“No, Inspector, it’s not possible. They haven’t heard from my parents for a month. They’re not very close.”
“So you have absolutely no idea where they might have gone?”
“No. If I did, I’d have tried to find them.”
“The last time you spoke to them was last Thursday evening, correct?”
“Yes.”
“They didn’t say anything that might have—”
“Nothing whatsoever.”
“What did you talk about?”
“The usual things, health, the grandchildren ... I have two boys, Alfonso, named after my father, and Giovanni. Six and four years old. My parents are very fond of them. Whenever we came to Vigata they would shower them with presents.”
He made no effort to hold back his tears.
Fazio, who’d had a look around the apartment, returned with a shrug.
“Mr. Griffo, there’s no point in us remaining here. I hope to have some news for you very soon.”
“Inspector, I took a few days off from City Hall. I can stay in Vigata at least until tomorrow evening.”
“As far as I’m concerned, you can stay as long as you like.”
“Actually, what I meant was: Could I sleep here tonight?”
Montalbano thought it over a moment. In the dining room, which also doubled as a living room, there was a small desk with papers on it. He wanted to go over these at his convenience.
“No, you can’t sleep here, I’m sorry.”
“But what if somebody calls ...?”
“Who, your parents? Why would they call, knowing there’s nobody home?”
“No, I meant if somebody calls with news ...”
“You’re right. I’ll have somebody tap the phone right away. Fazio, you take care of it. Mr. Griffo, I need a photo of your parents.”
“I’ve got one right here, Inspector, in my pocket. I took it myself when they came to Messina. Their names are Alfonso and Margherita.”
He started sobbing as he handed the photo to Montalbano.
“Five times four is twenty, twenty minus two is eighteen,” said Montalbano on the landing, after Griffo had left more bewildered than convinced.
“Trying to pick the winning numbers?” asked Fazio.
“As sure as one and one makes two, there should be twenty apartments in this building, since it has four floors. But in fact there are only eighteen, if we exclude the Griffo and Sanfilippo flats. Which means we’ve got no less than eighteen families to interrogate, and two questions to ask each family. What do you know about the Griffos? And what do you know about Nene Sanfilippo? If that little son of a bitch Mimi were here to give us a hand—”
Speak of the devil. At that moment, Fazio’s cell phone rang.
“It’s Inspector Augello. Wants to know if we need his help.”
Montalbano’s face turned red with rage.
“Tell him to get here immediately, and if he’s not here in five minutes, I’ll break his legs.”
Fazio gave him the message.
“While we’re waiting,” the inspector suggested, “let’s go have ourselves a cup of coffee.”
When they returned to Via Cavour, Mimi was already there waiting for them. Fazio walked discreetly away.
“Mimi,” the inspector began, “I’m really at my wit’s end with you. I’m speechless. What on earth is going through your head? Do you or don’t you know that—”
“I know,” Augello interrupted him.
“What the hell do you know?”
“What I’m supposed to know. That I fucked up.The fact is, I feel weird, confused.”
The inspector’s rage subsided. Mimi was standing before him with a look he’d never had before. Not the usual devil-may-care attitude. On the contrary, there was something resigned about him, something humble.
“Mimi, would you tell me what’s up with you?”
“I’ll tell you later, Salvo.”
Montalbano was about to place a consoling hand on his subordinate’s shoulder when a sudden suspicion stopped him. What if this son of a bitch Mimi was playacting the same way he himself had done with Bonetti- Alderighi, pretending to be servile when in fact he was taking his ass for a ride? Augello, who had a poker face
