woman.”
“Did they die in the fire?”
“No, Inspector. The flames had already surrounded the ruined house, but our men got there in time.”
“So how did they die?”
“It looks like they were murdered, Inspector.”
9
Leaving behind the national route, he had to take a narrow, uphill dirt road that was all rocks and holes. The car groaned from the effort like a living being. At a certain point he could proceed no further, as the way was blocked by fire trucks and other vehicles that had parked all around.
“Hey, you! Where do you think you’re going?” a fire corporal asked him rudely, seeing him get out of the car and proceed on foot.
“I’m Inspector Montalbano. I was told that—”
“Okay, okay,” the fireman said brusquely. “You can go ahead, your men are already here.”
It was hot.The inspector took off the tie and jacket he’d put on to go see the commissioner. Still, despite this alleviation, after a few steps he was already sweating like a pig. But where was the fire?
He got his answer just round a bend. The landscape was suddenly transformed. There was no tree, shrub, or plant of any kind to be seen, not a single blade of grass, only a formless expanse, uniformly dark-brown in color, completely charred. The air was heavy, as on days when the sirocco is particularly fierce, but it stank of burning, and here and there a wisp of smoke rose up from the ground. The rustic house stood another hundred meters away, blackened by fire. It was halfway up the side of a small hill, at the top of which flames were still visible, and silhouettes of men rushing about.
Somebody coming down the trail blocked his path, hand held out.
“Ciao, Montalbano.”
It was a colleague of his, chief inspector at Comisini.
“Ciao, Micciche. What are you doing in these parts?”
“Actually, I should be the one asking you that question.”
“Why?”
“This is my territory. The firemen didn’t know whether the Fava district was part of Vigata or Comisini, so, just to be sure, they notified both police stations. The murder victims should have been my responsibility.”
“Should have?”
“Well, yes. Augello and I called up the commissioner, and I suggested we divvy them up, one corpse each.”
He laughed. He was expecting a chuckle from Montalbano in turn, but the inspector seemed not even to have heard him.
“But the commissioner ordered us to leave both of them to you, since you’re handling the case. Best of luck, see you around.”
He went away whistling, obviously pleased to be rid of the hassle. Montalbano continued walking under a sky that turned darker and darker with each step. He started to wheeze and was having some difficulty breathing. He began to feel troubled, nervous, but couldn’t say why. A light breath of wind had risen, and the ash flew up in the air for a moment before falling back down impalpably. More than nervous, he realized he was irrationally scared. He picked up his pace, but then his quickened breath brought heavy, seemingly contaminated air into his lungs. Unable to go any farther alone, he stopped and called out:
“Augello! Mimi!”
Out of the blackened, tumbledown cottage came Augello, running towards the inspector and waving a white rag. When he was in front of him, he handed it to him: it was a little antismog mask.
“The firemen gave them to us. Better than nothing.”
Mimi’s hair had turned all gray with ash, his eyebrows as well. He looked twenty years older.
As he was about to enter the farmhouse, leaning on his assistant’s arm, Montalbano smelled a strong odor of burnt flesh depite the mask. He backpedaled, and Mimi cast him a questioning glance.
“Is that them?” he asked.
“No,” Augello reassured him. “There was a dog chained up behind the house. We can’t figure out who he belonged to. He was burned alive. A horrible way to die.”
The floor, once made of beaten earth, had now become a kind of bog from all the water the firemen had poured onto it. The two bodies were practically floating.
They lay facedown, killed each by a single shot to the nape of the neck after being ordered to kneel down in a windowless little room, perhaps once a larder, that, as the house fell into ruin, had turned into a shithole that gave off an unbearable stench. The spot was fairly well shielded from the view of anyone who might look into the big, single room that had once made up the whole house.
“Can a car make it up here?”
“No. It can get up to a certain point, then you have to go the last thirty yards on foot.”
