heard it said within the family that it was worth a fortune, though she’d never paid much attention to this.
These legends of priceless paintings and statuettes worth millions are common talk in families. I’m not sure why, but I became curious. A few days later she phoned me in the evening, then came round to pick me up, and took me to the house she’d recently built. The moment I saw that violin, I tell you, something burst inside me, I felt a kind of overpowering electrical shock. It was in a pretty bad state, but I knew it wouldn’t take much to restore it to perfection.
It was an Andrea Guarneri, Inspector, easily recognizable by the powerful glow of its amber-yellow varnish’
The inspector glanced at the violin, and in all sincerity he didn’t see any glow coming from it. Then again, he was hopeless in matters of music
‘I tried playing it’ said the Maestro, ‘and for ten minutes I was transported to heaven in the company of Paganini, Ole Bull and others…’
‘What’s its market value?’
asked the inspector, who usually flew close to the ground and had never come close to heaven.
‘Market value?!’ the Maestro said in horror. ‘You can’t put a price on an instrument like that!’
‘All right, but if you had to quantify—’ ‘I really don’t know … Two, three billion lire’
Had he heard right? He had.
‘I did make it clear to the lady that she mustn’t risk leaving so valuable an instrument in a practically uninhabited house. We came up with a solution, also because I wanted authoritative confirmation of my assumption - that is, that it was indeed an Andrea Guarneri. She suggested I keep it here at my place. I didn’t want to accept such an immense responsibility, but in the end she talked me into it, and she didn’t even want a receipt. Then she drove me home and I gave her one of my violins to take its place in the old case. If anyone were to steal it, little harm would be done; it wasn’t worth more than a few hundred thousand lire. The next morning I tried to reach a friend of mine in Milan, the foremost expert on violins there is. His secretary told me he was abroad, travelling the world, and wouldn’t be back before the end of this month.’
‘Please excuse me,’ said the inspector. ‘I’ll be back shortly.’
He rushed out and ran all the way to headquarters on foot.
‘Fazio!’
‘At your service, Chief.’
Montalbano wrote something on a piece of paper, signed it and stamped it with the Vigata Police seal to make it official
‘Come with me.’
They took his car and pulled up a short distance from the church.
‘Give this note to Dr Licalzi. I want him to give you the keys to the house in Tre Fontane. I can’t go in there myself. If I’m seen in church talking to the doctor, who’s going to stop the rumours?’
Less than five minutes later they were already on their way to Tre Fontane.
They got out of the car, and Montalbano opened the front door. There was a foul, suffocating smell inside, owing not only to the lack of circulation, but also to the powders and sprays used by forensics.
With Fazio still behind him not asking any questions, he opened the glass display case, grabbed the violin case, went out, and relocked the door.
‘Wait, I want to see something’
He turned the corner of the house and went round to the back, which he’d never done the other times he’d been there. He found the rough draft of what would have one day become a vast garden. On the right, almost attached to the house, stood a giant sorb tree, the kind that produced httle bright-red fruits rather sour in flavour, which Montalbano ate in great abundance when he was a child.
‘I want you to climb up to the top branch’ ‘Who, me?’
‘No, your twin brother’
Fazio started climbing half-heartedly. He was well into middle age and afraid of falling and breaking his neck. ‘Wait for me there.’
‘Yes, sir. After all, I was a Tarzan fan when I was a kid’
Montalbano reopened the front door, went upstairs, turned on the bedroom light — here the smell grabbed him by the throat — and raised the rolling shutter without opening the window.
‘Can you see me?’ he yelled to Fazio.
Yes, perfectly!’
He went out of the house, locked the door, and headed back to the car.
Fazio wasn’t in it. He was still up in the tree, waiting for the inspector to tell him what to do next.
After dropping Fazio off in front of the church to give the keys back to Dr Licalzi (‘Tell him we may need them again’), he drove to Maestro Barbera’s place. There, he climbed the steps two at a time. The Maestro opened the door for him. He was now dressed in a turtleneck sweater and slacks, having doffed the coat and tails. The white silk scarf with gold pin, however, was still in place.
‘Come in,’ said Cataldo Barbera.
‘No need, Maestro. I’ll just be a few seconds. Is this the Guarneri’s case?’
The Maestro took it, studied it closely, and handed it back.
‘It certainly looks like it.’
Montalbano opened the case and, without taking the instrument out, asked, ‘Is this the violin you gave to Michela to keep?’
The Maestro took two steps backward and extended his arm as if to shield himself from an unbearable sight.
‘I wouldn’t touch that thing with my little finger.’ Look at that! It’s mass-produced! It’s an affront to any proper violin!’
Here was confirmation of what the voice of the violin had revealed to Montalbano. From the start he had unconsciously registered the difference between the container and its contents. It was clear even to him, who knew nothing about violins. Or about any other kind of instrument, for that matter.
‘Among other things’
Cataldo Barbera continued, ‘the one I gave to Michela Licalzi may have been of very modest value, but it rather looked like a Guarneri’
“Thank you. I’ll be seeing you.’
Montalbano started down the stairs.
‘What should I do with the Guarneri?’ the Maestro called out in a loud voice, still at sea, not having understood a thing.
‘Just hang on to it for now. And play it as often as you can’
They were loading the coffin into the hearse. Before the main portal of the church were many funeral wreaths lined up in a row. Emanuele Licalzi stood surrounded by a crowd of people expressing condolences. He looked unusually upset. Montalbano approached him and pulled him aside.
‘I wasn’t expecting all these people’ the doctor said.
‘Your wife inspired a lot of affection. Did you get the keys back? I may have to ask you for them again’
‘I’m going to need them between four and five o’clock, to take the estate agent to the house.’
‘I’ll bear that in mind.
Listen, Doctor, when you go into the house, you’ll probably notice the violin is missing from the display case. That’s because I took it. I’ll return it to you this evening.’
The doctor looked dumbfounded.
‘Is that of any relevance to the investigation? It’s an utterly worthless object,’
‘I need it for fingerprints,’ Montalbano lied.
In that case, don’t forget that I held it in my hands when I showed it to you.’
‘I won’t forget. And, Doctor, one more thing, just for curiosity’s sake: at what time did you leave Bologna yesterday evening?’
‘I took the flight that leaves at six thirty, with a change at Rome, and arrived in Palermo at ten pm’
‘Thanks.’
‘Excuse me, Inspector, don’t forget about the Twingo!’
Jesus, what a pain in the arse about that car!
Among the crowd of people already preparing to leave, he finally spotted Anna Tropeano talking to a tall, distinguished-looking man of about forty. It had to be Guido Serravalle. Then he noticed Giallombardo passing by on the street. He called to him.
‘Where you going?’
‘Home, Inspector, for lunch.’
‘I’m very sorry, but you can’t’
‘Christ, of all days you had to pick the day my wife made
‘You’ll eat it tonight See those two over there? That brunette lady and the gentleman she’s talking to?’
‘Yessir.’
Don’t let the guy out of your sight I’ll be back at headquarters soon. Keep me posted every half hour.
Everything he does, everywhere he goes.’
‘Oh, all right’ said Giallombardo, resigned.
Montalbano left him and walked over to the pair. Anna, who hadn’t seen him approaching, brightened at once. Apparendy Serravalle’s presence made her uncomfortable.
‘Salvo, how are you?’ She introduced them. Inspector Salvo Montalbano, Mr Guido Serravalle.’ Montalbano
