“That’s the important thing. You don’t have to show it to me, but I’m sure my colleagues will ask to see it.”
“Why? What happened?”
“First answer me. Do you live here alone?”
“No, with my husband.”
“Where is he now?”
“In there.”
Right there? In the other room? Montalbano’s jaw dropped.
What? Her husband just sat there, cool as a cucumber, while his wife fucked the first man to walk by?
“Call him.”
“He can’t come.”
“Why not?”
“He got no legs. They had to cut ’em off after the accident,” she said.
“What accident?”
“Tractor flipped over when he was plowing the fields.”
“When did this happen?”
“Three years ago. Two years after we got married.”
“Let me see him.”
The woman went and opened the door, then stood aside.
The inspector went in. His nose was immediately assailed by a strong smell of medication. In a large double bed, a man lay half asleep and breathing heavily. In one corner was a television with an armchair in front of it. The top of the dressing table was entirely covered by medicine bottles and syringes.
“They also cut off ’is left hand,” the woman said softly.
“He’s in terrible pain, day and night.”
“Why don’t you put him in a hospital?”
“Because I can take better care of him. The problem is the medications cost so much and I don’t want him to go without ’em. I’d sell my own eyes if I had to. That’s why I receive men here. Dr. Mistretta told me to give him a shot when the pain gets too bad. Just an hour ago he was crying like a baby, asking me to kill him. He wanted to die. So I gave him a shot.” Montalbano looked over at the dresser. Morphine.
“Let’s go back in the other room.”
They went back in the dining room.
“Do you know that a girl has been kidnapped?”
“Yessir. I seen it on TV.”
“Have you noticed anything unusual around here the last few days?”
“Nothing.”
“Are you sure?”
The woman hesitated.
“The other night . . . but it was probably nothing.”
“Tell me anyway.”
“The other night I was lying awake in bed and I heard a car drive up . . . I thought maybe it was someone coming to see me, so I got up.”
“You receive clients even at night?”
“Yessir. But they’re nice men, respectable, and so they don’t want anybody to see ’em during the day. But they always call before they come. That’s why I was surprised this car came, ’cause nobody’d called. But then the car pulled up here and turned around, ’cause there’s no room anywhere else.” This poor woman and her wretched, bedridden husband couldn’t possibly have anything to do with the kidnapping.
Their house, moreover, was out in the open and heavily fre-quented by outsiders day and night.
“Listen,” said Montalbano, “near the spot where we left the car, we found something that might belong to the girl who was kidnapped.”
The woman turned white as a sheet.
“We got nothing to do with that,” she said firmly.
“I know. But you’re going to be questioned. Tell them about the car, but don’t mention that people come to see you at night. And don’t let them see you dressed like that. Remove your makeup and those high-heeled shoes. And put the cot in the bedroom. All you sell here is eggs, got that?” He heard a car and went outside. The patrolman summoned by Gallo had arrived. But with him was also Mimi Augello.
“I was about to come relieve you,” said Montalbano.
“There’s no longer any need,” said Mimi. “They’ve already sent Bonolis over to coordinate the search. I guess
