Game of Mirrors (17 page)

Without a word, and without taking leave, Montalbano stood up and left the room.

But as soon as he was outside, he turned and went back into the room, striding decisively up to the
commissioner’s desk. The two men were looking at him openmouthed.

“I forgot to tell you one little detail: I have an ironclad alibi,” he said.

“And what’s that?” asked the commissioner.

“Have you read the report that Dr. Pasquano sent you?”

“I’ve got it here on my desk, but I haven’t had time yet,” the commissioner replied, taking it out from a pile of other papers and starting to read it.

“And how about you?” he turned and asked Arquà.

“Me neither.”

“So you both chose to read an anonymous letter rather than the coroner’s report. If you’d be so kind, Mr. Commissioner, to read out loud at what time the doctor says the murder was committed . . .”

“Here it says between midnight and two a.m.,” said the commissioner.

“Very well. At that hour I was in the district of Spinoccia, where the dead body of—”

“You’re lying!” Arquà exclaimed angrily. “I was there and I didn’t see you!”

“Be careful what you say, Arquà. You’ve already made the commissioner look bad; don’t make things worse. Did Fazio come over to you to ask whether the burnt-up car might be a Suzuki?”

“Yes, but that doesn’t mean you were present!”

“Mr. Commissioner, I will give you the names of the people who can testify that I was in Spinoccia that night, but only on the condition that Dr. Arquà is not present. Otherwise I shall institute legal proceedings to defend myself from this ignoble accusation.”

The commissioner didn’t hesitate for a second. He realized that things were taking a nasty turn.

“Would you please step outside?” he asked Arquà.

Palefaced, the chief of Forensics stood up and went out.

“Officer Gallo, Inspector Fazio, Dr. Pasquano, and an orderly from the Forensic Medicine Institute can confirm that between midnight and two a.m. I was in the district of Spinoccia and therefore could not have raped and murdered Signora Lombardo,” Montalbano said all in one breath.

“But why did they try to implicate you?” asked the commissioner.

“So the case would be taken out of my hands. As was in fact about to happen. Maybe they’re beginning to suspect that I’m just a step away from the truth. But I don’t think the whole setup was premeditated. The people who torched young Tallarita alive are the same who held Signora Lombardo prisoner. The night of the murder they must have driven by on the main road, from which you can see my house. In the trunk they had poor Liliana Lombardo and were surely taking her to her place of execution. But when they saw my car parked in front of my
house, they drew the logical conclusion that I was at home sleeping. And so they decided to kill Signora Lombardo in her own home and to rape her, though without ejaculating, so that I could be suspected of that, too, since we wouldn’t be able to do a DNA test that would have cleared me of everything. Except that I was not, in fact, at home. I’d had Officer Gallo come and pick me up and take me to Spinoccia.”

“I didn’t quite understand what you said to Arquà about an anonymous letter supposedly sent to Ragonese.”

“I don’t actually know whether it was a letter or an anonymous phone call, but Ragonese started talking about clamorous developments and even mentioned a film in which a police inspector murders his mistress . . . Clearly he wants revenge for the failed scoop.”

“What can I do?”

“A generic disavowal would suffice.”

“I’ll do it at once,” said the commissioner. “But . . .”

He had a question on the tip of his tongue but not the courage to ask it. Montalbano understood.

“As for the fingerprint on the bedsheet, Dr. Arquà had no way of knowing that once the blaze had been brought under control, I went inside the house together with a sergeant of the Fire Department. I wanted to check whether the blood on the sheet was still fresh. The fire sergeant could certainly confirm my story.”

Bonetti-Alderighi stood up and held out his hand.

“Thanks for your understanding,” he said.

“No problem,” said Montalbano.

And to work off all the agitation that had built up inside him, he decided to get off the bus back to Vigàta
at the station for the temples
, and walked very slowly the rest of the way.

By the time he got to his office it was already almost ten o’clock. During his long walk he had made up his mind to haul in his fishing nets, now that it was all clear to him. No more games of mirrors.

“Cat, send Augello and Fazio to me.”

