The Patience of the Spider (17 page)

I speak on behalf of my client, Engineer Antonio Peruzzo,
who finds himself forced to emerge from his dutiful silence to
stem the rising tide of lies and iniquities that have been unleashed
against him. Mr. Peruzzo wants everyone to know that,
being well aware of the difficult economic conditions of the

Mistretta family, he put himself at the full disposal of Susanna
Mistrettas abductors the day after her kidnapping. Unfortunately,
however, and inexplicably, Mr. Peruzzos readiness
to cooperate has not been returned in kind by the kidnappers.
This being the case, Mr. Peruzzo can only reaffirm the commitment
he has already made, not only with the abductors,
but with his own conscience.

Everyone gathered at the bar burst out laughing, drowning
out the statement that followed.

If the engineers made a commitment with his conscience,
the girls screwed! one of them shouted, saying what
everyone was thinking.

Things were so bad that if Peruzzo himself went on TV
to announce to everyone that he had decided to pay the ransom,
everyone would think he was paying with counterfeit
bills.

The inspector went back to the office and rang Minutolo.

The judge just called and said hed also seen the lawyers
statement. He wants me to go see Luna and get some clarifications.
What you might call an informal visit. And respectful.
In short, we need to put on kid gloves. Ive already phoned
Luna, who knows me. He said hes available. Does he know
you?

Dunno. He knows who I am.

You want to come, too?

Sure. Give me the address.

Minutolo was waiting for him at the front door. Hed come in
his own car, like Montalbano. A wise precaution, since many

of Lunas clients would probably have a heart attack if they
saw a police car parked in front of their lawyers place. The
house was heavily and luxuriously furnished. A housekeeper
dressed like a housekeeper showed them into the same study
theyd seen on television. She gestured for them to make themselves
comfortable.

Mr. Luna will be right with you.

Minutolo and Montalbano sat down in two armchairs in a
sort of sitting room that had been set up in a corner. They
nearly disappeared inside their respective, enormous easy
chairs, custom-made for elephants and Mr. Luna. The wall
behind the desk was entirely covered by photographs of varying
size, all duly framed. There must have been at least fifty.
They looked like ex-votos hung to commemorate and thank
some miracle-working saint. The lighting in the room made it
impossible to tell who the people in the photos were. Maybe
they were clients saved from the nations prisons by that blend
of oratory, cunning, corruption, and survival instinct that was
Mr. Luna. Given, however, that the host was late in arriving,
the inspector couldnt resist, and he got up and went over to
look at the photos. They were all of politicians: senators,
deputies of the chamber, ministers, former or current undersecretaries.
All signed and dedicated to the dear or dearest
Mr. Luna. Montalbano sat back down. He now understood
why the commissioner had advised them to proceed with caution.

My dear friends! said the lawyer upon entering the
room. Please dont get up! Can I get you anything? I have
whatever you want.

No, thank you, said Minutolo.

Yes, please, Id like a daiquiri, said Montalbano.
The lawyer gave him a befuddled look.
Actually, I dont
Never mind, the inspector conceded, gesturing as if

brushing away a fly.

As the lawyer was easing himself onto the sofa, Minutolo
shot a dirty look at Montalbano, as if to tell him to stop clowning
around.

So, shall I speak first, or do you want to ask questions?
You speak first, said Minutolo.
All right if I take notes? asked Montalbano, sticking his

hand in his jacket pocket, which contained nothing whatsoever.
No! Why do you need to do that? Luna burst out.
Minutolos eyes implored Montalbano to stop making

trouble.
Okay, okay, said the inspector, conciliatory.
Where were we? asked the lawyer, confused.
We hadnt started yet, said Montalbano.
Luna surely noticed the mockery, but pretended not to.

Montalbano understood that the lawyer understood, and so
decided to knock it off.
Oh, yes. Well, around ten a.m. on the day after the ab

duction, my client received an anonymous phone call.
When?! Minutolo and Montalbano asked in unison.
Around ten a.m. on the day after the abduction.
You mean barely fourteen hours after? asked Minutolo,

still bewildered.

