“Have we met?”
“No, but I’ve seen you on television.” “I’m listening.”
She seemed even more embarrassed than before. Settling her buttocks more comfortably into the chair, she stared at the tip of one of her shoes, swallowed twice, opened her mouth, closed it, then opened it again.
“It’s about my brother, Angelo.”
And she stopped, as though the inspector needed only to know the name of her brother to grasp the whole problem in a flash.
“Signorina Michela, surely you realize—”
“I know, I know. Angelo has …he’s disappeared. It’s been two days. I’m sorry, I’m just very worried and confused and… “
“How old is your brother?”
“Forty-two.”
“Does he live with you?”
“No, he lives by himself. I live with Mama.”
“Is your brother married?”
“No.”
“Does he have a girlfriend?” “No.”
“What makes you say he disappeared?”
“Because he never lets a day go by without coming to see Mama. And when he can’t come, he calls. And if he has to go away, he lets us know. We haven’t heard from him for two days.”
“Have you tried calling him?”
“Yes, I’ve tried his home phone and his mobile. There’s no answer. I even went to his house. I rang and rang the doorbell, then decided to go inside.”
“You have the keys to your brother’s place?”
“Yes.”
“And what did you find there?”
“Everything was in perfect order. I got scared.”
“Does your brother suffer from any illness?” “Not at all.”
“What does he do for a living?” “He’s an informer.”
Montalbano balked. Had ratting on others become an established profession, with a year-end bonus and paid vacations as with Mafia turncoats, who had fixed salaries? He would clear this up in a minute.
“Is he often on the move?”
“Yes, but he works within a limited area. Basically he doesn’t go beyond the boundaries of the province.”
“So do you want to declare him a missing person?” “No… I don’t know.”
“I should warn you, however, that we can’t get moving on it right away.” “Why not?”
“Because your brother is an independent adult, healthy in body and mind. He might have decided to go away for a few days of his own accord. Understand? And, in the end, we don’t know whether—”
“I understand. What do you suggest I do?”
As she was asking this, she finally looked at him. Montalbano felt a sort of heat wave run through his body. Those eyes were exactly like a deep, violet lake that any man would gladly dive into and drown in. It was a good thing Signorina Michela almost always kept those eyes lowered. In his mind Montalbano took two strokes and swam back to shore.
“Well, I would suggest you go back to your brother’s place and have another look around.”
“I already did, yesterday. I didn’t go inside, but I rang the doorbell for a long time.”
“All right, but maybe he’s in no condition to come to the door.”
“Why would that be?”
“I dunno …maybehe slipped in the bathtub and can’t walk, or has a very high fever—”
“Inspector, I didn’t just ring the doorbell. I also called out to him. If he’d slipped in the bathtub, he would have answered. Angelo’s apartment is not that big, after all.”
“I’m afraid I must insist you go back there.”
“I won’t go back alone. Would you come with me?”
She looked at him again. This time Montalbano suddenly found himself sinking, the water coming up to his neck. He thought about it a moment, then decided.
“Listen, I’ll tell you what. If you still haven’t heard from your brother by seven o’clock this evening, come back
