The Age Of Doubt

“No, the lady fired him as soon as she inherited the boat.”

“Why’d she do that?”

“According to Captain Sperli, the two could never get along because Captain Giannitrapani had an even nastier disposition than the lady.”

“And what’s Maurilio say about this?”

“Maurilio says Sperli and the lady were lovers before the husband died.”

“I guess the husband’s little fall into the sea was-”

“Not really, Chief. If they chucked him into the sea, it was for another reason.”

“Explain.”

“Apparently, after a couple of years of marriage the lady started making the rounds of the crew and-”

“What do you mean, ‘making the rounds’?”

“Maurilio said she would take one sailor, enjoy him for a week, then move on to another. When she’d finished the round, she would start over. Except that eventually she settled on Captain Sperli. The husband was aware of all this commotion but never said anything. He didn’t give a damn. To the point that on certain nights he would go and sleep in a vacant cabin.”

“Maurilio told you all this?”

“Yessir.”

“Did the lady make it with him too?”

“Yessir.”

“Isn’t it possible Maurilio is bad-mouthing the owner because he wants exclusive rights to her?”

“I really don’t know, Chief. On the other hand, I’m convinced Maurilio’s got it in for her because she’s always on his case, going down to the engine room and making fun of him, telling him she knows the engines better than he does, and chewing him out for the slightest things.”

“What about the rest of the crew?”

“Like Sperli, Maurilio, who’s Spanish, has always been on the Vanna, ever since Giovannini first bought it. The three current sailors were hired after Sperli dissolved the previous crew, because they were a constant reminder of the lady’s earlier adventures.”

“Let me get this straight. He dismissed everyone but not Maurilio?”

“That’s right. Because Maurilio is protected.”

“By whom?”

“By Giovannini’s will, which stipulates that Maurilio can stay on the Vanna for as long as he feels like it.”

“And how does Maurilio explain this clause?”

“He doesn’t. He says he was very close to Giovannini.”

“But not so close that he didn’t let the lady take him to bed.”

Fazio threw his hands up.

“Wait. And who are the other three?” Montalbano continued.

Fazio had to look again at his piece of paper.

“Ahmed Shaikiri, a North African, twenty-eight years old; Stefano Ricca, from Viareggio, thirty-two years old; and Mario Digiulio, from Palermo…”

Digiulio! That was the same name Vanna had claimed was her own! Was it a coincidence? Better check.

“Stop!” said the inspector. “It’s too late now, but tomorrow morning I want you to go get this Digiulio and bring him here.”

Fazio gave him a confused look.

“Why, wha’d he do?”

“Nothing. I just want to get to know him better. Find whatever excuse you can think of, but I want him here at the station at nine o’clock tomorrow.”

***

He was about to get up and go home to Marinella when the telephone rang.

“Chief, ’at’d be a lady e’en tho’ she gotta man’s name, says she’s called Giovannino an’ she wantsa talk t’ yiz poissonally in poisson.”

“Let her in.”

It was Livia Giovannini, the owner of the yacht. She came in with a big smile on her face. She was in an evening dress and looked quite elegant.

“Inspector, forgive me for disturbing you.”

“Not at all, signora. Please sit down.”

“I was a little disoriented the other morning when we met, and there was something I forgot to ask you. May I do so now?”

She was being more polite than the Chinese. It was obviously an act.

“Of course.”

“How did you know I had a niece?”

She must have racked her brains trying to figure it out. She must have asked Sperli for his advice and decided in the end to ask the inspector directly. Which meant that the whole business of the pseudoniece was important. But why?

“The other morning, as I left for work, it was raining cats and dogs and the seaside road into Vigata collapsed,” Montalbano began.

And he told her the whole story.

“Did she say anything about me?”

“All she told me was your husband’s name, but not his last name. Oh, and, come to think of it, she also added that you’re very rich and like to travel the seas. And that’s about it.”

The lady seemed reassured.

“Well, that’s a relief!”

“Why?”

“Because sometimes the poor thing isn’t really all there, and so she talks and talks and makes up the most incredible stories… So I was a little worried she might have…”

“I understand. Don’t worry, she didn’t tell me anything out of the ordinary.”

“Thank you,” said the lady, standing up and flashing a radiant smile.

“You’re welcome,” said Montalbano, also standing up and smiling broadly.

5

As he was opening the door to his house he heard the phone ringing, but when he went to pick up it was too late. The person at the other end had hung up. He glanced at his watch: eight thirty-five.

He let off some steam by cursing the owner of the yacht a few times for having wasted his time.

He’d given Laura his home phone number and they had agreed that she would call at eight-thirty. Which was why she hadn’t bothered to give him her number. So what would he do now? Call the Harbor Office? Or wait a little while yet, hoping she would try to call again? He decided to wait.

He changed his clothes and then went into the kitchen and opened the oven. Adelina, his housekeeper, had made a casserole of pasta ’ncasciata that could have fed four. And in the refrigerator, in case he was still hungry, which was unlikely, there was a ready platter of nervetti [8] with vinegar.

The telephone rang again. It was Laura.

“I called a few minutes ago but-”

“Sorry, I was held up at the office and-”