Authors: Andrea Camilleri
Of course I was worried, Montalbano lied shamelessly,
realizing the winds were favorable. Ive been phoning home
every fifteen minutes without any answer. A little while ago I
decided to call the airport, and they told me the flight was
two hours late. That finally set my mind at rest.
Sorry, love, but it wasnt my fault. When are you coming
home?
Unfortunately I cant right now. Im in the middle of a
meeting in Montelusa; Ill be at least another hour Im sure.
Then Ill come running. Oh, and listen: tonight were going
to the commissioners for dinner.
But I didnt bring anything to wear!
You can go in jeans. Have a look in the fridge, Adelina
must have cooked something.
No, thats all right. Ill wait for you, we can eat together.
Ive already made do with a sandwich. Im not hungry.
See you soon.
He sat back down at his table, where a pound of mullet
awaited him, fried to a delicate crisp.
A little weary from her journey, Livia had gone to bed. Montalbano
got undressed and lay down beside her. They kissed.
Suddenly Livia pulled away and started sniffing him.
You smell like fried food.
Of course I do. I just spent an hour interrogating some
guy in a fried-food shop.
They made love calmly, knowing they had all the time in
the world. Then they sat up in bed, pillows behind their
heads, and Montalbano told her the story of Lapras murder.
Thinking he was amusing her, he told her how hed had
Mrs. Piccirillo and her daughter, who set such great store by
their honor, brought in to the station. He also told her hed
had Fazio buy a bottle of wine for Mr. Culicchia, whod lost
his when it rolled next to the corpse. Instead of laughing, as
Montalbano expected, Livia looked at him coldly.
Asshole, she said.
I beg your pardon? Montalbano asked with the
aplomb of an English lord.
Youre an asshole and a sexist. First you disgrace those
two wretched women, and then you buy a bottle of wine for
the guy who had no qualms about riding up and down in the
elevator with a corpse. Now tell me thats not acting like a
jerk.
Come on, Livia, dont look at it that way.
Unfortunately Livia insisted on looking at it that way. It
was six oclock before he managed to appease her. To distract
her he told her the story of the little boy who was stealing
other childrens late-morning snacks.
But Livia didnt laugh this time, either. In fact, she
seemed to turn melancholy.
Whats wrong? What did I say? Did I do something
wrong again?
No, I was just thinking of that poor little boy.
The one who got beat up?
No, the other one. He must be really famished and desperate.
You say he didnt speak Italian? Hes probably the
child of some immigrants who cant even put food on the
table. Or maybe he was abandoned.
Jesus Christ! cried Montalbano, thunderstruck by the
revelation, yelling so loudly that Livia gave a start.
Whats got into you?
Jesus Christ! the inspector repeated, eyes bulging out
of his head.
What on earth did I say? Livia asked, concerned.
Without answering, Montalbano dashed to the phone,
completely naked.
Catarella, get the fuck off the line and pass me Fazio on
the double. Fazio? In one hour, at the latest, I want you all at
the office. Got that? All of you. If anybodys missing, Im
going to go nuts.
He hung up, then dialed another number.
Commissioner? Montalbano here. Im embarrassed to
say, but I cant make it to dinner tonight. No, its not because
of Livia. Its got to do with work. Ill explain everything.
Lunch tomorrow? By all means. And please give your wife
my apologies.
Livia had got out of bed, trying to understand how her
words could have provoked such a frantic reaction.
Montalbanos only answer was to throw himself on the
bed, dragging her along with him. His intentions were perfectly
clear.
But didnt you say youd be at the office in an hour?
Fifteen minutes more or less, whats the difference?
Crammed into Montalbanos office, which was certainly not
spacious, were Augello, Fazio, Tortorella, Gallo, German
Galluzzo, and Grasso, who had begun working at the station
less than a month ago. Catarella stood leaning against the
door frame, an ear to the switchboard. Montalbano had
brought along a reluctant Livia.
But what am I going to do there?
Believe me, you might be very useful.
But he hadnt given her a single word of explanation.
In utter silence, he drew a rough but sufficiently precise
street map of Villaseta, which he then showed to all present.
This is a little house on Via Garibaldi in Villaseta. No
one is living there at the moment. Here behind it is a
garden...
