The Patience of the Spider (18 page)

To find out what? If you want more information, turn
on the TV.

Sometimes your indifference drives me crazy!

She went and turned on the television. Montalbano, for
his part, locked himself in the bathroom and took his time.
Obviously to get on his nerves, Livia kept the volume high. As
he was drinking his coffee in the kitchen, he could hear angry
voices, sirens, screeching tires. He could barely hear the telephone
when it rang. He went into the dining room. Everything
was vibrating from the infernal noise emanating from
the set.

Livia, would you please turn that down?

Muttering to herself, Livia obeyed. The inspector picked
up the receiver.

Montalbano? Whats wrong, arent you coming?

It was Minutolo.

What for?

Minutolo seemed stunned.

Er ...I dunno ...I thought youd be pleased . . .

Anyway, I have the impression youre under siege.

Thats true. There are dozens of journalists, photographers,
and cameramen outside the gate...I had to call in reinforcements.
The judge and the commissioner should be
here soon. Its a mess.

Hows Susanna doing?

A bit the worse for wear, but basically all right. Her uncle
examined her and found her in good physical condition.

How was she treated?

She said they never once made a violent gesture. On the
contrary.

How many were there?

She saw only two hooded men. Obviously peasants.

How did they release her?

She said that last night, when she was sleeping, they woke
her up, made her put on a hood, tied her hands behind her
back, took her out of the vat, and made her get in the trunk of
a car. They drove for over two hours, she said. Then the car
stopped. They made her get out, had her walk for half an
hour, then loosened the knots around her wrists and made her
sit down. Then they left.

And they never spoke to her at any point during all this?

Never. It took her a while to free her hands and remove
the hood. It was pitch-black outside. She hadnt the slightest
idea where she was, but she didnt lose heart. She managed to
get her bearings and headed in the direction of Vig. At
some point she realized she was near La Cucca, you know, that
village

Yeah, I know. Go on.

Its a little over two miles from her villa. She walked the
distance, arrived at the gate, rang the bell, and Fazio went and
let her in.

All according to script, in other words.
What do you mean?
I mean they keep enacting the same drama that weve

become accustomed to seeing. A sham performance. The real
show they put on for one spectator alone, Antonio Peruzzo,
and they asked him to join in. Then there was a third show
aimed at the general public. How was Peruzzo? Did he play
his part well?

Frankly, Montalbano, I dont understand what youre

saying.
Have you succeeded in getting in touch with Peruzzo?
Not yet.
So what happens next?
The judge is going to hear Susannas story, then this after

noon therell be a press conference. Arent you going to come?
Not even if you put a gun to my head.

He was barely in the doorway to his office when the phone
rang.

Chief? Theres some jinnelman onna line says hes the
moon. So, tinkin hes makin some kinda joke, I says Im the
sun. He got pissed off. I tink hes insane.

Put him on.
What did the devoted nurse want from him?
Inspector Montalbano? Good morning. This is Francesco

Luna, the lawyer.

Good morning, sir. What can I do for you?

First of all, my compliments on your receptionist.

Well, sir, you see

Pay them no mind, but look and move on, as the poet says.
Lets drop it. Im calling you only to remind you that your
pointless, offensive sarcasm yesterday, toward myself and my
client, was inexcusable. You know, I have the misfortune, or
good luck, of having an elephants memory.

Because you, sir, ARE an elephant, the inspector wanted to
say, but he managed to restrain himself.

Please explain what you mean, sir.

Yesterday evening, when you and your colleague came to
my house, you were convinced my client would not pay the
ransom, whereas, as you have seen

Excuse me, but youre mistaken. I was convinced that
your client, like it or not, would pay the ransom. Have you
managed to get in touch with him?

He phoned me last night, after doing what he needed to
do. What people expected of him.

Can we talk to him?

He doesnt feel up to it yet. Hes just been through a terrible
ordeal.

You mean the ordeal of three million euros in bills of
five hundred?

Yes. Three million, stuffed in a suitcase or a duffel bag,
Im not sure which.

Do you know where they told him to drop the money
off?

