The Age of Doubt (17 page)

A polar ice floe.

What the hell to do now? A hundred possible replies raced through his mind at supersonic speed but he ruled them all out. None seemed convincing enough. He opened his mouth, but was unable to speak. The commissioner spoke instead.

“I understand,” he said.

The freeze attained by this point was only possible in laboratories.

“I do hope you’ll one day let me know your reasons for playing such a mean, vulgar trick on a perfect gentleman like Dr. Lattes.”

“It wasn’t a . . . ,” he finally managed to utter.

“I don’t think one can talk about something so serious and base over the telephone. So let’s stop trying, for now. Have you been informed that I had to turn the investigation back to you?”

“Yes.”

“If it were up to me, you . . . but I was forced to do so, against my will . . . But let me be very clear about this. If you step out of line this time, I’ll screw you. And you must keep me continually up to date on the progress of the case. Good day.”

“Good night” would have been more appropriate.

Matre santa
, how embarrassing! Enough to make one want to disappear underground! There was, however, a positive side to it: from now on Lattes would never again ask him for news of his family.

And the commissioner, in his rage, had let slip an important admission. Namely, that he’d been forced to give the case back to him, against his own will. Therefore, someone else had intervened. Who could it have been? And, more importantly: Why?

But since the commissioner had, in fact, called, and it had not been possible to give any ready answers to his questions, the inspector decided to go out and eat at Enzo’s.

As he was heading towards the port for his customary stroll, he had an idea. Maybe he could do something to help to loosen La Giovannini’s tongue and make her reveal to Mimì exactly what she did while sailing the seas, and perhaps confirm whether it was the sort of traffic he already suspected her of.

He took the roundabout way to the lighthouse, and when he was in front of the
Vanna
, he headed up the gangway and stopped at the deck.

“Anybody here?”

Captain Sperlì answered from the mess room.

“Who’s there?”

“Inspector Montalbano.”

“Come in, come in.”

The inspector went below decks through the hatch. The captain was finishing his lunch. Beside him stood Digiulio, serving as his waiter.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” said Montalbano. “If you’re eating, I can come back later.”

“No, please, I’ve already finished. Would you have some coffee with me?”

“I’d love some.”

“Please sit down.”

“Signora Giovannini’s not here?”

“She’s here but she’s resting. If you like, I—”

“No, no, please let her sleep. I heard you were having some problems with your fuel. Has that been set right?”

“Apparently it was a false alarm.”

“So you’ll be leaving as soon as you can?”

“If we can get poor old Shaikiri’s body back tomorrow morning, as we’ve been promised, we’ll bury him and then set sail in the afternoon.

Digiulio brought the coffee. They drank it in silence. Montalbano then started digging in his pockets. To get better access to what he was looking for, he pulled out the sheets of paper Catarella had given him, and set these down on the table. On the top sheet was the name, in block letters:
KIMBERLEY PROCESS
. He hadn’t yet had the time to read them, but whatever they said, they must nevertheless have a precise meaning for the captain, since Giovannini kept a file with the same name in her safe. And indeed, the moment the captain’s eyes fell on the sheet of paper, he gave a start. At last Montalbano extracted the pack of cigarettes from his pocket, fired one up, and put the papers back in his pocket.

Meanwhile Sperlì had become visibly nervous.

“Look, if you’d like to speak with Signora Giovannini, I can go—”

“I wouldn’t dream of it!” said Montalbano, getting up. “It was nothing of importance. I’ll pass by again later. Have a nice day.”

He went up on deck, then back down onto the wharf. Sperlì hadn’t budged. He seemed to have turned to stone.

Perhaps he really ought to find out what this Kimberley Process was, the inspector thought, considering the effect it had on the captain.

But he would look into it later, at the office. First the walk to the lighthouse.

As he was sitting on the flat rock, all at once the thought of Laura assailed him with all the ferocity of a rabid dog. It caused him genuine, physical pain. The violence was perhaps due to the fact that he had managed for a while not to think of her, thanks to his preoccupation with the case. It had been his sort of revenge. But now her absence sliced right through him. It was an open wound.

No, he couldn’t phone her. He mustn’t. There was, however, one thing he could do that wouldn’t have negative consequences.

He got in his car and headed to the Harbor Office.

Outside the entrance stood the usual guard and two sailors, chatting. He drove a little further past, then parked in such a way that he could see, in the rearview mirror, who went in and who came out.