He went on to illustrate every detail, the neighboring
houses, the street intersections, the smaller cross streets. He
had committed everything to memory the previous afternoon,
when alone in Karimas room. With the exception of
Catarella, who would remain on duty at headquarters, they
were all to have a part in the operation. Using the map, the
inspector pointed out the position that each was to take up.
He ordered them to arrive at the scene one by one: no
sirens, no uniformsin fact, no police cars at all. They were
to remain absolutely inconspicuous. If anybody wanted to
bring his own car, he must leave it at least half a kilometer
away from the house. They could bring along whatever they
wanted, sandwiches, coffee, beer, because it was probably
going to take a long time. They might have to lie in wait all
night, and there wasnt even any guarantee of success. Most
likely the person they were looking for wouldnt show up.
When the streetlights came on, that would signal the start of
the operation.
Weapons? asked Augello.
Weapons? What weapons? Montalbano muttered, momentarily
bewildered.
I dont know, but since it seemed like something serious,
I thought
Who is it were looking to capture? Fazio cut in.
A snack thief.
Everyone in the room seemed to stop breathing. Beads
of sweat appeared on Augellos forehead.
Ive been telling him for the last year he should have his head
examined, he thought.
It was a clear, moonlit night, windless and still. It had only
one flaw, in Montalbanos eyes. It seemed as if time didnt
want to pass. Every minute was mysteriously expanding, dilating
into five more.
By the light of a cigarette lighter, Livia had put the gutted
mattress back on the bedspring, lain down, and gradually
fallen asleep. She was now sleeping in earnest.
The inspector, seated in a chair beside the window that
looked out the back, had a clear view of the garden and the
surrounding countryside. Fazio and Grasso were supposed to
be in that area, but no matter how hard he squinted, he could
see no trace of them. They were probably hidden among the
almond trees. He felt pleased with his mens professionalism;
theyd embraced the assignment wholeheartedly after he told
them the little boy was probably Frans, Karimas son. He
took a pull on his fortieth cigarette and glanced at his watch
by the faint glow. He decided to wait another half hour, after
which he would tell his men to go back home. At this exact
moment he noticed a very slight movement at the point
where the garden ended and the countryside began; but,
more than a movement, it was a momentary break in the reflection
of the moon on the straw and yellow scrub. It
couldnt have been Fazio or Grasso. He had purposely
wanted to leave that area unguarded, as if to favor, even suggest,
that approach. The movement, or whatever it was, repeated
itself, and this time Montalbano could make out a
small, dark shape coming slowly forward. It was the kid, no
doubt about it.
He moved slowly toward Livia, guided by her breath.
Wake up, hes coming.
He returned to the window and was joined at once by
Livia. Montalbano spoke into her ear:
As soon as they catch him, I want you to go immediately
downstairs. Hes going to be terrified, but when he sees
a woman he might feel reassured. Stroke him, kiss him, tell
him whatever you can think of.
The little boy was right next to the house now.They could
see him clearly as he raised his head and looked up towards the
window. Suddenly a mans shape appeared, descended on the
boy and grabbed him. It was Fazio.
Livia flew down the stairs. Frans, kicking, let out a
long, heartrending wail, like an animal caught in a trap.
Montalbano turned on the light and leaned out the window.
Bring him upstairs.You, Grasso, go round up the others.
Meanwhile the childs wailing had stopped and turned
into sobbing. Livia was holding him in her arms, talking to
him.
He was still very tense but had stopped crying. Eyes glistening
and ardent, he studied the faces around him, slowly regaining
confidence. He was sitting at the same table where,
only a few days before, he had sat with his mother beside
him. This, perhaps, was why he clung to Livias hand and
didnt want her to leave him.
Mimugello, who had briefly absented himself, returned
with a bag in his hand. Everyone immediately realized
hed been the only one with the right idea. Inside were
some ham sandwiches, bananas, cookies, and two cans of
Coca-Cola. As a reward, Mimeceived an emotional glance
from Livia, which naturally irritated Montalbano. The deputy
inspector stammered:
I had somebody prepare it last night ...I thought that,
if we were dealing with a hungry little boy...
As he was eating, Frans gave in to fatigue and fell
asleep. He didnt manage to finish the cookies. All at once his
head fell forward onto the table, as if someone had turned off
a switch inside him.
