“I’ll explain. The man’s been married twice. The first time, when he was thirty-nine and teaching at Comisini, with a nineteen-year-old girl, a former pupil of his from theliceo.Her name was Maria Coxa.”
“What kind of name is that?”
“Albanian. But her father was born in Italy. The marriage lasted exactly one year and three months.” “What happened?”
“Nothing happened. At least that’s what people say. After being married a year, the bride realized that it was mighty strange that every evening when her husband lay down beside her, he would say, ‘Good night, my love,’ kiss her on the forehead, and go to sleep. Get the drift?”
“No.”
“Chief, our schoolteacher did not consummate.” “Really?”
“So they say. So his very young wife, who needed to consummate—”
“Went consummating elsewhere.”
‘The husband found..’
“Exactly, Chief. A colleague of the husband’s, a gym
teacher…you get the idea. Apparently the husband found out but
didn’t react. One day, however, he came home at an unexpected time of day and caught his wife trying out a particularly difficult exercise with his colleague. Things got nasty and reversed.” “Reversed?”
“I mean our schoolteacher didn’t touch his wife, but took it out on his colleague and beat him to a pulp. It’s true the gym teacher was stronger and in better shape, but Emilio Sclafani put him in the hospital. He went berserk; something turned him from a patient cuckold into a wild beast.”
“What was the upshot?”
“The gym teacher decided not to press charges, Sclafani split up with his wife, got himself transferred to Montelusa, and got a divorce. And now, in his second marriage, he finds himself in the exact same situation as in the first. That’s why I called him a repeat offender.”
Mimi Augello walked in and Fazio walked out.
“What are you still doing here?” Mimi asked.
“Why, where am I supposed to be?”
“Wherever you want, but not here. In fifteen minutes Liguori’s going to be here.”
The asshole from Narcotics!
“I forgot! I’ll just make a couple of phone calls and run.”
The first was to Elena Sclafani.
“Montalbano here. Good morning, signora. I need to talk to you.”
“This morning?”
“Yes. Can I come by in half an hour?”
“I’m busy until one o’clock, Inspector. If you want, we could meet this afternoon.”
“I could make it this evening. But will your husband be there?”
“I already told you that’s not a problem. At any rate, he’s coming back this evening. Listen. I have an idea. Why don’t you invite me out to dinner?”
They agreed on the time and place.
The second call was for Michela Pardo.
“I’m sorry, Inspector, I was just on my way out. I have to go to Montelusa to see Judge Tommaseo. Fortunately, my aunt was able …What is it?”
“Do you know Fanara?”
“The town? Yes.”
“Do you know who lives at Via Liberta 82?” Silence, no answer. “Hello, Michela?”
“Yes, I’m here. It’s just that you took me by surprise … Yes, I know who lives at 82 Via Liberta.” “Tell me.”
“My aunt Anna, my mother’s other sister. She’s paralyzed. Angelo is—was—very close to her. Whenever he went to Fanara, he always dropped in to see her. But how did you know—”
“Routine investigation, I assure you. Naturally I have many other things to ask you.”
“You could come by this afternoon.”
“I have a meeting with the commissioner. Tomorrow morning, if that’s all right with you.”
He dashed out of the office, got in the car, and drove off. He decided he needed to have another look at Angelo’s apartment. Why? Because. Instinct demanded it.
Inside the front door, he climbed the silent staircase of the dead house and cautiously opened, without a sound, the door to Angelo’s flat, terrified that His Majesty Victor Emmanuel III might burst out of his apartment with a dagger in his hand and stab him in the back. He headed to the study, sat down behind the desk, and started to think.
