then changed it to ‘To the person concerned.’ Which is more precise. The person who kidnapped Susanna or masterminded the operation is not just any old thug but someone who understands the importance of words.” “You really are very good,” said Minutolo. “But as things stand now, where do your deductions lead us?”
“As things stand now, nowhere.”
“Then shall we try to think about what we need to do? In my opinion, the first thing is to get in touch with Antonio Peruzzo. Do you agree?”
“Absolutely. Have you got his number?”
“Yes. While I was waiting for you, I did a little research.
At present Peruzzo has three or four businesses that are sub-sidiary to a kind of central office in Vigata, called Progresso Italia.”
Montalbano sneered.
“What’s wrong?”
“How could it be otherwise? In perfect keeping with the times. Italy’s progress is in the hands of a crook!”
“You’re wrong, because officially everything’s in his wife’s name, Valeria Cusumano. Although I’m convinced the lady has never set foot in that office.”
“Okay, call him up.”
“No, you call him. Set up an appointment and go talk to him. Here’s the number.”
The scrap of paper Minutolo handed him had four phone numbers on it. The inspector chose to dial the one for “Se-nior Management.”
“Hello? This is Inspector Montalbano. I need to speak with Antonio Peruzzo.”
“Mr. Peruzzo’s out.”
Montalbano felt his nerves begin to fray.
“Out of the office? Out of town? Out of his mind? Out of—”
“Out of town,” the secretary cut him off coldly, sounding a bit miffed.
“When will he be back?”
“I wouldn’t know.”
“Where did he go?”
“To Palermo.”
“Do you know where he’s staying?”
“At the Excelsior.”
“Has he got a cell phone?”
“Yes.”
“Please give me the number.”
“I really don’t know if—”
“Okay, you know what I’m going to do?” Montalbano said in the sinister tone of someone unsheathing a dagger in the shadows. “I’m going to go there and ask him for it myself.” “No! Okay, here it is.”
He wrote it down and phoned the hotel.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Peruzzo is not in his room.”
“Do you know when he’ll be back?”
“Actually, he wasn’t even here last night.” The cell phone was turned off.
“Well, what do we do now?” asked Minutolo.
“We jerk off big-time,” said Montalbano, still on edge.
At that moment Fazio appeared.
“The whole town’s abuzz with rumors! Everybody’s talking about Engineer Peruzzo, the girl’s uncle. Even though they didn’t say his name on TV, everyone knew they meant him. Two factions have formed; one group says the engineer has got to pay the ransom, and the other says he’s under no obligation to his niece. But the first group’s a lot bigger. They almost came to blows at the Cafe Castiglione.” “Well, they’ve managed to screw Peruzzo,” was Montalbano’s comment.
“I’m going to have the phones bugged,” said Minutolo.
o o o
It didn’t take long for the rain falling from heaven onto Antonio Peruzzo to turn into the Great Flood. And this time, the engineer hadn’t had enough time to build himself an ark.
o o o
To all the faithful who went to the church to ask him his opinion, Father Stanzilla, the oldest and wisest priest in town, said there was no doubt about it, human or divine: The uncle must pay the ransom, since he was made the child’s godfather at her baptism. Moreover, by shelling out the money the kidnappers were asking, he would only be repaying the girl’s mother and father the huge sum he had pried away from them by deceit. And the priest told everyone about the two-billion-lire loan, a matter he knew all about, down to its finest details.