So where do we take him now? asked Fazio.
To our house, Livia said decisively.
Montalbano was struck by that our. And as he was
gathering up a pair of jeans and a T-shirt for the little boy, he
couldnt tell whether he should be pleased or upset.
The kid didnt open his eyes once during the ride back
to Marinella, or when Livia undressed him after making up a
bed for him on the living room sofa.
What if he wakes up and runs away while were
asleep? asked the inspector.
I dont think he will, Livia reassured him.
Montalbano, in any case, wasnt taking any chances. He
closed the window, lowered the shutters, and gave the front-
door key two turns.
They too went to bed. But despite how tired they were,
it took them a long time to fall asleep. The presence of
Frans, whom they could hear breathing in the next room,
made them both inexplicably uneasy.
Around nine oclock the next morning, very late for him, the
inspector woke up, got quietly out of bed so as not to disturb
Livia, and went to check on Frans. The kid wasnt there.
Not on the couch, nor in the bathroom. Hed escaped, just as
the inspector had feared. But how the hell did he do it, with
the front door locked and the shutters still down? He started
looking everywhere the kid might be hiding. Nothing. Vanished.
He had to wake Livia and tell her what had happened,
get her advice. He reached out and at that moment saw the
childs head resting against his womans breast. They were
sleeping in each others arms.
9
Inspector? Sorry to bother you at home. Could we meet
this morning? Id like to give you my report.
Certainly. Ill come to Montelusa.
No, thats all right. Ill come down to Vig. Shall we
meet in an hour at the office in Salita Granet?
Yes, thanks, Lagan
He went into the bathroom, trying to make as little noise as
possible. Also to avoid disturbing Livia and Frans, he put
on his clothes from the previous day, which were additionally
rumpled from the nightlong stakeout. He left a note: there
was a lot of stuff in the fridge, hed be back by lunchtime. As
soon as hed written it, he remembered that the commissioner
had invited them for lunch. That was out of the question
now, with Frans there. He decided to phone at once,
otherwise he might forget. He knew that the commissioner
spent Sunday mornings at home, except in extraordinary circumstances.
Montalbano? Dont tell me youre not coming for
lunch!
Unfortunately I cant, Mr. Commissioner, Im sorry.
Is it something serious?
Quite. The fact is, early this morning, I becameI
dont know how to put thissort of a father.
Congratulations! was the commissioners reply. So,
Miss Livia...I cant wait to tell my wife, shell be so happy.
But I dont understand how this would prevent you from
coming. Ah, I get it: the event is imminent.
Flummoxed by his superiors misapprehension, Montalbano
recklessly proceeded to entangle himself in a long, tortuous,
stammering explanation that jumbled together murder
victims and childrens snacks,Volupterfume and the Mu-
lone printing works. The commissioner gave up.
All right, all right, you can explain it all later. Listen,
when is Miss Livia leaving?
Tonight.
So we wont have the pleasure of meeting her. Too bad.
Itll have to wait till next time. Tell you what, Montalbano:
when you think youll have a couple of free hours, give me a
ring.
Before going out, he went to take a last look at Livia and
Frans, who were still asleep. Who would ever break their
embrace? He frowned, gripped by a dark premonition.
The inspector was astonished to find everything in Lap
coras office exactly as he had left it. Not one sheet of paper
out of place, not a single clip where he hadnt seen it last
time. Laganad understood.
It wasnt a search, Inspector. There was no need to turn
the place upside down.
So, what can you tell me?
Well, the business was founded by Aurelio Lapra in
1965. Hed worked as a clerk before that. The business was
involved in importing tropical fruit and had a warehouse in
Via Vittorio Emanuele Orlando, near the port, equipped with
cold-storage rooms. They exported cereals, chickpeas, fava
beans, pistachios, things of that sort. The volume of business
was decent, at least until the second half of the eighties. Then
things went steadily downhill. To make a long story short, in
January of 1990, Lapra was forced to liquidate, but it was
all aboveboard. He even sold the warehouse and made a tidy
profit. His papers are all on file. An orderly man, this Lapra.
If Id had to do an inspection here, I wouldnt have
found anything wrong. Four years later, also in January, he
obtained authorization to reopen the business, which was still
incorporated. But he never bought another depository or
warehouse, nothing whatsoever. And you know what?