Catarella gave a start and leapt to his feet.
“Ahhh, Chief, Chief! We’s sinkin’ fast! The last word’s got the last word! I can’t get in! Iss impetrinable!”
“Don’t you think you can do it?”
“Chief, even if I gotta stay up and awake all night, I’m gonna find that first secret word!” “Cat, why did you say ‘first’?”
” ‘Cause, Chief, there’s tree files that got past words.”
“Lemme get this straight. So if it takes you ten hours to find the password to one file, that means it’s going to take you at least thirty hours to find all three?”
“Just like you say, Chief.”
“Best of luck. And, listen, if you find the first, don’t hesitate to give me a ring, no matter the hour.”
6
He got in the car and left, but after he’d gone a hundred yards, he slapped himself on the forehead, cursed, began a dangerous U-turn, and the three motorists behind him vociferously let him know that: One, he was a tremendouscornuto.
Two, his mother was a woman of easy virtue.
Three, his sister was worse than his mother.
Back at the station, he walked past Catarella without the other’s noticing, engrossed as he was in the computer. A whole regiment of gangsters could have entered those offices with a single shot being fired.
Back in his room, he opened the little bag Fazio had brought him and pulled out the set of keys that had belonged to Angelo. He immediately noticed a key that looked exactly like the one he had in his pocket, which was supposed to open a strongbox. Normally those locks came equipped with only two keys. Thus the one they’d found under the drawer must be a spare key Angelo kept hidden.
So he’d been wrong about Michela. It couldn’t have been she who took the strongbox; she had no way to open it.
Perhaps the box hadn’t disappeared from Angelo’s apartment because it had never been there in the first place. Perhaps he kept it elsewhere.
Where elsewhere?
Montalbano slapped his forehead again. He was conducting this investigation like a senile idiot who forgot the most basic things. Angelo was a pharmaceutical representative and traveled all over the province, didn’t he? Why hadn’t it already occurred to him that Angelo must have a car and might also have a garage?
He emptied Fazio’s bag onto the table. Cell phone. Wallet. And car keys. QED: Hewasa senile idiot.
He put everything back in the bag and brought it with him. Catarella didn’t notice him this time either.
Michela was wearing a kind of loose, formless dressing gown, which a large, slack knot turned into a kind of prison smock, and pair of slippers. She kept her dangerous eyes lowered. What sins or evil intentions was her body guilty of, for her to punish it by hiding it that way?
She led him into the living room. Finely crafted old furniture, certainly heirlooms handed down from father to son.
“Forgive me for receiving you in these clothes, but since I’m constantly having to look after Mama …”
“Not at all! How is your mother doing?”
“Luckily, she’s resting at the moment. It’s the effect of the sedatives. The doctor says it’s best this way. But her sleep is agitated, as if she were having nightmares. She moans.”
“I’m sorry,” said Montalbano, who never knew what to say in these instances and therefore stuck to generalities.
She broached the question first. Directly.
“Did you find anything at Angelo’s place?”
“What do you mean by ‘anything’?”
“Anything that might help you to understand who it was that—”
“No, nothing yet.”
“You made me a promise.”
Montalbano immediately understood.
“I phoned Montelusa. They’re going to need at least three more days before they can get authorization to return the body. But don’t worry, I’ll keep you informed.”
“Thanks.”
“You just asked me if we found anything in your brother’s apartment and I said no. But we haven’t even found what was supposed to be there.”
He’d cast the baited hook. But she didn’t bite. She just stood there a bit shocked, which was understandable.
“Such as?” she asked.
“Did your brother earn a good living?”
