“That’s the big question.”
“So what do I do now?”
“If you want to play their game, then broadcast the phone call.”
“It’s not my job to help criminals.”
“Good for you! I’ll make sure to carve those noble words on your tombstone.”
“You’re such an asshole,” said Zito, grabbing his crotch.
“Well, then, since you’ve declared yourself an honorable journalist, you’ll call the judge and the commissioner, tell them about the recording, and make it available to them.” “That’s what I’ll do.”
“You’d better do it right away.”
“You in some kind of hurry?” asked Zito as he was dial-ing the commissioner’s office.
Montalbano didn’t answer.
“I’ll wait for you outside,” he said, getting up and going out.
It was a truly gentle morning, with a light, delicate wind blowing. The inspector fired up a cigarette but didn’t have time to finish it before the newsman came out.
“Done.”
“What did they tell you?”
“Not to broadcast anything at all. They’re sending an officer to come pick up the cassette.”
“Shall we go back inside?” asked the inspector.
“You want to keep me company?”
“No, I want to see something.”
When they entered the office, Montalbano told Nicolo to turn on the television and tune in to TeleVigata.
“What do you want to hear from those assholes?”
“Just wait and you’ll understand why I was in such a hurry for you to call the commissioner.”
At the bottom of the screen appeared the words: special edition of televigata news, coming right up.
“Shit!” said Nicolo. “They called them, too! And those sleazeballs are going to broadcast it!”
“Isn’t that what you expected?”
“No. And you made me lose the scoop!”
“You want to turn back now? Make up your mind: Are you an honest or a dishonest journalist?”
“I’m honest, all right, but losing a scoop of one’s own free will really hurts!”
The scroll with the announcement disappeared, and the TeleVigata News logo came onto the screen. Then, without any introduction, Mr. Mistretta’s face appeared. It was a replay of the appeal he’d already made the day after the kidnapping.
Then a newsman appeared.
“We rebroadcast the plea of Susanna’s father for a specific reason. Now, please listen to the chilling document that was called in to our studios this morning.”
Against a backdrop of the Mistretta villa, one heard the exact same telephone call that was made to the Free Channel.
Then they cut to the prune face of Pippo Ragonese.
“Let me say straight off that here at TeleVigata, the editorial staff was terribly torn over whether to broadcast the phone call we’d just received. The anguished and anguishing voice of Susanna Mistretta is not something our consciences can easily bear hearing, living as we do in a civilized society.
But your right to the news prevailed. The public’s right to know is sacrosanct, and it is our sacrosanct duty as journalists to respect this right. Otherwise we could no longer proudly call ourselves journalists in the public service. We chose to rebroadcast the girl’s father’s desperate appeal before letting you hear that telephone call. The kidnappers do not realize, or do not want to realize, that their ransom demand can only come to nothing, given the well-known financial straits of the Mistretta family. In this tragic stalemate, our hope resides in the forces of order, particularly in Inspector Minutolo, a man of vast experience, whom we fervently wish a prompt success.” The first newsman reappeared and said: “This special edition will be rebroadcast every hour.” Party’s over, time to go home.
A rock music program began.
Montalbano never stopped marveling at the people who worked in television. For example, they show you images of an earthquake with thousands of victims, whole towns swal-lowed up, small children wounded and crying, bits of human corpses, and then right afterwards they say: “And now a few beautiful shots of Carnival in Rio.” Colorful floats, happy faces, sambas, asses.
“The bastard and son of a bitch!” said Zito, turning red in the face and kicking a chair.
“Wait, I’ll fix him,” said Montalbano.
He quickly dialed a number and then waited a few minutes, the receiver glued to his ear.
“Hello? Montalbano here. The commissioner, please. Yes, thank you. Yes, I’ll remain on the line. Yes. Mr. Commissioner? Good day. Sorry to bother you, but I’m calling from the offices of the Free Channel. Yes, I know that Nicolo Zito just called you. Of course, he’s a responsible citizen and was only doing his duty . . . He set aside his