Well, they phoned him yesterday evening around nine
and described in minute detail a road he was supposed to take

to a small overpass, the only one there is along the road to
Brancato. With hardly any traffic. Under the overpass, he
would find a sort of little well covered by a lid that could be
easily lifted. All he needed to do was put the suitcase or duffel
inside, close it back up, and leave. My client arrived on the
spot shortly before midnight. He did exactly as he was ordered
to do, then quickly went away.

Thank you, Mr. Luna.
Excuse me, Inspector. I want to ask a favor of you.
What kind of favor?
I would like you to help us resuscitate my clients reputa

tion, which has been so gravely compromised. And this you
can do by honestly saying exactly what you know. Not one
word more, not one word less.

May I ask who the other resuscitators are?

Myself, Inspector Minutolo, all the engineers friends
from within and without the partyin short, everyone whos
had a chance to know

If the opportunity presents itself, Ill be sure to do so.
I appreciate it.
The telephone rang again.
Chief, iss Doctor Latte with an S at the end.
That is, Dr. Lattes, chief of the commissioners cabinet, a

churchgoing, cloying sort of man, subscriber to the LOsserva-

tore Romano, and known informally as Caffattes.
My dear Inspector! How are you doing?
I cant complain.
Let us thank the Blessed Virgin! And hows the family?
What a pain in the ass! He had got it in his head that the

inspector had a family, and there was no way to shake him out

of this conviction. If he ever found out that Montalbano was

a bachelor, the shock might be lethal.

Fine, thanking the Blessed Virgin.

Well, on behalf of Commissioner Bonetti-Alderighi, Im
inviting you to attend the press conference that will be held at
Montelusa Central Police at five-thirty this evening, concerning
the felicitous outcome of the Mistretta kidnapping. The
commissioner would like to make it clear, however, that only
your attendance is being requestedthat is, you will not be
asked to speak.

Thank the Blessed Virgin, Montalbano muttered under
his breath.

What was that? I didnt hear.

I said I was wondering something. As you know, Im still
convalescing, and was called back into service only because

I know, I know. And so?

So could I be exempted from attending the press conference?
Im a bit tired out.

Lattes couldnt hide how happy the inspectors request
made him. Montalbano was always considered a loose cannon
at these official functions.

But of course! Of course! Take good care of yourself, dear
friend. But consider yourself on duty until further notice.

Surely someone had already thought of writing The Perfect In-
vestigators Handbook. It had to exist, since there was, after all, a
Junior Woodchucks Guidebook. And it was certainly written by
Americans, who were capable of publishing handbooks on
how to put buttons in buttonholes. Montalbano, however, had

never seen such a handbook. Nevertheless, somewhere in such
a book the writer must surely recommend that the sooner the
investigator inspects a crime scene, the better. That is, before
the elementsrain, wind, sun, man, animalsso alter the
scene that the telltale signs, already barely perceptible, become
indecipherable.

Based on what Mr. Luna had told him, Montalbano
alone among the investigatorsknew where Peruzzo had left
the ransom money. It was his duty, he reasoned, to inform
Minutolo of this fact at once. Surely the kidnappers had spent
a long time hiding in the area around the overpass on the road
to Brancato, first making sure there were no policemen lying
in ambush, then waiting for Peruzzos car to arrive, and finally
letting a bit more time pass to ensure that all was calm before
coming out in the open and picking up the suitcase. And
surely they had left some trace of their presence. It was therefore
imperative to examine the site before the crime scene was
altered (as per aforementioned Handbook).

Wait a second, he said to himself as his hand was picking
up the telephone. What if Minutolo couldnt go there immediately?
Wasnt it better to get in his car and have a first look
himself? Just an initial, superficial inspection? If, then, he discovered
anything important, he would alert Minutolo so a
more thorough examination could be conducted.

Such was how he tried to quiet his conscience, which had
been muttering to itself for some time. His consience, however,
was stubborn. Not only would it not be silenced, but
made its own feelings known.

No point in making excuses, Montalbou just want to screw
Minutolo, now that the girls no longer in danger.

Catarella!

Your orders, Chief!

Do you know the quickest way to Brancato?

Which Brancato, Chief? Upper Brancato or Lower Bran-
cato?

Is it so big?