He stayed there for fifteen minutes, smoking one cigarette after another. Then, in a moment of lucidity, he felt embarrassed, ashamed of himself.

What was he doing there? He hadn’t even done this sort of thing when he was sixteen, and now he was doing it at fifty-eight? Fifty-eight, Montalbà! Don’t you forget it! Or was it perhaps the folly of old age that made him act this way?

Humiliated and depressed, he started up the car and drove back to the station.

As soon as he sat down, he pulled out Catarella’s printouts and was about to start reading them when the phone rang.

“Ah Chief! ’At’d be Dacter Lattes onna line who—”

“I’m not here!”

He yelled it so loudly that Catarella complained.

“
Matre santa
, Chief! Ya got my ears a-ringin’!”

The inspector hung up. He didn’t feel like talking. How could he ever justify his actions to Lattes? How could he ask to be forgiven? With what words? Why had he been so stupid as not to follow Livia’s advice?

So, Kimberley Process was . . .

The telephone rang again.

“’Scuse me, Chief, but there’s a young lady says she wants a talk t’yiz poissonally in poi—”

“On the phone?”

“Nah, she’s onna premisses.”

He didn’t have the time. He absolutely had to read those printouts.

“Tell her to come back tomorrow morning.”

So, Kimberley Process was
 . . .

Again the phone.

“Chief, ya gotta try ’n’ unnastand but the young lady says iss rilly rilly urgentlike.”

“Did she say what her name was?”

“Yessir. Vanna Digiulio.”

17

To say he was astonished wouldn’t have been accurate. If anything, he felt a sort of small satisfaction for having been right on target; indeed, he’d been certain the girl would turn up sooner or later to explain the whole affair to him. One thing, however, did indeed astonish him no end: that Catarella, for the first time in his life, had neither mangled nor mistaken her name.

For a second, upon seeing her, he thought that the young woman standing before him was not the same one he’d met. And that the whole business was even murkier than he’d imagined. How many Vanna Digiulios were there, anyway?

This one was blonde, without glasses, and had beautiful blue eyes. More importantly, she didn’t have that beaten-dog look that had made him feel so sorry for her. On the contrary, to judge by the way she walked, she seemed like a decisive, self-assured person.

She smiled at Montalbano as she held out her hand. Montalbano, standing erect, returned the greeting.

“I’ve been waiting for you,” he said.

“I knew you would be,” she said.

So they were even. The girl knew how to fence. Montalbano gestured towards the chair in front of his desk, and she sat down, setting the large purse she carried slung across her shoulder onto the floor.

She began speaking before the inspector had even asked her anything.

“My name is Roberta Rollo. We have the same rank, but for the past three years I’ve been in the direct employ of the U.N.”

So this must be a really big deal. And while she might be of equal rank to him, she certainly was far more important than a simple chief inspector of police. He wanted confirmation.

“Was it you who forced the commissioner to give the case back to me?”

“Not personally, no. But I pulled a few strings,” she said, smiling.

“Could I ask you a few questions?”

“I’m indebted to you. Go right ahead.”

“Was Shaikiri your informer on the
Vanna
?”

“Yes.”

“And were you the person Shaikiri met with at the carabinieri station?”

“Yes.”

“The lieutenant told me it had something to do with terrorism, but I didn’t believe it.”

“That’s not a question but an affirmation. But I’ll answer anyway. You were right not to believe it.”

“Because in fact it involved the illegal diamond trade.”

The woman opened her eyes wide, and they became two little sky-blue lakes.

“How did you find that out so quickly? I was told you were a good policeman, but I had no idea you—”

“You’re not too bad yourself, I must say. You got me to swallow whole your story about being the neglected niece of a rich yacht owner . . . Did you know that? You even managed to make me feel sorry for you. But then why, at the same time, did you indirectly provide me with a number of clues that would lead me to realize that you were a completely different person from the one you pretended to be?”

“I have no problem telling you the whole story. The morning we met, when you rescued me from an unexpected predicament, you introduced yourself as Inspector Montalbano, the very person I’d been told to contact, to enlist your cooperation on an operation that was to be launched shortly thereafter.”

“And what was that?”

“We’d learned that Émile Lannec . . .”

Montalbano shook his head.

“What’s wrong?”

“His name wasn’t Lannec, but Jean-Pierre David.”

The girl was astonished.