Exactly, the lawyer continued. A mans voice informed
him that, since the abductors were aware that the Mistrettas
were not in a position to pay the ransom, for all intents and

purposes they considered him the only person who could satisfy
their demands. They said they would call back at three in
the afternoon. My client . . . (Every time he said my client
he made the kind of face a nurse might make when wiping the
sweat off her moribund patients forehead) . . . rushed here to
see me. We quickly came to the conclusion that my client had
been skillfully cornered. And that the kidnappers were holding
all the cards. If they wanted to drag him into this, there wasnt
much we could do about it. Shirking his responsibility to the
girl would gravely damage his reputation, which had already
been harmed by a few unpleasant episodes. And it might irreparably
compromise his political ambitions. Which I think
has already happened, unfortunately. He was supposed to be on
the ticket in the next elections, in a district where he would
have been a shoo-in.

No point in asking with what party, said Montalbano,
looking up at a photo of Berlusconi in a jogging outfit.

Yes, no point indeed, the lawyer said sternly, then continued.
I gave him some suggestions. The kidnappers called
back at three. When asked, at my suggestion, for proof that the
girl was alive, they replied that this would soon be broadcast
on TeleVig. Which in fact is exactly what happened. They
asked for six billion lire. They wanted my client to buy a new
cell phone and go immediately to Palermo, without telling
anyone, except his bankers. One hour later they called back
for the cell phone number. My client had no choice but to
obey, and withdrew the six billion in record time. On the evening
of the following day, they called again, and he told them
he was ready to pay. But since then, inexplicably, he has received
no further instruction, as I said on TV.

Why didnt Peruzzo authorize you to make that statement
any earlier than this evening?

Because the kidnappers had warned him against any such
action. He was not to grant any interviews or make any statement
at all, but to disappear for a few days.

And did they withdraw the warning?

No. My client decided to take the initiative himself,
which is extremely risky ...But he cant stand it any
longer...especially after that cowardly attack on his wife,
and after his trucks were torched.

Do you know where Peruzzo is now?
No.
Do you know his cell phone numberthe new one?
No.
How do you stay in touch?
He calls me. From a public phone.
Does he have email?
Yes, but he left his computer at home. Thats what they

told him to do, and he has obeyed.

In short, are you telling us that any freeze of his assets
would be useless at this point, since Peruzzos already got the
ransom money on him?

Exactly.
Do you think hell phone you the moment he knows

where and when hes supposed to deliver the ransom?
What for?
Are you aware that if he did, you would be legally obli

gated to inform us at once?
Of course I am. And Im ready to do as required. Except

that my client wont be calling me, or at least not until its all
been taken care of.

Minutolo had asked all the questions. This time Montalbano
decided to speak.

What size?

I dont understand, said the lawyer.

What size bills did they want?

Ah, yes. Five-hundred euros.

Strange. Big bills. Easier to carry around, but much harder
to spend.

Do you know if your client . . . (the lawyer made the
nurse-face) . . . managed to write down the serial numbers?

I dont know.

The lawyer looked at his gold Rolex and grimaced.

And there you have it, he said, standing up.

They stopped to chat a moment outside the lawyers house.

Poor Peruzzo, the inspector said by way of comment.
He tried to cover his ass immediately. Hed pinned his
hopes on a quick kidnapping, so people wouldnt find out,
whereas

Thats one thing that has me worried, said Minutolo.
And he began to clarify: From what the lawyer said, if the
kidnappers immediately contacted Peruzzo

almost twelve hours before they made their first phone
contact with us, Montalbano cut in, then they played us like
puppets at the puppet theater. Because those guys were playacting
with us. They knew from the very first moment whom

they wanted to force to pay the ransom. Theyve made the two
of us waste a lot of time, and theyve made Fazio lose sleep.
Theyre smart. In the final analysis, the messages they sent to
the Mistretta home were scenes from an old script, more than
anything else. They showed us what we wanted to see, told us
what we expected to hear.