“Isspecter Augello’s not onna premisses.”

“Then get me Fazio.”

He decided not to tell Fazio anything about his meeting with the commissioner and Arquà. It would have been a waste of time and he didn’t feel like wasting any more.

“What is it, Chief?”

“Listen, Fazio, I urgently need you to do two things for me. The first thing is that you have to find out, before the morning is over, how many cars Carlo Nicotra has and what their license plate numbers are.”

“Where does Nicotra suddenly appear from?”

“He hasn’t suddenly appeared. He’s always been
around. You yourself mentioned his name, at the beginning of this story.”

“You’re right. But I can’t figure out how he’s involved in this and to what degree.”

“Fazio, you surprise me. He’s the one who had Arturo Tallarita and Liliana murdered.”

“But why?”

“Ever heard of Romeo and Juliet?”

“Yeah, I saw the movie once.”

“Romeo and Juliet belonged to two rival families, which made their love impossible.”

“Come on, Chief, what’s Nicotra got to do with a story of impossible love?”

“But didn’t you tell me that Tallarita’s father dealt drugs for Nicotra? You could therefore consider Nicotra as the head of one of the two families.”

Fazio thought about this for a moment.

“All right,” he said. “But what does he care if Arturo has a lover? From the north, to boot? Why wouldn’t he want the two to be together?”

“But that’s what I’m trying to tell you. Because Liliana belonged to another family.”

“Chief, what family are you talking about? I repeat, not only are they from way out of town and have no friends, but Liliana’s husband is a computer representative!”

“Or so it seemed.”

Fazio balked.

“He’s not?”

“Let’s say it was a good cover. In fact, he may even have been one for a while, but then . . .”

“So what did he do, then?”

“He dealt drugs. Big time. He was given the task of taking over Nicotra’s circuit, replacing him little by little until he could push him out.”

“But how do you know this?”

“I’ve given it a lot of thought. Then, at a certain point, I wanted proof. And I got it.”

“How?”

“By opening up a computer and printer that were still in the Lombardos’ house. They didn’t work. They were simply containers for cocaine.”

Fazio’s eyes opened wide.

“But Lombardo couldn’t have been acting alone! And anyway, he’s not even from around here! What could he possibly know about the local drug circuit?”

“In my opinion, he was most likely hired by the Cuffaros, who have been supplanted in the drug business by the Sinagras for a while now. He wasn’t acting alone; I’m sure the Cuffaros were behind him. And they brought Lombardo in from the outside. You’ll see—if we manage to arrest him, he’ll turn out to be a big-time specialist in the field.”

“I think I’m beginning to understand.”

“When Nicotra discovered that Arturo had a thing going with Liliana, he must have got really worried that the kid might reveal some important secrets to his lover,
stuff about his organizational system that Liliana would then tell her husband.”

“So why not have him killed right away?”

“He can’t, because he’s concerned about how Tallarita senior, who’s in jail, will react. It’s possible the father would take revenge by collaborating in earnest with Narcotics. It’s a kind of boomerang, really.”

“How?”

“Because Nicotra himself started the rumor of his collaboration when he wanted to throw us off the scent of the bombs. So what does he do? He goes and talks to Arturo’s mother, warning her that her son is going with a woman who could bring real harm to him, but then nothing happens.”

“So he sends someone to vandalize her car,” Fazio continued.

“Right you are. But in this case, too, no results. So he has Liliana shot at when she’s in the car with me, but they miss. Same with the scoop, which was supposed to have driven a wedge between Arturo and Liliana, but that fails, too. Then at some point Arturo begins to understand Nicotra’s intentions and suggests to her that she try to get everyone to think that she’s my lover. But Nicotra knows that the two are still seeing each other. So he gets more serious. First he kidnaps Arturo, then Liliana, as she’s trying to flee. Then he kills Arturo and—”

“Excuse me for interrupting, but why did he wait so long to kill Liliana?”

“Maybe he thought he could use her to put pressure on Lombardo. But apparently the guy didn’t give a fuck about his wife.”