“So Lannec was David!”

“Did you know him?”

“I certainly did. But we didn’t know they were the same person. How did you figure that out?”

“I’ll tell you later. Go on.”

“At any rate, we’d learned that Lannec had left Paris to come here. And so—”

“What was Lannec’s role?”

“Wait. He seemed to us to be a sort of troubleshooter. He would turn up whenever there were problems.”

“And what was his role when he was David?”

“He was one of the leaders of the organization. A very important man. Then I got a message from Shaikiri saying that due to the bad weather, the
Vanna
was heading for Vigàta. As you’ve probably already surmised, the
Vanna
and the
Ace of Hearts
both belong to the same organization, though they have different responsibilities.”

“And what are they?”

“The
Vanna
picks up the diamonds, and the
Ace of Hearts
sorts them out. Having them both at the same port, and knowing that Lannec was here too, presented us with a unique opportunity. Imagine if we’d known that Lannec was actually David! That was why I rushed to the scene. My intention was to see how things stood and then, if necessary, have you organize a roundup. But there was one hitch. A big one. Those people know who I am, and they know I’ve been after them for some time . . . And as you’ve seen, they’re people who won’t hesitate to kill. So I planted a few doubts in your mind, in case something happened to me.”

“I’d figured as much. Then why did you disappear?”

“Because they suddenly found Lannec’s body in the dinghy. I realized there would be a lot of commotion, and that it wouldn’t work in my favor. And Lannec’s murder, which must certainly have taken place aboard the
Ace of Hearts
, changed the whole picture. I needed to think things over.”

“I’m sorry, but what interest did the
Vanna
have in bringing Lannec’s body back to shore? If he was killed by their very own accomplices on the
Ace of Hearts . . .
”

“They didn’t recognize him! They couldn’t! They made a grave mistake by bringing him back to shore! And, in fact, Shaikiri told me about a furious quarrel that had taken place between Giovannini and Sperlì on the one hand, and Zigami and Petit on the other . . . Do you know who they are?”

“Yes. The supposed owner of the
Ace of Hearts
and his secretary.”

“And they were arguing precisely because the
Vanna
had dragged the body back to port.”

“Are all crew members on both ships implicated?”

“On the
Ace of Hearts
, yes; on the
Vanna
, only Alvarez knows what’s going on.”

And that was why La Giovannini made certain that Shaikiri wasn’t killed aboard her yacht.

“Why only Alvarez?”

“Alvarez is Angolan, not Spanish, as everyone thinks. Apparently it was he who originally got the late Mr. Giovannini interested in the diamond trade.”

“I see. And who was Shaikiri?”

“An agent of ours who’d succeeded in infiltrating their group. Their suspicions were likely aroused when he got himself arrested twice in barely twenty-four hours. Do you know how they killed him?”

“Yes. First they stuck his head into a bucket full of saltwater to make it look like he’d drowned at sea, and then—”

“No,” she interrupted. “It’s true they did it to make it look like he’d drowned, but the main reason was to torture him. But it looks like he broke down and talked.”

“I’m sorry, but could you explain to me exactly what the U.N. has to do with all this?”

“Have you ever heard of the Kimberley Process?”

“Yes, but I still haven’t had time to—”

“I’ll sum it up for you in a few words. It’s an international organization that was set up in 2002 to oversee the exportation and importation of diamonds. The governments of sixty-nine different countries have so far agreed to comply with it. But, as you probably can imagine, some three or four percent of all diamonds extracted are still done clandestinely.”

“I see. But where does the U.N. come in?”

“The U.N.’s role is to make sure the diamonds on the illegal circuit don’t become war diamonds.”

War diamonds? What on earth could that mean? The young woman noticed his puzzlement.

“By that I mean diamonds that come illicitly from areas controlled by forces opposed to legitmate governments—guerrilla forces, rebels, tribal or political factions, adversaries of any kind . . . With the proceeds they can buy all the weapons they like.”

“And what sort of situation are we dealing with here and now, in your opinion?”

“Well, I think we’ve been presented with an incredible, perhaps unique opportunity.”

“Why do you say that?”

“The
Ace of Hearts
, which must certainly have a cargo of diamonds aboard, has been stuck in your port with engine trouble. I am sure they summoned Lannec to pass him the diamonds, probably so he could take them back to Paris. But then Lannec got killed.”

“Why, in your opinion?”

