“I wanted to show you something. But let’s finish eating first. Want some fruit?”
Then, sitting Ingrid down in the armchair, he picked up the cassette.
“But I’ve already seen that film!” she protested.
“We’re not here to watch the film, but something that was taped over it.”
He put the cassette in, turned it on, and sat down in the other armchair. Then, with the remote control, he fast-forwarded it until the shot of the empty bed appeared, with the cameraman trying to bring the picture into focus.
“Looks like a promising start,” Ingrid said, smiling.
Then came the darkened screen. The image reappeared, and now Nene Sanfilippo’s mistress, in the pose of the
“But that’s Vanya!” she nearly yelled.
Montalbano had never seen Ingrid so upset, never, not even the time she was framed to look like, or almost like, the chief suspect in a crime.
“‘Do you know her?”
“Of course.”
“Are you friends?”
“Pretty good friends.”
Montalbano turned off the video.
“How did you get that tape?”
“Could we go talk in the other room? Some of the pain has come back.”
He got into bed. Ingrid sat down on the edge.
“I’m uncomfortable like this,” the inspector complained.
Ingrid got up, pulled him up, and put the pillow behind his back so he could remain half-sitting. Montalbano was starting to enjoy having a nurse.
“How did you get that cassette?” Ingrid asked again.
“My second-in-command found it at Nene Sanfilippo’s place.”
“And who’s he?”
“You don’t know? He’s that twenty-year-old who was murdered a few days ago.”
“Right, I heard some mention of that. But why did he have that tape?”
Ingrid was being utterly sincere. She seemed truly amazed by the whole business.
“Because he was her lover.”
“What? A kid like that?”
“Yes. She never talked about it with you?”
“Never. At least, she never mentioned his name. Vanya is very reserved.”
“How did the two of you meet?”
“Well, in Montelusa the only comfortably married foreign women are me, two English ladies, an American, two Germans, and Vanya, who is Romanian. We’ve formed a kind of club, just for fun. Do you know who Vanya’s husband is?”
“Yes, Dr. Ingro, the transplant surgeon.”
“Well, from what I can gather, he’s not a very nice man. For a while, though she’s at least twenty years younger, Vanya was happy living with him. Then love faded, for him too. They began to see less and less of each other, and he was often traveling the world.”
“Did she have lovers?”
“Not that I know of. She remained very faithful, in spite of everything.”
“What do you mean, in spite of everything?”
“Well, they stopped sleeping with each other. And Vanya’s a woman who—”
“I get the picture.”
“Then, suddenly, about three months ago, she changed. She became sort of more cheerful and sadder at the same time. I realized she was in love. So I asked her, and she said yes. As far as I could tell, it was a great physical passion, mostly.”
“I’d like to meet her.”
“Who?”
“What do you mean, who? Your friend, Vanya.”
“But she left about two weeks ago!”
“Do you know where she is?”
