a lot of time to become acquainted with her habits. Which are, well, unusual. Signora Michela is not the sort of woman to go unnoticed, you know what I mean? And then, I’ve always had my own worries about her.’
‘You have? And what would they be?’
‘Well, the lady owns a lot of valuable jewellery. Necklaces, bracelets, earrings, rings … I’ve asked her many times to deposit them in our safe, but she always refuses. She keeps them in a kind of bag; she doesn’t carry a handbag. She always tells me not to worry, says she doesn’t leave the jewels in her room, but carries them around with her. I’ve also been afraid she’ll get robbed on the street. But she always smiles and says no. She just. won’t be persuaded.’
‘You mentioned her unusual habits. Could you be more precise?’
‘Certainly. The lady likes to stay up late. She often comes home at the first light of dawn.’
‘Alone?’
‘Always.’
‘Drunk? High?’
‘Never. Or at least, so says the night porter.’
‘Mind telling me why you were talking about Mrs Licalzi with the night porter?’
Claudio Pizzotta turned bright red. Apparently he’d had ideas about dunking his doughnut with Signora Michela.
Inspector, surely you understand … A beautiful woman like that, alone … One’s curiosity is bound to be aroused, it’s only natural’
‘Go on. Tell me about her habits.’
‘The lady sleeps in till about midday, and doesn’t want to be disturbed in any way. When she wakes up, she orders breakfast in her room and starts making and receiving phone calls’
‘A lot of phone calls?’
‘I’ve got an itemized list that never ends.’
‘Do you know who she was calling?’
‘One could find out. But it’s a bit complicated. From your room you need only dial zero and you can phone New Zealand if you want,’
‘What about the incoming calls?’
‘Well, there’s not much to say about that. The switchboard operator takes the call and passes it on to the room. There’s only one way to know.’
‘And that is?’
‘When somebody calls and leaves his name when the client is out. In that case, the porter is given a message that he puts in the client’s key box.’
‘Does the lady lunch at the hotel?’
‘Rarely. After eating a hearty breakfast so late, you can imagine … But it has happened.
Actually, the head waiter once told me how self-possessed she is at table when eating lunch.’
Tm sorry, I don’t follow.’
‘Our hotel is very popular, with businessmen, politicians, entrepreneurs. In one way or another, they all end up trying their luck. A beckoning glance, a smile, more or less explicit invitations. The amazing thing about Signora Michela, the head waiter said, is that she never plays the prude, never takes offence, but actually returns the glances and smiles. But when it comes to the nitty-gritty, nothing doing.
They’re left high and dry.’
‘And at what time in the afternoon does she usually go out?’
‘About four. Then returns in the dead of night’ ‘She must have a pretty broad circle of friends in Montelusa and Vigata.’ ‘I’d say so.’
‘Has she ever stayed out for more than one night before?’
‘I don’t think so. The porter would have told me.’ Gallo and Galluzzo arrived, flourishing the search warrant
‘What room is Mrs Licalzi staying in?’
‘Number one-eighteen.’
‘I’ve got a warrant’
The hotel manager looked offended.
Inspector! There was no need for that formality! You had only to ask and I … Let me show you the way.’
‘No, thanks,’Montalbano said curtly.
The manager’s face went from looking offended to looking mortally offended.
‘I’ll go and get the key,’
he said aloofly.
He returned a moment later with the key and a little stack of papers, all notes of mcoming phone calls.
‘Here,’ he said, giving, for no apparent reason, the key to Fazio and the message slips to Gallo. Then he bowed his head abruptly, German-style, in front of Montalbano, turned around and walked stiffly away, looking like a wooden puppet in motion.
Room 118 was eternally imbued with the scent of Chanel No. 5. On the luggage rack sat two suitcases and a shoulder bag, all Louis Vuitton. Montalbano opened the armoire: five very classy dresses, three pairs of artfully worn-out jeans; in the shoe section, five pairs of Bruno Maglis with spike heels and three pairs of casual fiats. The blouses, also very costly, were folded with extreme care; the underwear, divided by colour in its assigned drawer, consisted only of airy panties.
