“Good enough. But don’t get the wrong idea, Inspector. Perhaps it’s better to say enough for his needs and ours.”
“Where did he keep his money?”
Michela looked at him—fortunately just for a second— surprised by the question.
“He kept it in the bank.”
“Then how can you explain that we haven’t found any checkbook, bank statement, nothing?”
Unexpectedly, Michela smiled and stood up. “I’ll be right back,” she said.
She reappeared carrying a big portfolio, which she set down on the coffee table. Opening it up, she pulled out a checkbook for the Banca dell’Isola, searched a bit more, pulled out a sheet of paper, and handed the checkbook and paper to the inspector.
“Angelo has an account with this bank, and that’s the most recent statement.”
Montalbano looked at the figure corresponding to the credit column: ninety-one thousand euros.
He handed the two things back to Michela, who put them back in the portfolio.
“That money’s not all from Angelo’s earnings. About fifty thousand euros of it are mine, an inheritance left me by an uncle who was particularly fond of me. As you can see, my brother and I pooled our resources. In fact, the bank account is in both our names.”
“How is it that you have all the books?”
“Well, Angelo was often out of town on business trips and had trouble meeting certain deadlines. So I took care of things and gave him the receipts. Did you find them?”
“Yes, that I did. Did he also have a garage to go with the apartment and the room on the terrace?”
“Of course. There are three garages behind the building. His is the first on the left.”
See, dear Montalbano, youaregetting senile!
“Why do you say Angelo couldn’t make his payments on time because he was out of town? Weren’t most of his trips rather brief and limited to this province?”
“Not exactly. He used to go abroad at least once every three months.”
“Where to?”
“I don’t know, Germany, Switzerland, France …The countries where the big pharmaceutical firms are located. They would summon him there.”
“I see. Would he stay away a long time?”
“It varied. From three days to a week. No more than that.”
“Among your brother’s keys we found one that was rather unusual.”
He took out the key in his pocket and handed it to her.
“Do you recognize it?”
She looked at it with curiosity.
“I’d say no, I don’t really recognize it. But I must have seen one rather like it amongst his other keys.” “Did you never ask him what it was for?” “No.”
“This key opens a portable strongbox.” “Really?”
She looked at him. Bright, inviting eyes, to all appearances. In no way perilous.But careful, Montalbano. Underneath, hidden, there are probably tangles of giant algae you’ll never extricate your feet from.
“I never knew that Angelo had a strongbox. He never told me he did, and I never saw it in his apartment.”
Montalbano stared hard at the tip of his left shoe. “Did you find it?” she continued.
“No. We found the keys but not the box. Doesn’t that seem strange to you?” “Quite strange.”
“And that’s another one of those things that should definitely have been in the apartment but weren’t.”
Michela gave a sign that she understood what Montalbano was getting at. She leaned her head back—she had a beautiful, Modiglianiesque neck—and looked at him through— luckily—half-closed eyes.
“You’re not thinkingItook it?”
“Well, you see, I made a mistake.”
“What?”
“I left you alone at your brother’s place that first night. I shouldn’t have. You therefore would have had all the time in the world to—”
“To remove things? Why would I do that?”
“Because you know a lot more about Angelo than we do.”
“Of course I do! Some discovery! We grew up together. We’re brother and sister.”
“And therefore you’re inclined to cover for him, even unconsciously. You told me that at one point your brother decided to stop practicing medicine. But that’s not really how things went. Your brother had his license revoked.”
“Who told you that?”
