performed like a god. ‘Of course, we already met over the phone!’ ‘Yes, I offered my help.’
‘How could I forget? You came for the late Mrs Licalzi?’
It was the least I could do.’
‘Of course. Are you going back today?’
‘Yes, I’ll be leaving the hotel around five o’clock. I’ve got a flight out of Punta Raisi at eight’
‘Good, good,’ said Montalbano. He seemed happy that everyone was so happy and that among other things, one could count on planes leaving on time.
‘You know’ said Anna, assuming a nonchalant, worldly demeanour, ‘Mr Serravalle was just inviting me to lunch. Why don’t you join us?’
‘I would love that,’ said Serravalle, absorbing the blow.
A look of deep disappointment came over the inspector’s face.
If only I’d known earlier.’
I’ve got an appointment, alas’
He held his hand out to Serravalle.
Very pleased to have met you. However inappropriate it may seem to say so, given the circumstances’
He was afraid he might be overdoing his perfect idiot act; the role was running away with him. Indeed, Anna was glaring at him with eyes that looked like two question marks.
‘You and me, on the other hand, we’ll talk later, eh, Anna?’
In the doorway to headquarters he ran into Mimi, who was on his way out.
‘Where are you off to?’
‘To eat.’
‘Jesus, is that all anyone can think of around here?’ ‘When it’s time to eat, what else are we supposed to be thinking of ?’
‘Who’ve we got in Bologna?’
‘As mayor?’ asked Mimi, confused.
‘What the fuck do I care who the mayor of Bologna is? Have we got any friends in their police’
department who can give us an answer in an hour’s time?’
‘Wait, there’s Guggino, remember him?’
‘Filiberto?’
‘Right. He was transferred there a month ago. He’s heading the immigration section.’
‘Go and eat your spaghetti with clam sauce and all that Parmesan cheese on top’ Montalbano said by way of thanks, looking at him with contempt. How else could you look at someone with tastes like that?
It was 12.35. Hopefully Filiberto would still be in his office.
‘Hello? Inspector Salvo Montalbano here. I’m calling from Vigata. I’d like to speak with Filiberto Guggino.’ ‘Please hold.’
After a series of clicks he heard a cheerful voice.
‘Salvo! Good to hear from you! How you doing?’
Tine, Filibe. Sorry to bother you, but it’s urgent, I heed some answers within an hour, hour and a half at the most. I’m looking for a financial motive to a crime.’
‘The only thing I have to waste is time.’
‘I want you to tell me as much as you can possibly find out about someone who might be the victim of loan sharks — say, a businessman, heavy gambler
‘That makes the whole thing a lot more difficult, I can tell you who the loan sharks are, but not the people they’ve ruined.’
‘Try anyway. Here’s his name.’
‘Chief? Giallombardo here.
They’re eating at the Contrada Capo restaurant, the one right on the sea. You know it?’
Unfortunately, yes, he did know it. He’d ended up there once by chance and had never forgotten it.
‘Did they drive there separately?’
‘No, they came in one car and he drove, so—’
‘Don’t let him out of your sight, I’m sure he’s going to take the lady home, then go back to his hotel, the Delia Valle. Keep me posted.’
Yes and no, the company that rented cars at Punta Raisi Airport told him after humming and hawing for half an hour about not being authorized to give out information, so much so that he had to get the chief of airport police to intervene on his behalf. Yes, the previous evening, Thursday, that is, the gentleman in question had rented the car he was still using. And, no, the same gentleman had not rented a car from them on Wednesday evening of the previous week, according to the computer.
SEVENTEEN
Guggino’s answer came a few minutes before three. It was long and detailed. Montalbano carefully took notes. Five minutes later Giallombardo phoned and told him Serravalle had gone back to his hotel.
‘Stay right there and don’t move,’ the inspector ordered him. ‘If you see him go out again before I’ve arrived, stop him with whatever excuse you can think of. Do a striptease or a belly dance, just don’t let him leave.’
He quickly leafed through Michela’s papers, remembering that he’d seen a boarding pass among them. There it was. It was for the last journey the woman would ever make from Bologna to Palermo. He put it in his pocket and called Gallo into his office.
‘Take me to the Delia Valle in the squad car.’
The hotel was halfway between Vigata and Montelusa and had been built directly behind one of the most beautiful temples in the world — historical conservation offices, landscape constraints and zoning regulations be damned.
“Wait for me here’ the inspector said to Gallo when they got to the hotel He then walked over to his own car. Giallombardo was taking a nap inside.
‘I was sleeping with one eye open!’ the policeman assured him.
The inspector opened the boot and took out the case with the cheap violin inside.
‘You go back to the station’
he ordered Giallombardo.
He walked into the hotel lobby, looking exactly like a concert violinist.
Is Mr Serravalle in?’
‘Yes, he’s in his room.
Whom should I say?’
‘You shouldn’t say anything. You should only keep quiet. I’m Inspector Montalbano. And if you so much as pick up the phone, I’ll run you in and we can talk about it later.’
‘Fourth floor, room four sixteen’ said the receptionist, lips trembling.
‘Has he had any phone calls?’
‘I gave him his phone messages when he got in. There were three or four.’
‘Let me talk to the operator.’
The operator, whom the inspector, for whatever reason, had imagined as a cute young woman, turned out to be an ageing, bald man in his sixties with glasses.
‘The receptionist told me everything. About twelve a certain Eolo started calling from Bologna. He never left his last name. He called again about ten minutes ago and I forwarded the call to Mr Serravalle’s room.’
In the lift. Montalbano pulled a list of the names of all those who on Wednesday evening of the previous week had rented cars at Punta Raisi airport from his pocket True, there was no Guido Serravalle; there was, however, one Eolo Portinari. And Guggino had told him this Portinari was a close friend of the antiquarian.
He tapped very lightly on the door, and as he was doing this, he remembered he’d left his pistol in the glove compartment
‘Come in, it’s open.’
The antique dealer was lying down on the bed, hands behind his head. He’d taken off only his shoes and jacket’ his tie was still knotted. As soon as he saw the inspector, he jumped to his feet like a jack-in-the-box.
‘Relax, relax,’ said Montalbano.
‘But I insist” said Serravalle, hastily slipping his shoes on. He even put his jacket back on.
Montalbano had sat down in a chair, violin case on his knees.
‘I’m ready. To what do I owe the honour?’
‘The other day, when we spoke on the phone, you said you would make yourself available to me if I needed you.’
‘Absolutely. I repeat the offer,’ said Serravalle, also sitting down.
‘I would have spared you the trouble, but since you came for the funeral, I thought I’d take advantage of the opportunity’
‘I’m glad. What do you want me to do?’
‘Pay attention to me.’
Tm sorry, I don’t quite understand.’
‘Listen to what I have to say.
I want to tell you a story. If you think I’m exaggerating or wrong on any of the details, please interrupt and correct me.’
‘I don’t see how I could do that, Inspector, since I don’t know the story you’re about to tell me.’
‘You’re right. You mean you’ll tell me your impressions at the end. The protagonist of my story is a gentleman who has a pretty comfortable life. He’s a man of taste, owns a well-known antique shop, has a good clientele. It’s a profession our protagonist inherited from his father.’
