The Scent of the Night (10 page)

‘
Five months ago?!'

‘
Yessirree. The town council says it's the provincial council that should repair it, the provincial council says it's the job of the regional council, the regional council says it's up to the road department, and you, in the meantime, get screwed.'

'And you don't?
’

‘I
get around on bicycle.'

Half an hour later, Montalbano was able to resume his journey. He remembered that the farm was about two and a half miles outside Calapiano, and to get there one had to take a little track so full of holes, rocks, and dust that even goats shunned it This time, however, he found himself on a road that was narrow, yes, but paved and well maintained. There were two possibilities: he had either made a wrong turn or the town of Calapiano had an efficient administration. The latter proved to be the case. The big farmhouse appeared round a bend, a light plume of smoke rising from the chimney, a sign that somebody was cooking in the kitchen. He looked at his watch. It was almost one o'clock. He got out of the car, filled his arms with cannoli and pastries, went into the house and into the big room that served as both dining and living room, as demonstrated by the television in the comer. He put his packages down on the table and went into the kitchen. Franca,
Mimì
's sister, had her back to him and didn't realize he'd come in. The inspector stood there a moment, watching her in silence, adniiring the harmony of her movements but mostly spellbound by the aroma of ragu filling his
lungs. ‘F
ranca.'

The woman turned around, face lighting up, and ran into Montalbano's arms.

'Salvo
!
What a big surprise!' she said. Then:
‘
Have you heard about
Mimì
's wedding?'

‘
Yes.'

'Beba phoned me this morning; her father's feeling better.'

She said no more and went back to the stove. She didn't bother to ask Salvo why he'd come to see them.
What a woman!
thought Montalbano. Then he asked: "Where are the others?'

The grown-ups are working. Giuseppe, Domenico, and Francois are at school. But they'll be back soon. Ernst has gone in the car to pick them up. Remember him? The German student who spent the summer here lending a hand? He liked it so much, he comes back whenever he can.'

‘I
need to talk to you,' said Montalbano.

He told her about the passbook and the money he'd entrusted to the notary. He'd never mentioned it before to either Franca or her husband, Aldo, for the simple reason that he always forgot As he was explaining, Franca kept going back and forth between the kitchen and the dining
room, the inspector following behind her. When he'd
fin
ished, her only comment was:

'You did the right thing. I'm so happy for Francois. Want to help me lay the table?
’

NINE

When he heard the car pull into the courtyard, he couldn't help himself and ran outside.

He recognized Francois at once. God
,
how he'd changed! He was no longer the little boy he remembered, but a lanky youth with dark, curly hair and big dark eyes. At that same moment Francois saw him.

'Salvo!
’

And he flew to him and hugged him tight. Not like the time when he'd run towards him and then sidestepped at the last second
.
Now there were no more problems between them, no more shadows, only great affection, and Salvo could feel it in the intensity and duration of their embrace. And thus, with Montalbano resting a hand on Francois's shoulder and the boy trying to wrap his arm around the inspector's waist, they went into the house, followed by the others.

Then Aldo and his three helpers arrived and they all sat down at the
t
able. Francois was sitting at Montalbano's
right, and at a certain point the boy s hand came to rest on Salvo's knee. The inspector moved his fork out of his right hand and contrived somehow to eat his pasta al ragu with his left, keeping his other hand on top of the boy's. Whenever the two hands had to quit each others company to take a sip of wine or to cut a piece of meat, they would come immediately back for their secret rendezvous under the table.

'If you want to rest, there's a room ready
’
said Franca when they had finished eating.

'No, I'm going to leave straightaway.'

Aldo and his helpers stood up, said goodbye to Montalbano, and went out.

Giuseppe and Domenico did the same.

'They're going to work until five,' Franca explained. 'Then they'll come back and do their homework.'

'And what about you?' Montalbano asked Francois.

I'm staying here with you until you leave. I want to show you something.'

'Go
’
Franca said to both of them Then, turning to Montalbano: In the meantime I'll write down what you asked me
’

Francois led him round behind the house, where there was a big meadow of alfalfa. Four horses were grazing in it.

'Bimbai' Francois called.

A young mare with a blonde mane raised her head and came towards the boy. When she was within reach, Francpis started running and with a leap he was on the animal's bare back. He made a circle and returned.

'Do you like her?' Francois asked happily.
‘
Papa gave her to me.'

Papa? He must mean Aldo, of course. He was right to call him papa. Still, for a brief moment it was a pinprick to the heart. Nothing, really, but he felt it

‘I
also showed Livia what a good rider I am
’
said Francois.

'Oh, you did?'

‘
Yes, the other day, when she came to visit She was afraid I would fall off. You know how women are.' 'Did she sleep here?'

'Yeah, one night Then she left the next day. Ernst drove her back to the airport I was so happy to see her
’

Montalbano said nothing, didn't even breathe. They walked back towards the house in silence, just like before, with the inspector's arm around the boy's shoulders and Francois trying to embrace him around the waist but actually clutching his jacket At the door Francois said in a low voice:

‘I
want to tell you a secret'

Montalbano bent down.

‘
When I grow up, I want to be a policeman like you.'

For the drive back he took the other road,
the
and instead of taking four and a half hours it took only three. At
the
station he was immediately assailed by Catarella, who seemed more distressed than usual

'Ah, Chief, Chief! Hizzoner mister c'mishner says that—'

'Out of my hair, both of you.'

