seized or robbed?
Seized.

Montalbano fumed. But he had no choice but to smother
his urge to yell.

And you wake me up at six in the morning to tell me the
Carabinieri or Customs police have impounded a motorbike?
To tell me? Pardon my French, but I dont give a fuck!

Chief, you kin speak whichever langwitch ya like wit-
tout beckin my pardin, though, beckin ypardin, it sounds a lot
to me like a talian, Catarella said respectfully.

And furthermore, Im not on duty, Im still convalescing!

I know, Chief, but it wasnt neither the Customs or the
Canabirreri that had the seizure.

Well, then who was it?

Ass just it, Chief. Nobody knows. Annass why they tol
me to call you poissonally in poisson.

Listen, is Fazio there?

No, sir, hes at the scene.

How about Inspector Augello?

Him too.

So whos left there at the station?

For the moment, Chief, s jes me holdin down the fort.
Mr. Inspector Augello axed me to do is doody for im, so ass
what Im doin.

Good God! A danger to be avoided as quickly as possible.
Catarella was capable of triggering a nuclear war with a simple
purse-snatching. But was it possible Fazio and Augello
would go to all this trouble for a routine seizure of a motorbike?
And why did they have Catarella call him?

Listen, I want you to do something. Get ahold of Fazio
and tell him to phone me at once here in Marinella.

He hung up.

What is this, Termini Station? said a voice behind him.

He turned around. It was Livia, eyes flashing with anger.
When shed got up shed slipped on Montalbanos shirt from
the day before instead of her dressing gown. Seeing her thus
attired, the inspector felt an overwhelming desire to embrace
her. But he held himself back, knowing that Fazio would be
calling at any moment.

Livia, please, my job . . .

You should do your job at the station. And only when
youre on active duty.

Youre right, Livia. Now come on, go back to bed.

Bed? Im awake now, thanks to you! Im going to go
make some coffee, she said.

The telephone rang.

Fazio, would you be so kind as to tell me what the fuck is
going on? Montalbano asked in a loud voice, since there was
no longer any need for precaution. Livia was not only awake,
but pissed off.

Stop using obscenities! Livia screamed from the kitchen.

Didnt Catarella tell you?

Catarella didnt tell me a goddamn thing

Are you going to stop or not? yelled Livia.

all he told me was something about a motorbike being
seized, but not by the Carabinieri or the Customs police. Why
the fuck

Knock it off, I said!

are you guys bothering me with this stuff? Go see if it
was the traffic police!

No, Chief. If anything was seized, it was the girl who
owned the motorbike.

I dont understand.

Theres been a kidnapping, Chief.

A kidnapping? In Vig?

Tell me where you are and Ill come right over, he said
without thinking.

Chief, its too complicated to find your way out here. If
its all right with you, a squad carll be at your place in about
an hour. That way you wont have to tire yourself out by
driving.

Okay.

He went in the kitchen. Livia had put the coffeepot on the
burner and was now spreading the tablecloth over the small
kitchen table. To smooth it out, she had to bend all the way
forward, so that the inspectors shirt she was wearing became
too short.

Montalbano couldnt restrain himself. He took two steps
forward and embraced her tightly from behind.

Whats got into you? Livia asked. Come on, let go!
What are you trying to do?

Guess.

You might hurt yo

The coffee rose in the pot. Nobody turned off the flame.
The coffee burned. The flame remained lit. The coffee started
boiling. Nobody bothered with it. The coffee spilled out of
the pot, extinguishing the flame on the burner. The gas continued
to flow.

Doesnt it smell strangely of gas? Livia asked languidly a
bit later, freeing herself from the inspectors embrace.

I dont think so, said Montalbano, whose nostrils were
filled with the scent of her skin.

Oh my God! Livia exclaimed, running to turn off the
gas.

Montalbano had scarcely twently minutes to shower and
shave. His coffeea fresh pot had been made in the
meantimehe drank on the run, as the doorbell was already
ringing. Livia didnt even ask where he was going or why.
Shed opened the window and lay stretched out, arms over her
head, basking in the sunlight.

In the car Gallo told the inspector what he knew about the situation.
The kidnapped girlsince there was no longer any
doubt that she had in fact been kidnappedwas named Susanna
Mistretta. A very pretty girl, she was enrolled at Palermo
University and getting ready to take her first exam. She lived
with her father and mother in a country villa about three miles
outside of town. That was where they were heading. About a
month earlier, Susanna had started going to a girlfriends house
in the early evening to study, usually driving home on her
moped around eight.

The previous evening, when she didnt come home at the
usual time, her father had waited about an hour before calling
the girls friend, who told him that Susanna had left as usual
at eight oclock, give or take a couple of minutes. Then hed
phoned a boy whom his daughter considered her boyfriend,
and the kid seemed surprised, since hed seen Susanna in the
afternoon in Vig, before she went to study with her friend,
and the girl had told him she wouldnt be coming with him to
the movies that evening because she had to go home to study.

At this point the father started to get worried. Hed tried

reaching his daughter several times on her cell phone, but every
time the phone was turned off. At a certain point the home
phone rang, and the father rushed to pick up, thinking it was
Susanna. But it was the brother.

Susanna has a brother?

No, shes an only child.

So, whose brother was it? Montalbano asked in exasperation.
Between Gallos speeding and the pothole-riven road
they were traveling on, his head was not only numb, but the
wound in his shoulder was throbbing.

The brother in question was the brother of the father of
the kidnapped girl.

Dont any of these people have names? asked the inspector,
losing patience, hoping that knowing their names might
help him follow the story a little better.

Of course they do, why wouldnt they? Its just that nobody
told me what they are, said Gallo. He went on: Anyway,
the kidnapped girls fathers brother, whos a doctor

Just call him the doctor uncle, Montalbano suggested.