“But why kill her in her own house?”

“To try to have the murder pinned on me. Nicotra wanted revenge for the failed scoop.”

“And what about the bombs?”

“Nicotra had those planted to let Lombardo know that he’d been unmasked and that it’d be best if he moved to another neighborhood.”

Fazio had no more questions.

“All right,” he said, “I’ll go and find out about those cars.”

“Wait. The other thing I want you to do is talk to whoever’s in charge and ask for permission to speak with Tallarita senior in prison. I’ll need it for this afternoon. And by the way, was Signora Tallarita ever informed about the death of her son?”

“Of course. His sister came down from Palermo to identify the body.”

An hour later Fazio came back and informed him that Carlo Nicotra had three cars. One was a Mercedes with the license plate GI 866 CP.

“Nicotra’s fucked,” Montalbano said to Fazio, who only gave him a bewildered look.

The inspector then started searching through the papers in his jacket pocket.

At last he found the scrap with Japico’s cell phone number written on it.

He dialed it.

“Montalbano here.”

“What can I do for you, Inspector?”

“I need to talk to you.”

“I’m in town.”

“Could you come to the station?”

“When?”

“As soon as possible.”

“I’m right in the neighborhood. I’ll be there in five minutes.”

Fazio looked at him questioningly.

“This young man saw two cars at the drinking trough in Spinoccia before one of them caught fire. He took down the license plate numbers, but without the letters, only the numbers, so he could play them at Lotto. One was Liliana’s Suzuki; the other was a big car that we now know was a Mercedes. Carlo Nicotra’s Mercedes.”

Fazio was confused.

“What’s wrong? Doesn’t make sense to you?”

“What I’m wondering is how can someone like Nicotra go in his own car to the place where somebody’s about to be murdered? Why would he do that without taking the slightest precaution?”

“Because these people are morons who think they’re omnipotent. Like some of our politicians. And they fuck up time and again.”

Catarella rang to tell them as how there was summon called Imbilicato on the premisses . . .

Japico Indelicato was smiling.

“Is everything all right, Inspector?”

“Did your number win?”

“Nah.”

“Well, it won for me.”

“How’s that, Inspector?”

“Was the license plate of the big car you saw in the rearview mirror by any chance GI 866 CP?”

Japico slapped his forehead.

“That’s it! How did I ever forget it?”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because GI are the initials of Giovanni Indelicato, who’s my father, and CP is for Carmela Pirro, who’s my mother.”

The tern had paid off.

“Now, Signor Indelicato, I want you to give me a straight answer.”

“Okay.”

“Would you be willing to testify, now, in my presence, and later, in a court of law, that that was the car you saw at the drinking trough in Spinoccia, and that you saw it there with another car, the one that was later set on fire?”

“Of course. Why would that be a problem?”

“Because the car belongs to a Mafia boss.”

“I don’t care who it belongs to, I’ll say what I saw.”

“Thank you. Fazio, get ready to type the declaration.”

After Japico left, Fazio commented:

“There should be more young people like that!”

“There are, there are,” said Montalbano.

“So what do we do now?” Fazio asked.

“I’m gonna go eat. If in the meantime you get permission to talk with Tallarita, ring me at Enzo’s.”

At Enzo’s the TV was on and tuned in to TeleVigàta.

“Shall I turn it off or leave it on?” Enzo asked him.

“Leave it on.”

“What can I get you?”

“I should keep to light stuff. I have a lot to do this afternoon.”

“Tell you what. No antipasti, just first and second courses.”

As the inspector was eating a dish of
pasta alla carrettiera
, Ragonese’s face appeared on the TV screen. The newsman spoke at great length about some legislation passed by the regional government concerning the fishing industry, and not until the end of his report did he say:

Concerning the widespread recent reports about the possible
involvement of a well-known local personality in the
murder of Liliana Lombardo, a development we duly
broadcast here at TeleVigàta, the Office of the Commissioner
of Police of Montelusa has issued a statement asserting
that all such reports are entirely without foundation
and that the investigation of the crime still remains in the
hands of Chief Inspector Salvo Montalbano of the Vigàta
Police. Have a good day.