Catarella was crushed. He didn't even have the strength to react.

Once inside his office, Montalbano set about frantically searching for a sheet of paper and envelope without the Vigata Police letterhead. He succeeded. Then he sat down and wrote a letter to the commissioner with no formal greeting whatsoever.

I hope by now you've received the copy of the notary's letter I anonymously sent to you. Included herewith you'll find all the documents pertaining to the lawful adoption of the child you actually accused me of having kidnapped. I, for my part, consider the matter settled. If you persist in pursuing it, let me warn you that I will sue you for slander.

Montalbano

'Catarella!' 'Yessir,
Chief’

'Here's a thousand lire. Go and buy a stamp, stick it on this envelope, and post it'

'But Chief, there's stamps galore in this office!'

‘
Do as I say. Fazio!'

'Yessir.'

'Anynews?
’

‘
Yes, Chief. And I have to thank a friend of mine with the airport police who's got a friend whose girlfriend works at the ticket counter at Punta Raisi. That was a lucky break. Otherwise we would've waited at least three months for an answer.'

The Italian method for streamlining bureaucracy. Fortunately there's always somebody who knows somebody who knows somebody else.

'And so?'

Fazio, who wanted to relish his hard-earned triumph, took an eternity to slip his hand in his pocket, pull out a folded sheet of paper, unfold it, and hold it in front of him as a guide.

It turns out that Giacomo Pellegrino had a ticket, issued by the Icarus Travel Agency of Vigata, for a four
p.m
. flight on August the thirty-first. And you know what? He never got on that flight.'

Is that certain?'

'Gospel, Chief. But you don't seem too surprised.'
‘I
was feeling more and more convinced that Pellegrino never left.'

'Let's see if you're surprised by what I tell you next. Pellegrino showed up in person, two hours before departure, to cancel his flight.'

'At two o'clock, in other words.'

'Right. Then he changed destination.'

‘
Now I'm surprised,' Montalbano conceded.
‘
Where'd he go?'

Wait It doesn't end there. He booked a flight for Madrid, first of September, ten
a
m
, but..

Fazio grinned triumphantly. Perhaps in the background he was hearing the march from
A
i
da.
He opened his mouth to speak, but the inspector knavishly beat him to the punch line.

'... but he didn't get on that one, either,' he concluded.

Fazio, visibly irritated, crumpled the sheet and shoved it unceremoniously back in his pocket.

It's no use with you. You're no fun at all.'

'Come on, don't get upset,' the inspector consoled him.
‘
How many travel agencies are there in Montelusa?'

There are three more right here in Vigata.'

‘I’m
not interested in the ones in Vigata.'

‘I’ll
go look it up in the phone book and get you the numbers.'

'Don't bother. Call them yourself and ask if, at any time between the twenty-eighth of August and the first of September, there were any reservations made in the name of Giacomo Pellegrino.'

Fazio looked dumbfounded. Then he shook himself out of it.

It can't be done. Working hours are over. I
’
ll take care of it tomorrow morning as soon as I come in. But, Chief, if I find out this Pellegrino made, still another reservation for, I dunno, Moscow or London, what does it mean?
’

It means our friend wanted to muddy the waters. He's got his ticket to Madrid in his pocket, when in fact he told everyone he was going to Germany. Tomorrow we'll find out if he had any other tickets in his pocket. Have you got Mariastella Cosentino's home phone number anywhere?'
‘I’ll
go check Augello's files.'

He went out. came back with a scrap of paper, dictated the number to Montalbano, and left. The inspector dialled the number. There was no answer. Maybe Miss Cosentino had gone out grocery shopping. He put the scrap of paper in his pocket and decided to go home to Marinella.

He had no appetite. The pasta al ragu and pork he'd eaten at Franca's sat a little heavy on his stomach. He fried himself an egg, then ate four fresh anchovies tossed in oil, vinegar, and oregano. After eating, he tried Miss Cosentino's number again. She must have been waiting with her hand over the phone, because she answered before the first ring had time to finish. The voice of a dying woman, thin as a spider's web, said: 'Hello? Who's this?'

'Montalbano here. Sorry to bother you, perhaps you were watching television and—'
‘I
don't have a television.'

The inspector didn't know why, but he had the impression he'd heard a distant, faraway bell ring very briefly in his brain. It was so quick, so sudden, that he wasn't really sure if he'd heard right or not,

‘I
wanted to know, if you still remember, of course,
whether Giacomo Pellegrino didn't come to work on the thirty-first of August, either.'

Her response came immediately, without the slightest hesitation.

'Inspector, I could never forget those days, since I've gone over them time and again in my mind. On the thirty-first, Pellegrino showed up late for work, around eleven. And he left almost immediately; he said he had to meet with a client. He came back after lunch, probably around four-thirty, and stayed until closing time.'

The inspector thanked her and hung up.

It made sense, added up. Pellegrino, after going to talk to his uncle in the morning, comes in to work. At midday he goes out, not to meet with a client, but to catch a cab or pick up a rental car. He goes to Punta Raisi, arriving at the airport around two, cancels the ticket for Berlin and books a flight to Madrid instead. He gets back in the cab or the rental car, and by four-thirty he's back at the office. The timing worked out.