“I think Zigami will tell us that after we’ve arrested him.”

“Any hypotheses?”

“I think Zigami has only been following orders. After the murder, I requested some more information from people who know more than I do. Apparently other elements at the top of the organization no longer had much confidence in him. Or it might have been some sort of internal struggle, I don’t know. So the present situation is the following: The diamonds are still aboard the
Ace of Hearts
. Not only, but there must also be some aboard the
Vanna
, since the cruiser was unable to meet them out on the open sea to effect a transfer. I think they’re desperately looking for someone to get them out of this fix.”

Montalbano suddenly got an idea so outlandish that he gave a start in his chair.

“What’s wrong?” asked Roberta Rollo.

“I think they’ve already found their man.”

“Who?”

“His name is Mimì Augello. He’s my second-in-command.”

The young woman seemed completely bewildered.

“He managed to infiltrate their group? How did he do that?”

“He has . . . let’s just say he’s endowed with . . . well, he has some extraordinary qualities.”

“In what sense?”

Montalbano preferred to change the subject.

“First explain to me what you want to do.”

“Fine, but then you must bring me up to date on your investigation.”

“All right.”

“What I want to do is rather simple: I’ve already managed to get search warrants for both boats. I’ve already spoken to the local commander of the Customs Police, and if they find diamonds, they’ll arrest them all, with your help. And this has to be done by this evening. Otherwise we risk having them leave the port tonight or early tomorrow morning.”

“There is one problem,” said Montalbano. “What if the people on the
Ace of Hearts
notice too much activity on the wharf, get suspicious, and head out to sea? That boat’s got some powerful engines, and it’s unlikely one of our boats could keep up with it.”

“You’re right. What do you suggest?”

“That we make it impossible for them to leave the port.”

“How?”

“We put two of the Harbor Office’s motor patrols at the mouth of the port. They’re armed and wouldn’t have any problem blocking the cruiser’s path.”

“Will you see to that, or should I?”

“I think it’s better for you to go and make the arrangements with the Harbor Office. You have more authority.”

“All right. Now tell me about your second-in-command.”

“He succeeded in infiltrating the
Vanna
with the help of someone from the Harbor Office, Lieutenant Belladonna, who introduced him to the
Vanna
as a representative of the wholesaler that furnishes the fuel.”

Roberta Rollo screwed up her face.

“Sounds a little flimsy to me.”

“Wait. The excuse was that the fuel they’d bought to restock was defective and contained sediment that could damage the engines. And so my man took samples from their tanks for examination. And in the meantime he’s made friends with La Giovannini.”

“What kind of friends?”

“Intimate. And he’s led her to believe that he’s the kind of person who’s willing to do anything to make money. Giovannini has asked him to work for her.”

“Where?”

“First in South Africa, and then in Sierra Leone.”

“Sierra Leone has been and continues to be a nerve center of the illegal diamond trade. And what did your man do?”

“He accepted.”

“And is he going to leave with them?!” the young woman asked, alarmed.

“He wouldn’t dream of it! This afternoon, at five, he has one last meeting with Giovannini and Sperlì, during which he’s going to try to extract as much information as possible.”

The girl sat silent for a moment, then said:

“Maybe it’s better to wait and hear what he has to say, before taking action.”

“I agree.”

“And how’s your man going to get out of there?”

“He’s going to get arrested. By me. The way Shaikiri did for you.”

Roberta Rollo started laughing.

“Sounds like a good idea.”

She stood up.

“All right, then we’ll meet back up here around four,” she continued. “I’m going to go first to the Harbor Office and talk with the commander, and then back to the Customs Police to work out a few details.”

Montalbano envied her eyes, which would get to see Laura.

Once she had left, he called Fazio.

“Have a seat.”

Then he noticed that Fazio was wearing a face fit for the Day of the Dead.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“When you said we might have to arrest Inspector Augello, were you joking?”

“No.”

“Why, then? What’s he done? Look, it’s not as if Augello and I are all that fond of each other, but I don’t think he’s the kind of person who—”

“We have to arrest him for his own good.”

Fazio threw up his hands, resigned.

“Where?”

“At the port. And you have to make as much noise as possible.”

“But can’t you arrest him yourself? Here at the station? Without creating a sensation? Whatever he may have done, the man doesn’t deserve—”

“If you would just let me speak, I’ll tell you why and how we have to arrest him.”