Bonetti-Alderighi’s momentary discouragement turned into enthusiasm again.
“He said that?”
“Yes he did, sir. But we need to be very cautious; one false step could send it all up in smoke. The stakes are extremely high.”
He felt disgusted by the words coming out of his mouth. A grab bag of cliches. But that was just the sort of language that worked at that moment. He wondered how much longer he could keep up the charade.
“Yes, of course, I understand.”
“Just think, Mr. Commissioner, I didn’t tell any of my men about this.You never know where there might be a mole.”
“I promise to do the same!” the commissioner vowed, holding up his hand.
It was as if they were at Pontida.The inspector stood up.
“If you have no further orders . . .”
“Fine, fine, Montalbano, you can go. And thanks.”
They shook hands energetically, looking one another in the eye.
“However . . . ,” said the commissioner, drooping.
“What is it?”
“There’s still that damned report. I can’t ignore it, you realize. I have to respond in one way or another.”
“Mr. Commissioner, if somebody begins to suspect that there’s any contact, however minimal, between us and Sinagra, the rumor will spread and the whole deal will fall through. I’m sure of it.”
“Right, right.”
“And that’s why, a few minutes ago, when you told me my car had been spotted, I felt a twinge of disappointment.”
How good he was at talking this way! Had he perhaps found his true mode of expression?
“Did they photograph the car?” he asked after an appropriately long pause.
“No. They just took down the license-plate number.”
“Then there might be a solution. But I don’t dare tell you what it is, since it would offend your unshakable honesty as a man and civil servant.”
Bonetti-Alderighi heaved a long sigh, as if on death’s doorstep.
“Tell me anyway.”
“Just tell them they copied the number wrong.”
“But how would I know they got it wrong?”
“Because during that very same half-hour they claim I was at Sinagra’s place, you were having a long conversation with me on the phone. No one would dare contradict you. What do you say?”
“Bah!” said the commissioner, not very convinced. “We’ll see.”
Montalbano left, feeling certain that Bonetti-Alderighi, though troubled by scruples, would do as he had suggested.
Before setting out from Montelusa, he called headquarters.
“Hallo? Hallo? Whozzat onna line?”
“Montalbano here, Cat. Pass me Inspector Augello.”
“I can’t pass ‘im t’ya ‘cause ’e ain’t here. But he was here before. He waited for you and seeing as how you din’t show up, he left.”
“Do you know the reason he left?”
“Yessir, because of the reason that there was a fire.”
“A fire?”
“Yessir. And an arsenal fire, too, like the firemen said. And ‘Spector Augello went there wit’ officers Gallo and Galluzzo, seeing as how Fazio wasn’t around.”
“What did the firemen want from us?”
“They said they was puttin’ out this arsenal fire. Then ‘Spector Augello grabbed the phone and talked to ’em hisself.”
“Do you know where this fire broke out?”
“It broke out inna Pisello districk.”
Montalbano had never heard of such a district. Since the fire station was nearby, he raced down there and introduced himself. They told him the fire, a definite case of arson, had broken out in the Fava district.
“Why did you call us?”
“Because they discovered two corpses in a crumbling old farmhouse. Old folks, apparently, a man and a