The doctor uncle had called to find out how his sister-in-
law was doing. That is, the kidnapped girls mother.

Why? Is she sick?

Yessir, Chief. Very sick.

And so the father told the doctor uncle

No, in this case you should say his brother.

Anyway, the father told his brother that Susanna had disappeared
and asked him to come to the house to lend a hand with
his sick wife, to free him up so he could look for his daughter.
But the doctor had to take care of some obligations first, and it
was already past eleven when he arrived.

The father then got in his car and very slowly retraced the
route that Susanna normally took to go home. At that hour in
winter there wasnt a soul to be seen anywhere, and very few
cars. He went back and forth along the same route a second
time, feeling more and more bereft of hope. At a certain point a
motorbike pulled up beside him. It was Susannas boyfriend,
who had phoned the villa and was told by the doctor uncle that
there still was no news. The kid told the father that he planned
to scour every street in Vig, to see if he could at least find Su-
sannas motorbike, which he knew well. The father retraced Su-
sannas route from her friends house to his own home four
more times, occasionally stopping to examine even the spots on
the pavement. But he seemed not to notice anything unusual.
By the time he gave up and went home, it was almost three
oclock in the morning. At this point he suggested that his doctor
brother phone all the hospitals in Vig and Montelusa,
telling them who he was. But they all answered in the negative,
which on the one hand set their minds at rest, but on the other
alarmed them even further. Thus they wasted another hour.

At this point in the storytheyd been driving in the
open countryside for a while and were now on a dirt road
Gallo pointed to a house about fifty yards ahead.

Thats the villa.

Montalbano didnt have time to look at it, however, because
Gallo suddenly turned right, onto another dirt road, this
one in pretty bad shape.

Where are we going?

To where they found the motorbike.

It was Susannas boyfriend who had found it. After
searching in vain up and down the streets of Vig, hed taken

a much longer route back to the villa. And there, about two
hundred yards from Susannas house, hed spotted the abandoned
moped and run to tell the father.

Gallo pulled up, stopping behind the other squad car.
When Montalbano got out, Mimugello came up to him.

I dont like the smell of this, Salvo. Thats why I had to
bother you. But things dont look good.

Wheres Fazio?

Inside the house, with the girls father. In case the kidnappers
call.

Mind telling me the fathers name?

Salvatore Mistretta.

Whats he do?

Used to be a geologist. Hes been halfway across the
world. Heres the motorbike.

It was leaning against a low dry-wall outside a vegetable
garden. The bike was in perfect condition, no scratches or
scrapes, just a little dusty. Galluzzo was in the garden, seeing if
he could find anything of interest. Imbrd Battiato were
doing the same along the dirt road.

Susannas boyfriend ...whats his name?

Francesco Lipari.

Where is he?

I sent him home. He was exhausted and worried to
death.

I was thinking. You dont think maybe it was Lipari
himself who moved the motorbike? Maybe he found it on the
ground, in the middle of the road

No, Salvo. He swore up and down that he found it exactly
the way you see it there.

Post a guard next to it. And dont let anybody touch it,
or forensics will go ballistic. Have you found anything?

Not a thing. And to think the girl had a small knapsack
with her books and things, a cell phone, a wallet she always
kept in the back pocket of her jeans, the housekeys ...But
nothing. Its as if she ran into somebody she knew and
propped the motorbike against the wall so she could talk to
him.

Montalbano seemed not to be listening, and Mimoticed.

What is it, Salvo?

I dont know, but something doesnt look right to me,
Montalbano muttered.

And he started taking a few steps backward, as one does to
get a better look at something, to take it all in from the right
angle. Augello also stepped back, but only mechanically, because
the inspector had done so.

Its backwards, Montalbano concluded a moment later.

What is?

The motorbike. Look at it, MimThe way we see it
right now, at a standstill, we should think it was going to
Vig.

Mimooked, then shook his head.

Thats true. But on that side of the road, it would be going
the wrong way. If it was going in the direction of Vig,
it should be on the other side, leaning against the wall opposite.

As if a moped cared if it was going the wrong way! Hell,
you find those things on the landing outside your apartment!
Theyll drive right through your legs if they can! Forget about

it. But if the girl was coming from Vig, the front wheel of
the motorbike should be pointed in the opposite direction. So
my question is: Why is the bike positioned the way it is?

Jesus, Salvo, there could be a lot of reasons for that.
Maybe she turned the bike around to prop it up a little better
against the wall . . . Or maybe she herself turned around after
she saw someone she recognized . . .

Anything is possible, Montalbano cut him off. Im going
over to the house. Come and join me after youve finished
searching here. And dont forget to post a guard.

The villa was a two-storey building and must have once been
rather beautiful. Now, however, it showed signs of neglect.
And when one loses interest in a house, it can tell, and it seems
to plunge into a kind of premature old age. The sturdy
wrought-iron gate was ajar.

The inspector entered a large living room furnished with
dark, massive nineteenth-century antiques, but at first glance it
looked like a museum, as it was full of small Pre-Columbian
statues and African masks. Travel souvenirs of the geologist,
Salvatore Mistretta. In one corner of the room there were two
armchairs, a small table with a telephone on top, and a television.
Fazio and a man who must have been Mistretta were sitting
in the armchairs, eyes glued to the television screen. When
Montalbano entered, the man gave Fazio a questioning look.

This is Inspector Montalbano. And this is Signor Mistretta.

The man came forward with his hand extended. Montalbano
shook it without speaking. The geologist was a thin man

of about sixty, with a face as baked as one of those South
American statuettes, stooped shoulders, a mop of white hair,
and a pair of blue eyes that wandered around the room like a
drug addicts. Apparently the tension was eating away at him.