‘Nothing in here’ said Fazio, who in the meantime had examined the two suitcases and shoulder bag.
Gallo and Galluzzo, who had upended the bed and mattress, shook their heads no and began putting everything back in place, impressed by the order that reigned in the room.
On the small desk were some letters, notes, a diary, and a stack of telephone messages considerably taller than the one the manager had given to Gallo.
‘We’ll take these things away with us’ the inspector said to Fazio. ‘Look in the drawers, too. Take all the papers.’
From his pocket Fazio withdrew a plastic bag that he always carried with him, and began to fill it.
Montalbano went into the bathroom. Sparkling clean,
in perfect order. On the shelf, Rouge Idole lipstick, Shiseido foundation, a magnum of Chanel No. 5, and so on. A pink bathrobe, obviously softer and more expensive than the one in the house, hung placidly on a hook.
He went back into the bedroom and rang for the floor attendant. A moment later there was a knock and Montalbano told her to come in. The door opened and a gaunt, fortyish woman appeared. As soon as she saw the four men, she stiffened, blanched, and in a faint voice said, ‘Are you police?’
The inspector laughed. How many centuries of police tyranny had it taken to hone this Sicilian woman’s ability to detect law-enforcement officers at a moment’s glance?
‘Yes, we are,’ he said, smiling.
The chambermaid blushed and lowered her eyes.
‘Please excuse me.’
‘Do you know Mrs Licalzi?’
‘Why, what’s happened to her?’
‘She hasn’t been heard from for a couple of days. We’re looking for her.’
‘And to look for her you have to take all her papers away?’
This woman was not to be underestimated. Montalbano decided to admit a few things to her.
‘We’re afraid something bad may have happened to her.’
‘I always told her to be careful,’ said the maid. ‘She goes around with half a billion in her bag!’
‘She went around with that much money?’ Montalbano asked in astonishment
‘I wasn’t talking about money, but the jewels she owns. And with the kind of life she leads! Comes home late, gets up late…’
‘We already know that Do you know her well?’ ‘Sure. Since she came here the first time with her husband.’
‘Can you tell me anything about what she’s like?’
‘Look, she never made any trouble. She was just a maniac for order. Whenever we did her room, she would stand there making sure that everything was put back in its place. The girls on the morning shift always ask for the good Lord’s help before working on one-eighteen.’
‘A final question: did your colleagues on the morning shift ever mention if the lady’d had men in her room at night?’
‘Never. And we’ve got an eye for that kind of thing.’
The whole way back to Vigata one question tormented Montalbano: if the lady was a maniac for order, why was the bathroom at the house in Tre Fontane such a mess, with the pink bathrobe thrown haphazardly on the floor to boot?
During the dinner (super-fresh cod poached with a couple of bay leaves and dressed directly on the plate with salt, pepper and Pantelleria olive oil, with a side dish of gentle tinnirume to cheer the stomach and intestines), the inspector told Mrs Vasile Cozzo of the day’s developments.
‘As far as I can tell’ said Clementina, ‘the real question is: why did the murderer make off with the poor woman’s clothes, underwear, shoes and handbag?’
‘Yes’ Montalbano commented, saying nothing more. She’d hit the nail on the head as soon as she opened her mouth, and he didn’t want to interrupt her thought processes.
‘But I can only talk about these things’ the elderly woman continued, ‘based on what I see on television.’
‘Don’t you read mystery novels?’
‘Not very often. Anyway, what does that mean, “mystery novel”? What is a “detective novel”?’
‘Well, it’s a whole body of literature that—’
‘Of course, but I don’t like labels. Want me to tell you a good mystery story? All right, there’s a man who, after many adventures, becomes the leader of a city. Little by little, however, his subjects begin to fall ill with ah unknown sickness, a kind of plague. And so this man sets about to discover the cause of the illness, and in the course of his