Based on what the lawyer said, Minutolo resumed, the
kidnappers theoretically had the situation under control less
than twenty-four hours after the abduction. One call to Peruzzo,
and he would turn over the money. Except that they
never got back to him. Why? Had they run into trouble?
Maybe the men we have out scouring the countryside are
hampering their freedom of movement? Maybe we should let
up a little?

What are you afraid of, exactly?

That if those guys feel threatened, theyll do something
stupid.

Youre forgetting one basic thing.

What?

That the kidnappers have remained in contact with the
television stations.

So why wont they get in touch with Peruzzo?

Because they want him to stew in his own juices first,
said the inspector.

But the more time passes, the greater their risk!

Theyre well aware of that. And I think they also know
theyve played out the string as far as itll go. Im convinced
its only a matter of hours before Susanna goes home.

Minutolo looked befuddled.

What! This morning you didnt seem at all

This morning the lawyer hadnt yet spoken on television
and hadnt yet used an adverb he repeated when speaking to
us. He was shrewd. He indirectly told the kidnappers to stop
playing games.

Excuse me, said Minutolo, completely confused, but
what adverb did he use?

Inexplicably.

And what does it mean?

It means that he, the lawyer, knew the explanation perfectly
well.

I havent understood a goddamned thing.

Forget it. What are you going to do now?

Report to the judge.

13

Livia wasnt at home. The table was set for two people, and
beside her plate was a note.

Ive gone to the movies with my friend. Wait for me to eat

dinner.

He went and took a shower, then sat down in front of the
television. The Free Channel was showing a debate on Su-
sannas abduction, with Nicol moderator. Taking part in
the discussion were a monsignor, three lawyers, a retired
judge, and a journalist. Half an hour into the program, the debate
openly turned into a kind of trial of Antonio Peruzzo.
Or, more than a trial, an out-and-out lynching. When all was
said and done, nobody believed what Luna the lawyer had
said. None of those present seemed convinced by the story
that Peruzzo had the money ready and was only waiting to
hear from the suddenly silent kidnappers. Logically speaking,
it was in their interest to get their hands on the money as
quickly as possible, free the girl, and disappear. The more time
they wasted, the greater the risk. And so? It seemed natural to
think that the person responsible for the delay in Susannas
liberation was none other than Peruzzo himself, whoas the

monsignor insinuatedwas dragging things out trying to extract
some miserable little discount on the ransom. The way
he was acting, would he get any discount when he appeared
before God on Judgment Day? In conclusion, it seemed clear
that, once the girl was freed, a change of scene was Peruzzos
only option.

Talk about political ambitions gone up in smoke! He
wasnt even welcome anymore in Montelusa, Vig, or environs.

This time the clack at three twenty-seven and forty seconds
woke him up. He realized his brain was clear and functioning
perfectly, and took advantage of this to review the entire kidnapping
case, starting from Catarellas first phone call. He
stopped thinking around five-thirty, when he suddenly began
to feel sleepy. As he was sinking into unconsciousness, the telephone
rang and, luckily, Livia didnt hear it. The clock said five
forty-seven. It was Fazio, who was very excited.

Susannas been freed.
Oh, really? How is she?
Fine.
See you later, Montalbano concluded.
And he went back to bed.
He told Livia the news the moment she began to move in

bed, showing the first signs of waking up. She leapt out of bed

and onto her feet, as if shed seen a spider between the sheets.
When did you find out?
Fazio called. It was around six.
Why didnt you tell me immediately?

Was I supposed to wake you up?

Yes. You know how anxiously Ive been following this
whole ordeal. You let me keep sleeping on purpose!

If thats the way you want to see it, fine, I admit my guilt,
end of subject. Now calm down.

But Livia felt like making trouble. She eyed him with disdain.

And I dont understand how you can lie there in bed, instead
of going to see Minutolo to get more information, to
find out