“Wait a second,” he said, picking up the receiver.
“Ahh Chief! That’d be proxetutor Gommaseo onna line wantin’ a talk to…”
“All right, put him on.”
“Montalbano?”
“What can I do for you, sir?”
“Listen, I wanted to let you know that yesterday afternoon a rather irritated Signora Giovannini, owner of the
“Yes I do, sir.”
“She must be a dominatrix, I’m sure of it.”
Montalbano didn’t understand.
“A what? Dominate what?”
“She dominates her partner, my friend! You can bank on it. In the intimacy of her bedroom, that lady dresses up in leather pants and spike heels and uses whips on her lover, whom she treats like an animal and probably puts a bit in his mouth and rides him like a horse…”
Montalbano felt like laughing but managed to restrain himself. For a brief moment, the prosecutor’s words conjured in his mind an image of Mimi naked and sprawled out on the floor like a bear rug, with La Giovannini grinding her heel into his back… Ah, the sexual fantasies of Prosecutor Tommaseo! Who, to all appearances, had never been with a woman. With all these fantasies about La Giovannini in his head, his eyes were probably popping out and his hands trembling at that very moment, drool collecting at the corners of his mouth.
“Anyway, as I was saying, she came by yesterday and adamantly insisted that it’s unreasonable to force her to keep her boat in the port for so long. She said we’re engaging in an obvious abuse of power, they have nothing to do with that man’s murder, and all they did was recover a dead body adrift on the water… And, indeed…”
“So what’s your conclusion?”
“Well, I just wanted to let you know that I’m rather inclined to let them leave whenever they like.”
“I wouldn’t be so-”
“Look, Montalbano, we have nothing on them to keep them here any longer. And why should we? I’m convinced that neither she nor any member of her crew had anything to do with the murder. If you disagree, you should tell me. But you have to give your reasons. And so?”
Since Tommaseo knew nothing about the girl who called herself Vanna and the suspicions she had aroused in Montalbano’s mind concerning the yacht, his assumptions were unfailingly correct. But the inspector could hardly allow that yacht to get away.
“Could you give me two more days?”
“I’ll give you one more day. That’s the most I can possibly grant you. But you have to tell me why you need the time.”
“Could I come by your office the day after tomorrow?”
“I’ll be waiting for you.”
He would have to make do with a single day. After hanging up, he told Fazio to go and get Shaikiri.
A single day. But if Mimi was clever enough, maybe he could detain Signora Giovannini for another week.
Ahmed Shaikiri was twenty-eight years old, and it was hard to tell that he was North African, because he looked exactly like a Sicilian sailor. He seemed sharp and had intelligent eyes and a natural elegance about him.
Montalbano immediately liked him.
“Stick around and take a seat,” the inspector said to Fazio, who was getting ready to leave.
“You, too, sit down, Shaikiri.”
“Thank you,” the Arab said politely.
Montalbano opened his mouth to begin speaking, but the man didn’t give him the time and began to speak first.
“Before anything else, I really would like to excuse myself to this gentleman here for having punched him. Please accept my apologies,” he said, turning to Fazio. “Unfortunately, whenever I drink wine…”
He spoke perfect Italian.
“Sicilian wine,” Montalbano interrupted.
Shaikiri gave him a confused look.
“I don’t understand.”
“I mean it must be Sicilian, or maybe Greek wine that has this effect on you.”
“No, look, I-”
“Listen, Shaikiri, you’re not going to tell me that the wine you drink in… I dunno, let’s say Alexanderbaai, South Africa, just to name the first city that comes to mind, gets you so easily drunk.”
Shaikiri looked dumbfounded.
“But I…”
“Let me put it more clearly. The wine you drink in Alexanderbaai doesn’t make you start punching the local police or carabinieri or whatever it is they have down there. Isn’t that right?”
Montalbano’s words had a double effect. First, on Fazio, who immediately pricked up his ears, realizing that the inspector wasn’t just blathering at random but had a specific purpose in mind. And second, on Shaikiri, who visibly gave a start at first and then seemed to pretend he didn’t understand.
“All right, you can go,” Montalbano cut things short.
Shaikiri seemed more bewildered than ever.
“You’re not going to charge me?”
“No.”
“But I provoked and started punching a-”
“We’ll let it slide this time. You’ve already been charged by the carabinieri, haven’t you?”
“Yes.”
“And you were interrogated yesterday at their base, right?”
“Yes.”
Montalbano now felt himself trembling inside. He’d reached the point where he had to say the decisive thing that would let him know whether he was right in his surmise or mistaken all down the line.
“If you see her again, and I’m sure you will see her or at least hear from her again, please give her my best.”
Shaikiri turned pale and squirmed in his chair.
“Who am I supposed to-”
“The young lady… I’m sorry, the person who, well, let’s say ‘interrogated’ you yesterday.”
A few beads of sweat appeared on Shaikiri’s forehead.
“I… I don’t understand.”
“It doesn’t matter. Good day.”
Then, turning to Fazio:
“Let him go.”
Naturally, as soon as Shaikiri had left, Fazio raced back to Montalbano’s office.
“Would you please tell me what’s going on?” he asked.
“After talking to Lieutenant Sferlazza of the carabinieri, I became convinced that the person informing the so- called Vanna about what was happening aboard the yacht was Shaikiri. He had to be the one who told her that they had to change course because of the storm and head to Vigata.”
“And how would he have done that?”
“I dunno. Maybe with a satellite phone. And so Vanna got moving so she could meet with him, but the dinghy with the corpse sent that rendezvous up in smoke. So Shaikiri got himself arrested by the carabinieri, revealed who he was, and they immediately put him in touch with Vanna. And yesterday she was finally able to talk to him.”
“And why did he punch me out, too?”
“Because he’s a smart young man. He wants his friends to think that the local wine always has the same effect on him. He gets in fights with all kinds of cops, whether carabinieri or not.”
“So then who’s this Vanna?”
“Sferlazza said something about the antiterrorism unit, but I think he was lying. There’s definitely something
