“Listen, Cat, that trusty friend of yours . . . the guy who’s really good with photographs and can blow them up . . . what’s his name?”
“His name’s Cicco De Cicco his name is, Chief.”
“Is he still at Montelusa Central?”
“Yessir, Chief. Still posted at his post.”
“Excellent. Have Imbro man the switchboard and go take this photo to him. Let me explain exactly what I want him to do.”
o o o
“There’s some kid wants to talk to you. His name’s Francesco Lipari.”
“Let him in.”
Francesco had lost weight. The dark circles under his eyes now took up half his face. He looked like the Masked Man of comic book fame.
“Have you seen the photo?” he asked without saying hello.
“Yes.”
“How is she?”
“Look, to begin with, she wasn’t in chains, as that asshole Ragonese claimed. And she’s not in a well, but inside an empty cistern at least ten feet deep. Given the circumstances, she looked like she was doing all right.” “Could I see the picture?”
“If you’d come earlier . . . I just sent it to Montelusa for an analysis.”
“What kind of analysis?”
He couldn’t very well tell Francesco everything he had in mind.
“It’s not about Susanna, but the place where they’re keeping her.”
“Can you tell if . . . if they’ve hurt her?”
“I really don’t think so.”
“Could you see her face?”
“Of course.”
“How did her eyes look?”
This kid was going to make a really good cop.
“She wasn’t scared. That’s probably the first thing I noticed. In fact, her expression looked very . . .”
“Determined?” said Francesco Lipari.
“Exactly.”
“I know her. It means she’s not giving in to her situation, and that sooner or later she’s going to try to escape. The kidnappers will have to watch her very closely.” He paused. Then he asked: “Do you think Peruzzo will pay up?” “The way things are going, he’s got no choice but to cough up the money.”
“Did you know that Susanna never said anything to me about this business between her mother and her uncle? I felt sort of bad when I heard about it.”
“Why?”
“Because I felt like she couldn’t confide in me.”
o o o
When Francesco left the office, feeling a little more relieved than when he’d entered, Montalbano sat there thinking about what the kid had just told him. There was no question that Susanna was courageous, and her look in the photo confirmed this. Courageous and resolved. Then why had her voice sounded so desperate when she asked for help in that first phone call? Was there not a contradiction between the voice and the image? Perhaps only an apparent contradiction.
The telephone recording was probably made only a few hours after she’d been kidnapped, when Susanna hadn’t yet regained control of herself and was still suffering from severe shock.
One can’t be courageous nonstop, twenty-four hours a day.
This was the only possible explanation.
o o o
“Chief, Cicco De Cicco says he’s gonna get on it straightaway and so the pitchers’ll be ready round nine aclack t’morrow morning.”
“I want you to pick them up yourself.”
Catarella suddenly assumed a mysterious manner, leaned forward, and said in a low voice:
“Are wese the only twos that knows about this, Chief?” Montalbano nodded, and Catarella walked out of the office stiff-legged, knees straight, arms swinging out from his sides with fingers spread. The pride of sharing a secret with his boss had changed him from a dog into a strutting peacock.
o o o
The inspector got in his car to go home, lost in thought. But could that confused tangle of meaningless words
