Patience of the Spider

everything in a reversal of fortune. Therefore, as the girl’s poor father had said in his appeal, if the purpose of this kidnapping was money—and he, Ragonese, certainly didn’t want to conjecture as to what other terrible motive might be behind it—then it had been a tragic mistake. Now who was most likely not to know that Mistretta and his family had been living in digni-fied poverty? Only foreigners, third worlders, clearly ill-informed. For there was no denying that ever since all these illegal immigrants had been landing on these shores in what was a veritable invasion, crime rates had soared, surpassing previous high-water marks. What were local governments waiting for to strictly apply an already existing law? Personally, however, he did take comfort in one aspect of this kidnapping case. The investigation had been entrusted to the able Inspector Filippo Minutolo of Montelusa Police and not to so-called Inspector Salvo Montalbano, known more for his questionable brain-storms and his unorthodox and at times downright subversive opinions, than for his ability to solve the cases assigned to him.

And on that note, Ragonese wished them all a good night.

“What a bastard!” said Livia, turning off the TV.

Montalbano chose not to open his mouth. By now the things Ragonese said about him had no effect on him. The telephone rang. It was Gallo.

“I just finished, Chief. There was only one house that didn’t have anyone in it, but it seemed like it hadn’t been lived in for a while. And everyone gave the same answer: Nobody knows Susanna and they didn’t see any girl pass by on a motorbike last night. But one lady did say that the fact she didn’t see anything didn’t necessarily mean that a girl on a motorbike didn’t pass by.” “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because those houses have all got their gardens and kitchens in back, not on the roadside.”

He hung up. The mild disappointment made him feel tremendously weary.

“What do you say, shall we go to bed?”

“All right,” said Livia, “but why haven’t you told me anything about this kidnapping?”

Because you didn’t give me the chance, he was about to say, but held himself back in time. Those words would surely have triggered a furious spat. He merely gave a vague shrug.

“Is it true you were left off the case, as that cornuto just said on TV?”

“Congratulations, Livia.”

“Why?”

“I can see you’re becoming a true Vigatese. You called Ragonese a cornuto. Calling people cornuti is typical of aborig-ines.”

“I obviously caught it from you. But tell me, is it true you were—”

“Not exactly. I’m supposed to work together with Minutolo. But the investigation was his from the start. And I was on leave.”

“Tell me about the kidnapping while I tidy up.” The inspector told her everything there was to tell. When he’d finished, Livia looked troubled.

“If they ask for a ransom, will all your other conjectures prove false?”

She, too, was thinking that they might have kidnapped Susanna in order to rape her. Montalbano wanted to tell her that a ransom demand didn’t preclude rape, but he decided it was better if she went to bed without this worry on her mind.

“Of course. You want the bathroom first?”

“Okay.”

Montalbano opened the French door giving onto the veranda, sat down, and lit a cigarette. The night was as placid as a baby’s sleep. He managed to stop thinking about Susanna and the horror that this same night must have represented to her.

After a short spell, he heard a noise inside the house. He got up, went in, and froze. Livia was standing in the middle of the room, naked. At her feet was a small puddle of water. Apparently something had occurred to her halfway through the shower and she’d stepped out. She looked beautiful, but Montalbano didn’t dare make a move. Livia’s eyes, reduced to mere slits, heralded an impending storm.

“You . . . you . . .” said Livia, her arm extended, pointing an accusing finger.

“Me what?”

“When did you learn about the kidnapping?”

“This morning.”

“When you went to the office?”

“No, before that.”

“How long before?”

“What, don’t you remember?”

“I want to hear you say it.”

“When I got that call and you woke up and went in the kitchen to make coffee. Catarella told me first, but I didn’t understand a word of it, then Fazio explained that a girl had disappeared.” “And what did you do next?”

“I took a shower and got dressed.”

“Oh, no, you didn’t, you disgusting hypocrite! You laid me out on the kitchen table! Monster! How could you even think of making love to me when that poor girl—”

“Livia, stop and think for a minute. When I got that call, I had no idea how serious—”

“See? That newsman is right, what’s his name, the one who said you’re incompetent and don’t understand a