It took him about twenty minutes to shower, shave, and get dressed. He felt battered. When he arrived at Via Cavour 44, the concierge was sweeping the street in front of the door. She was so skinny, that there was practically no difference between her and the broomstick. She looked remarkably like Olive Oyl, Popeye’s girlfriend. He took the elevator, got off on the third floor, and opened the door to Nene Sanfilippo’s apartment with a picklock. The lights were on inside. Catarella was sitting in front of the computer in his shirtsleeves. Upon seeing his superior, he immediately shot to his feet, put on his jacket, and adjusted the knot on his tie. He was unshaven, his eyes red.
“Awaiting your orders, Chief!”
“You still here?”
“Just finishing up, Chief. Another coupla hours oughta do it.”
“Find anything?”
“Beggin’ pardon, Chief, but d‘you wan’ me to talk technical or simple?”
“As simple as possible, Cat.”
“All right. I din’t find a goddamn thing in this computer.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean what I said, Chief. It’s got no interneck connection. Inside it’s only got sumpin he’s writing ...”
“And what’s that?”
“Looks to me like a novel book, Chief.”
“And what else?”
“Then there’s copies of all the litters ‘e wrote and alla those writ to him. There’s a lot of ’em.”
“Business?”
“No bizniss, Chief. They’re skin litters.”
“I don’t understand.”
Catarella blushed.
“It’s like love litters, but—”
“I get the picture. And what’s on those diskettes?”
“A lotta filth, Chief. Guys wit’ girls, guys wit’ guys, girls wit’ girls, girls wit’ animals ...”
Catarella’s face looked like it was about to catch fire at any moment.
“Okay, okay, Cat. Print ‘em up for me.”
“All of ‘em? The guys wit’ girls, guys wit’ guys, girls—”
Montalbano halted the litany.
“I meant the novel book and the litters. But right now we’re going to do something else.You’re coming with me to a cafe, you’re going to have a
The moment he returned to his office, Imbro, who’d been assigned to the switchboard, came in.
“Chief, the Free Channel called with a list of the names and phone numbers of all the people who contacted them after seeing the Griffos’ photo on TV. I wrote ‘em all down here.”
Fifteen or so names. At a glance, the phone numbers all looked to be from Vigata. So the Griffos were not as evanescent as they had first seemed. Fazio came in.
“Jesus, what a scare we got when we couldn’t find Catarella! We didn’t know he’d been sent on a secret mission. You know what that wicked Galluzzo called him? Agent Double-oh-oh.”
“Spare me the comedy. Got any news?”
“I went to see Sanfilippo’s mother. The poor lady has no idea what her son did for a living. She told me that at age eighteen, with his passion for computers, he got a good job in Montelusa. Pretty well paid, and with his mother’s pension they got on okay. Then all of a sudden Nene quit his job, had a personality change, and went off to live by himself. He had a lot of money, but he let his mother go around with holes in her shoes.”
“Tell me something, Fazio. Did they find any money on his person?”
“Are you kidding? Three million lire in cash and a check for two million.”
“Good, so at least Mrs. Sanfilippo won’t have to go into debt to pay for the funeral. Who was the check from?”
“From Manzo and Company of Montelusa.”
“Try to find out what it was for.”
“All right. As for the Griobs—”
“Have a look at this,” Montalbano interrupted him. “It’s a list of people with information on the Griffos.”
The first name on the list was Saverio Cusumano.
