Excursion to Tindari

“Why didn’t I think of that sooner?”

Montalbano pushed the freeze-frame button.

“Mimi, the fact of the matter is that we took on the Sanfilippo and Griffo murders, you and I both, without getting involved, neglecting certain things that needed to be done. Maybe we’ve got too many other things on our minds to think clearly. We’re more concerned with our personal lives than with the investigations. End of story. We’re starting over. Did you ever ask yourself why Sanfilippo stored the correspondence with his lover on his computer?”

“No, but since he was in that line of work, computers, that is ...”

“Have you ever received any love letters, Mimi?”

“Sure.”

“And what did you do with them?”

“I kept some and got rid of the rest.”

“Why?”

“Because some were important and—‘ ”

“Stop right there. They were ‘important,’ you say. Important because of their contents, of course, but also because of the way they were written: the handwriting, the mistakes, the words crossed out, the capital letters, the paragraph breaks, the color of the paper, the address on the envelope ... In short, when you looked at that letter you could easily call to mind the person who had written it. True or not?”

“True.”

“But if you copy it onto a computer, that letter loses all value—well, maybe not all value, but most of it. It also loses its value as evidence.”

“How do you mean?”

“You can’t very well have the handwriting analyzed, can you? But, anyway, having printed copies of letters in the computer is still better than nothing.”

“I don’t follow, sorry.”

“Let’s assume Sanfilippo’s liaison is a dangerous one, not in the same sense as Laclos, of course, but—”

“Who’s this Laclos?”

“Never mind. I mean dangerous in the sense where, if discovered, it could mean trouble, or death. Nene Sanfilippo may have said to himself that, if we’re caught, it might save our lives if I can produce the original correspondence. In short, he copies the letters onto the computer and then leaves the sheaf of originals in some obvious place, ready for an exchange.”

“Which never took place, since the originals have disappeared and he was killed just the same.”

“Right. But I’m convinced of one thing, and that is, that Sanfilippo, though he knew he was courting danger by getting involved with this woman, underestimated the danger itself. I have the impression—it’s just an impression, mind you—that we’re dealing with more than some jealous husband’s revenge. But to continue, I said to myself if Sanfilippo is depriving himself of the suggestive possibilities of a handwritten letter, is it possible he didn’t keep at least a photograph or some kind of image of his mistress? And that’s when I thought of the videocassettes.”

“And so you came here to look at them.”

“Yes, but I forgot that the minute I start watching a porno movie, I fall asleep. I was looking at the ones he recorded himself, in this room, with different women. But I don’t think he would be so stupid.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that he must have taken some precautions to prevent others from immediately discovering who she is.”

“Salvo, maybe it’s because it’s late, but—”

“Mimi, there are thirty cassettes here, and they all need to be looked at.”

“All of them?!”

“Yes, and I’ll explain why. There are three different kinds of cassettes here. Five recorded by Sanfilippo, documenting his exploits with five different women. Fifteen are porno cassettes he bought somewhere. And ten are home videos of American movies. As I said, they must all be looked at.”

“I still haven’t understood why we need to waste all this time. You can’t record anything on commercially sold cassettes, whether they’re normal films or porno.”

“That’s where you’re wrong. You can.You need only tinker with the cassette a certain way. Nicolo explained it to me once. Sanfilippo may have resorted to this method, you see. He takes the tape of some film, say, Cleopatra, he lets it run for fifteen minutes, then he stops it and begins recording whatever it is he wants to record over it. And what happens next? When an outsider puts the tape in the VCR, he thinks he’s watching Cleopatra, so he stops it, takes it out, and puts in another. Whereas that tape contained the very thing they were looking for. Is that clear now?”

“Clear enough,” said Mimi. “Or enough to convince me to look at all the tapes. Even using the fast-forward, it’s still going to be a long haul.”

“You’ll have to grin and bear it,” was Montalbano’s comment.

He slipped on his shoes, tied the laces, and put on his jacket.

“Why are you getting dressed?” asked Augello.

“Because I’m going home. And you’re staying here. Besides, you have an idea who the woman might be.You’re