As the lawyer was easing himself onto the sofa, Minutolo shot a dirty look at Montalbano, as if to tell him to stop clown-ing around.
“So, shall I speak first, or do you want to ask questions?”
“You speak first,” said Minutolo.
“All right if I take notes?” asked Montalbano, sticking his hand in his jacket pocket, which contained nothing whatsoever.
“No! Why do you need to do that?” Luna burst out.
Minutolo’s eyes implored Montalbano to stop making trouble.
“Okay, okay,” said the inspector, conciliatory.
“Where were we?” asked the lawyer, confused.
“We hadn’t started yet,” said Montalbano.
Luna surely noticed the mockery, but pretended not to.
Montalbano understood that the lawyer understood, and so decided to knock it off.
“Oh, yes. Well, around ten a.m. on the day after the abduction, my client received an anonymous phone call.”
“When?!” Minutolo and Montalbano asked in unison.
“Around ten a.m. on the day after the abduction.”
“You mean barely fourteen hours after?” asked Minutolo, still bewildered.
“Exactly,” the lawyer continued. “A man’s voice informed him that, since the abductors were aware that the Mistrettas were not in a position to pay the ransom, for all intents and purposes they considered him the only person who could satisfy their demands. They said they would call back at three in the afternoon. My client . . .” (Every time he said “my client” he made the kind of face a nurse might make when wiping the sweat off her moribund patient’s forehead) “. . . rushed here to see me. We quickly came to the conclusion that my client had been skillfully cornered. And that the kidnappers were holding all the cards. If they wanted to drag him into this, there wasn’t much we could do about it. Shirking his responsibility to the girl would gravely damage his reputation, which had already been harmed by a few unpleasant episodes. And it might ir-reparably compromise his political ambitions. Which I think has already happened, unfortunately. He was supposed to be on the ticket in the next elections, in a district where he would have been a shoo-in.” “No point in asking with what party,” said Montalbano, looking up at a photo of Berlusconi in a jogging outfit.
“Yes, no point indeed,” the lawyer said sternly, then continued. “I gave him some suggestions. The kidnappers called back at three. When asked, at my suggestion, for proof that the girl was alive, they replied that this would soon be broadcast on TeleVigata. Which in fact is exactly what happened. They asked for six billion lire. They wanted my client to buy a new cell phone and go immediately to Palermo, without telling anyone, except his bankers. One hour later they called back for the cell phone number. My client had no choice but to obey, and withdrew the six billion in record time. On the evening of the following day, they called again, and he told them he was ready to pay. But since then, inexplicably, he has received no further instruction, as I said on TV.” “Why didn’t Peruzzo authorize you to make that statement any earlier than this evening?”
“Because the kidnappers had warned him against any such action. He was not to grant any interviews or make any statement at all, but to disappear for a few days.”
“And did they withdraw the warning?”
“No. My client decided to take the initiative himself, which is extremely risky .. . But he can’t stand it any longer . . . especially after that cowardly attack on his wife, and after his trucks were torched.” “Do you know where Peruzzo is now?”
“No.”
“Do you know his cell phone number—the new one?”
“No.”
“How do you stay in touch?”
“He calls me. From a public phone.”
“Does he have email?”
“Yes, but he left his computer at home. That’s what they told him to do, and he has obeyed.”
“In short, are you telling us that any freeze of his assets would be useless at this point, since Peruzzo’s already got the ransom money on him?”
“Exactly.”
“Do you think he’ll phone you the moment he knows where and when he’s supposed to deliver the ransom?”
“What for?”
“Are you aware that if he did, you would be legally obligated to inform us at once?”
“Of course I am. And I’m ready to do as required. Except that my client won’t be calling me, or at least not until it’s all been taken care of.”
Minutolo had asked all the questions. This time Montalbano decided to speak.
“What size?”
“I don’t understand,” said the lawyer.
“What size bills did they want?”
