Caponata! Fragrant, colorful, abundant, it filled an entire soup dish, enough for at least four people. It had been months since Adelina, his housekeeper, last made it for him. The bread, in its plastic bag, was fresh, bought that morning. The notes of the triumphal march of
“Hello? Inspector Montalbano? This is Orazio Guttadauro.”
He’d been expecting this phone call. He’d have bet his ass on it.
“What can I do for you, sir?”
“First of all, please accept my apologies for being forced to call you at this hour.”
“Forced? By whom?”
“By circumstances, Inspector.”
Clever, this lawyer.
“What circumstances are you referring to?”
“My client and friend is worried.”
Was he afraid to mention Balduccio Sinagra’s name over the phone, now that a fresh corpse had been added to the mix?
“Oh, is he? And why’s that?”
“Well ... he hasn’t heard from his grandson since yesterday.”
Since yesterday? Balduccio Sinagra was starting to cover himself.
“What grandson? The exile?”
“Exile?” the lawyer repeated, genuinely puzzled.
“No need to be so formal, Counsel. Nowadays ‘exile’ and ’fugitive’ mean pretty much the same thing. Or so they would have us believe.”
“Yes, of course,” said the lawyer, still dazed.
“But how could he hear from his grandson if he was on the run?”
One roguish turn deserved another.
“Er ... well, you know how it is, mutual friends, people passing through ...”
“I see. And what has this got to do with me?”
“Nothing,” Guttadauro was quick to affirm. And he repeated, clearly pronouncing the words: “None of this has anything to do with you.”
Message received. Balduccio Sinagra was letting him know that he had taken the advice relayed to him by Father Crucilla. Of Japichinu’s murder there would be no mention. Japichinu could just as easily have not been born, if not for the people he’d killed.
“Why, Mr. Guttadauro, do you feel the need to communicate your friend and client’s worry to me?”
“Oh, it was just to let you know that, despite this agonizing worry, my friend and client has been thinking of you.”
“Of me?” said Montalbano, on his guard.
“Yes. He asked me to send you an envelope. He says there’s something inside that may interest you.”
“Listen, Mr. Guttadauro. I’m going to bed. I’ve had a rough day.”
“I entirely understand.”
The goddamn lawyer was being ironic.
“You can bring me the envelope tomorrow, at the station. Good night.”
He hung up, went back out on the veranda, then reconsidered. Returning inside, he picked up the phone and dialed.
“Livia, darling, how are you?”
There was silence at the other end.
“Livia?”
“My God, Salvo, what’s happening? Why are you calling me?”
“Why shouldn’t I call you?”
“Because you only call when something’s bothering you.”
“Oh, come on!”
“No, really, it’s true. When you’re not feeling bothered, I’m always the first to call.”
“Okay, you’re right, I’m sorry.”
“What did you want to tell me?”
“That I’ve been thinking a lot about our relationship.”