Old Ragonese seemed to be taking it a little hard. But Mr. C’mishner had kept his word, and Montalbano at least had to give him credit for that.

He was paying the bill when Fazio rang him on his cell phone. Before answering, he made sure there were no other clients within earshot.

“I can get you a consultation with Tallarita tomorrow morning at nine.”

Montalbano spoke softly.

“All right. For now, though, don’t leave the office, because I’m about to go to Tommaseo and ask him for an arrest warrant for Nicotra. And I’ll have it sent to you; that way you can go and get him for me immediately. I want to talk to the guy before taking him to the prosecutor. Got that?”

“Got it.”

He hung up and called Tommaseo’s office.

“Can you see me in about half an hour?”

“Come.”

As he’d expected, Tommaseo put up some resistance to issuing the arrest warrant.

“Well, only one witness . . .”

And the inspector had to thank the Lord that there was even one! In the past there wouldn’t have been any.

“But we may have conclusive proof.”

“And what would that be?”

“In addition to the arrest warrant, I want you to order the confiscation of all of Nicotra’s cars. Especially the Mercedes.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m absolutely certain that Liliana Lombardo was taken to the house in which she was murdered in the trunk of that Mercedes. A careful examination by Forensics should come up with, say, some of the victim’s hair. The body’s still in the morgue, so it wouldn’t be hard to make a comparison.”

In the end, Tommaseo let himself be talked into it, and then sent a copy of the warrant to Fazio.

Justice was on the move. But Montalbano wasn’t convinced that justice would, in the end, do itself justice. It would encounter many and unceasing obstacles along the way: lawyers paid their weight in gold, honorable
parliamentarians who owed their seats in government to the Mafia and had to repay the debt, some judges a bit less courageous than others, and a truckload of false testimonies in favor of the defendant . . .

But there might still be a way to screw Nicotra once and for all . . .

After leaving Tommaseo’s office, the inspector went for a half-hour walk to allow Fazio time to do what he had to do; then he got into his car and headed for the studios of the Free Channel.

He parked, got out, and went in.

“How nice to see you!” said Zito’s secretary.

“It’s nice to see you, too. You’re fresh as a rose. Is Nicolò in?”

“Yes, he’s in his office.”

Nicolò was writing. As soon as he saw Montalbano, he got up.

“What a lovely surprise! I watched Ragonese’s report. Everything taken care of?”

“Everything.”

“So much the better. You need something?”

“Yes. I want you to interview me and broadcast it this evening.”

“At your service. Interview you about what?”

“Wait just a second. Can I make a phone call?”

“Of course.”

He called Fazio on the cell phone.

“What point are we at?”

“We’re taking him to the station.”

“Did he put up any resistance?”

“No, he wasn’t expecting it.”

“How did he react?”

“He said he wants his lawyer.”

“He’ll have to wait till I get there. Oh, and do me a favor and inform Tommaseo that he’ll have Nicotra standing before him in about two hours.”

Montalbano hung up and turned towards Zito.

“I’m giving you exclusive rights to the scoop: I’ve just had Carlo Nicotra arrested for double homicide.”

“Holy shit!” said Nicolò, jumping out of his chair. “Nicotra’s the number two of the Sinagra clan! That’s a blockbuster! Give me some of the details.”

Montalbano filled him in. Then he said:

“So, are you going to interview me or not?”

“Yes, but I’m going to reveal the news of the arrest first, and separately.”

“Do whatever you like.”

“Inspector Montalbano, could you please tell us how you arrived at the decision to request a warrant for the arrest of Carlo Nicotra?”

“
Well, as you know, during a preliminary investigation we are required to maintain secrecy on many points, so I’ll just limit myself to saying that it was Nicotra himself who took me by the hand and led me to the solution of the case.”

“Really? Could you give me a better sense of how he did that?”

“Certainly. Nicotra made such a string of mistakes that at first I almost couldn’t believe it. I actually thought they were red herrings to throw me off the scent.”