He’d suddenly lost his breath. Montalbano got worried. “What’s wrong, sir?”
“That woman is so…beautiful,she’s a creature of…of… “
Tommaseo was beside himself. He not only couldn’t breathe, he also couldn’t speak. “How did it go?”
“Splendidly!” the prosecutor said enthusiastically. “Couldn’t have gone any better!
Logically speaking, when a prosecutor declares himself satisfied and content with an interrogation, it means the accused got the worse end of things.
“Did you find any incriminating elements?”
“You must be kidding!”
So much for logic. The prosecutor was clearly leaning in Elena’s favor.
“The lady showed up with Traina, the lawyer, who brought along a service-station attendant, a certain Luigi Diotisalvi.”
“The lady’s alibi.”
“Exactly, Montalbano. All we can do at this point is envy Mr. Diotisalvi and open up our own service station in the hope that sooner or later she’ll need refueling, heh, heh, heh.”
He laughed, still stunned by Elena’s appearance.
“The lady was adamant in her wish that her husband should not under any circumstances learn of her alibi,” the inspector reminded him.
“Of course. I made every effort to reassure the lady. The upshot, however, is that we’re back at sea. What are we going to do, Montalbano?”
“Swim, sir.”
At a quarter to one, Fazio returned from the funeral. “Were there a lot of people?” “Enough.” “Wreaths?”
“Nine. And only one pillow, from the mother and sister.”
“Did you take down the names on the ribbons?” “Yessir. Six were unknown persons, but three were known.”
His eyes started to glisten, a sign that he was about to drop a bomb. “Go on.”
“One wreath was from Senator Nicotra’s family.”
“Nothing strange about that. You yourself know they were friends. The senator defended him—”
“Another was from the Di Cristoforo family.”
Fazio was expecting the inspector to be surprised. He was disappointed.
“I was already aware they knew each other. It was MP Di Cristoforo who introduced Pardo to the manager of the bank in Fanara.”
“And the third wreath was from the Sinagra family. The same Sinagras we know so well,” fired Fazio.
This time Montalbano was speechless.
“Holy shit!” he said.
For the Sinagras to have come this far out in the open, Angelo Pardo must have been a dear friend indeed. Was it Senator Nicotra who introduced Pardo to the Sinagras? And was Di Cristoforo therefore part of the same clique? Di Cristoforo—Nicotra—Pardo: a triangle whose area equaled the Sinagra family?
“Did you also go to the cemetery?”
“Yessir. But they weren’t able to bury him. They put him on ice for a few days.” “Why?”
“The Pardos have a family tomb, Chief, but when it came time to put the coffin in the vault, it wouldn’t fit. The lid of the coffin was too high, so they’re going to have to enlarge the hole.”
Montalbano sat there pensive.
“Do you remember how Angelo Pardo was built?” he asked.
“Yeah, Chief. About five foot ten, a hundred and seventy-five pounds.”
“Perfectly normal. Do you think a body that size needs a supersize coffin?”
“No, Chief.”
“Tell me something, Fazio. “Where did the funeral procession begin?”
“At Pardo’s mother’s place.”
“Which means they’d already brought him back to Vigata from Montelusa.”
“Yessir, they did that last night.”
“Listen, can you find me the name of the funeral home?”
“I already know it, Chief. Angelo Sorrentino and Sons.” Montalbano stared at him, his eyes like slits. “Why do you already know it?”
“Because the whole thing didn’t make any sense to me. You’re not the only cop around here, Chief.”
“Okay, I want you to call up this Sorrentino and have him tell you the names of the people directly involved in transferring the body from Montelusa to here and then to the funeral. Then summon them to my office for three