No sir. Theres just five hunnert nabitants till yesterday.
Fact is, tho, that seeing as how Upper Brancatos been falling
down the mountainside below

What do you mean? Are there landslides?

Yessir, so, seeing as how theres what you just said there is,
they hadda build a new town unner the mountin. But theres
fifty old folks dint wanna leave their homes and so now the
nabitants been nabitting all apart from nother wuther, wit four
hunnert forty-nine blow n fifty up top.

Wait a second. Were missing one inhabitant.

Dint I jes say theres five hunnert till yesterday? Yesterday
one of em died, Chief. My cussin Michele tol me. He
lives out Lower Brancato way.

Of course! How could Catarella not have a relative in that
godforsaken village?

Listen, Cat. If youre driving from Palermo, which comes
first, Upper or Lower Brancato?

Lower, Chief.

And how do you get there?

The explanation was long and convoluted.

Listen, Cat. If Inspector Minutolo rings, tell him to call
me on the cell phone.

He took the scorrimento veloce, the expressway, for Palermo,
which was clogged with traffic. This was a perfectly ordinary
two-lane road, slightly broader than normal, but, for no apparent
reason, everyone considered it a kind of autostrada and
therefore drove as though they were on an autostrada. Trucks
passing trucks, cars racing at ninety miles an hour (since such
was the speed limit a cabinet minister, the one ostensibly in
charge of such matters, had set for the autostrade), tractors,
motor scooters, rattletrap little pickups lost in a tide of
mopeds. On both sides, right and left, the road was dotted
with little slabs of stone adorned with bouquets of flowers
not for beautys sake, but to mark the exact spots where
dozens of luckless wretches, in cars or on motorbikes, had lost
their lives. A continuous commemorationwhich nobody,
however, gave a damn about.

He turned left at the third intersection. The road was
paved but had no markings or signs. He would have to trust in
Catarellas directions. By now the landscape had changed.
Low, rolling hills, a few vineyards. And not a trace of any villages.
He hadnt even crossed another car. He began to get
worried. Most importantly, he didnt see another living soul
he might ask for directions. All at once he didnt feel like proceeding
any farther. But just as he was about to make a
U-turn and head back to Vig, he saw a cart and horse coming
towards him. He decided to ask the driver for help. He
drove on a little, and when he was in front of the horse, he
stopped, opened the car door, and got out.

Good day, he said to the driver.

The driver seemed not to have noticed the inspector. He
merely looked straight ahead, reins in hand.

Likewise, he replied. Sixtyish and sunburnt, gaunt and
dressed in fustian, he was wearing an absurd Borsalino on his
head that must have dated back to the fifties.

But he made no motion to stop.

I wanted to ask you for some information, said Montalbano,
walking beside him.

Me? asked the man, half surprised, half worried.

Who else, if not? The horse?

Yes.

Ehhhhh, said the man, pulling on the reins. The animal
stopped.

The man said nothing and kept looking straight ahead.
He was waiting to be asked the question.

Listen, could you tell me how to get to Lower Bran-
cato?

Reluctantly, as though it cost him great effort, the man on
the cart said:

Keep going straight. Third road on the right. Good day.
Ahhh!

That ahhh was directed at the horse, which resumed
walking.

Half an hour later, Montalbano saw something that looked
like a cross between an overpass and a bridge appear in the
distance. Unlike a bridge, it had no parapet, but large protective
metal screens instead; and unlike an overpass, it was arched
like a bridge. In the background loomed a hill on which a
group of small, dicelike white houses sat impossibly balanced
halfway down the slope. That had to be Upper Brancato,

whereas nary a roof of the lower village was visible yet. Whatever
the case, he must be close. Montalbano stopped the car
about twenty yards from the overpass, got out, and started
looking around. The road was distressingly empty. The only
other vehicle hed encountered since the junction was the
cart. Hed also noticed a peasant hoeing. That was all. Once
the sun went down and darkness fell, one probably couldnt
see anything along that road. There was no sort of lighting
whatsoever, no houses that might give off a faint glow at
night. So where had the kidnappers taken up position while
waiting for Peruzzos car? And most importantly, how could
they have known for certain that the car they saw was indeed
Peruzzos and not another vehicle that by some miracle happened
to be passing that way?