born, they named him Balduccio.”
“And how were relations between Balduccio Sinagra and Prestia after that?”
“Well, one year after the wedding, Don Balduccio suggested that he leave his job at Cozzo and Rampello and come work for him. But Michilino refused. He told Don Balduccio he was afraid he was unworthy. So Don Balduccio let it drop.”
“And after that?”
“Well, after that—and I mean only about four years ago—Michilino developed a gambling habit. Until the day when Messrs. Cozzo and Rampello discovered they had a serious cash deficit. Out of respect for Don Balduccio, they didn’t report Prestia to the police, but forced him to resign. But Cozzo and Rampello wanted the stolen money back. They gave him three months.”
“Did he ask Don Balduccio for it?”
“Of course. But Don Balduccio told him to go fuck himself, saying he wasn’t some two-bit hood.”
“And did Cozzo and Rampello report him?”
“No, they didn’t. Because when the three months were up, Michilino came to Messrs. Cozzo and Rampello with cash in hand. He paid it all back, down to the last cent.”
“Where’d he get it?”
“From Ciccio Bellavia.”
Now, there was a name he knew! And how! Ciccio Bellavia had been the rising star of the “
So the Mafia was behind the clandestine horse races. It could not have been otherwise.
“So was it Prestia who turned to Bellavia?”
“No, it was the other way around. Bellavia showed up one day, saying he’d heard that Prestia was in trouble and that he was ready to—”
“But Prestia should not have accepted!Taking that money was like announcing he was turning against Balduccio!”
“Didn’t I tell you right off the bat that Michilino Prestia was a nitwit? A cross between a nobody and a no- account? Don Balduccio summed it up when he said he wasn’t some two-bit hood.Then, to top it off, Prestia had to pay Bellavia back by taking on the responsibility for the illegal races. He couldn’t refuse. Which means he’s now working against Don Balduccio in business as well.”
“I somehow don’t see this Prestia aging gracefully.”
“Me neither, Chief. Sorry for asking, but do you still see a connection between the killing of the horse and the illegal races?”
“I don’t know what to tell you, Fazio.You don’t see any?”
“When you first showed me the dead animal, I was the one, if you recall, who mentioned the clandestine races. But now there doesn’t seem to be anything there anymore.”
“What do you mean?”
“Chief, every time we form a hypothesis, it immediately gets shot down. Remember you thought that they’d stolen the lady’s horse to spite Lo Duca? Then we found out that they also took one of Lo Duca’s horses. So what need was there to steal the lady’s horse?”
“I agree. But what about the races?”
“Lo Duca, as far as I’ve been able to find out, has nothing to do with the illegal races.”
“You sure about that?”
“Not a hundred percent sure. I wouldn’t bet my life savings on it. But he doesn’t really seem like the type to me.”
“Never trust appearances. For example, ten years ago, would you have thought Prestia capable of managing an illegal racing circuit?”
“No.”
“So why are you telling me Lo Duca doesn’t seem like the type? Let me tell you something else. Lo Duca goes around telling everybody that the Mafia respects him. Or at least they respected him until yesterday. Do you know why he says that? Do you know who his friends are and who protects him?”
“No, Chief, I don’t. But I’ll try to find out.”
“Do you know where these races are held?”
“They change the location practically every time, Chief. I found out that one was held on the grounds behind Villa Panseca.”
“Pippo Panseca’s house?”
“Yessir.”
“But, as far as I know, Panseca—”
“Panseca’s got nothing to do with it, in fact. Maybe you don’t know. When he had to go to Rome for a couple of weeks, the caretaker rented the grounds to Prestia for one night.They paid him so much for it, the guy went out and bought himself a new car.Another time they held it over by Crasto Mountain. Normally, there’s one every week.”
“Wait a second. Are they always held at night?”
“Of course.”
“So how do they see anything?”
“They’re very well equipped.You know how, when they shoot a film outdoors, they always bring along electrical generators? Well, the ones these guys’ve got can light everything up like it’s daytime.”
“But how do they inform their clients of the time and place?”
“The clients who matter most, the high rollers, number only about thirty or forty; the rest are just small fry who, if they come, fine, and if they don’t, even better. Too many people in cars create a lot of dangerous confusion.”
“But how are they informed?”
“With coded telephone calls.”
“And can’t we do anything about it?”
“With the means at our disposal?”
The inspector stayed another two hours or so at the station, then got in his car and went back to Marinella. Before setting the table on the veranda, he felt like taking a shower. In the dining room he emptied his pockets onto the table, and in so doing he found the piece of paper on which he had written Rachele Esterman’s cell phone number. He remembered that there was something he wanted to ask her. He could do it the following day, when he saw her in Fiacca. But would it really be possible? God only knew how many people there would be around her. Wasn’t it perhaps better to call her now, as it wasn’t yet eight-thirty? He decided that this was best.
“Hello? Signora Esterman?”
“Yes.Who is this?”
“Inspector Montalbano here.”
“Oh, no you don’t! Don’t tell me you’ve changed your mind!”
“About what?”
“Ingrid told me you were coming here to Fiacca tomorrow.”
“I’ll be there, signora.”
“That makes me so, so happy. Be sure to free yourself up for the evening as well. There will be a dinner, and you are one of my guests.”
“Look, actually, tomorrow evening—”
“Don’t make up any silly excuses.”
“Will Ingrid also be at the dinner?”
“Can’t you take a single step without her?”
“No, it’s just that, since she’ll be driving me to Fiacca, I was thinking that, for the return—”
“Don’t worry, Ingrid will be there. Why did you call me?”
