Therefore, to return to the matter at hand, someone from the
Because, once they were identified as being from the cruiser, the investigation of the murder would most certainly have led back to them. They couldn’t risk it.
But they’d had the right idea: the passport was the only thing that might make it possible to identify the dead man. Getting rid of it would have meant the corpse would probably remain forever nameless. And since they’d failed to get their hands on it, they had to content themselves with smashing in the dead man’s face.
Want to bet the false face was better known than the real one?
The inspector decided it was best to inform Geremicca of the surgically remade face. He was about to phone him when Fazio came in.
“I’ve spoken with the lieutenant,” said Fazio.
Montalbano immediately felt envious.
Fazio had had a chance to see Laura, to be close to her, to hear her breathing and talk to her…
“What did you find out?” His voice sounded choked.
“You stuffed up?” Fazio asked.
“No, it’s nothing, my throat’s just a little dry. Tell me.”
“First of all, I found out that this
“That sort of thing happens all the time. It’s unlikely it would belong to an individual. They do it to pay less tax. And what’s this company’s business?”
“Import-export.”
“Of what?”
“A bit of everything.”
“And what do they need a monster motorboat like that for?”
“The lieutenant told me the company operates all over the Mediterranean, from Morocco and Algeria to Syria, and even Turkey and Greece…”
The same places stamped in the Frenchman’s passport.
“The lieutenant also said that it’s not the first time the cruiser has called at the port of Vigata. Normally, though, it stays only for a day, two at the most. This time, however, they’ve stayed longer because they’re waiting for someone from outside to come and look at the engines, which have been misfiring.”
“But wouldn’t it have been better for them to get an airplane?”
“What do you want me to say, Chief? It’s their business.”
“The other day, I saw a sort of colossus on their deck, saying goodbye to the owner of the
“He’s the company’s chief exec. His name’s Matteo Zigami, and he’s six-three-and-a-half.”
“How many people are there on board?”
“Five. Zigami, his secretary Francois Petit, and a three-man crew. The company’s called MIEC.”
“What’s that stand for?”
“Mediterranean Import-Export Corporation. According to Lieutenant Garrufo-”
“Ah, so you didn’t speak with Lieutenant Belladonna?”
“No.”
“She wasn’t there?”
“No. The marshal at the entrance to the Harbor Office told me she’d been up all night…”
What? Was it possible? So even at the Harbor Office they knew that she and Mimi…? Jesus, how embarrassing!
“… due to the sudden landing of about a hundred illegal immigrants at the harbor, and she’d had to stay on duty till dawn.”
So she hadn’t spent the night at Mimi’s place! She’d never even had the chance to set foot there!
Somebody set a couple of bells ringing in his head. But it wasn’t just bells; there were also about a thousand violins. He could see Fazio’s mouth opening and closing but couldn’t hear what he was saying. Too much noise.
He shot to his feet.
“Well done, Fazio!”
Fazio, utterly flummoxed, let the inspector embrace him, wondering if his boss hadn’t suddenly lost his mind.
Then, when Montalbano finally let go of him, he ventured to ask in a thin little voice:
“So, how should we proceed?”
“We’ll deal with that later, we’ll deal with that later!”
As he was leaving, Fazio heard the inspector start singing. Then, still practically singing, Montalbano told Geremicca about the reconstructed face.
All at once he was in the grips of a gargantuan hunger.
He glanced at his watch. It was already eight-thirty. The violins had stopped playing, but the bells kept on ringing, though at a lower volume.
He got up, went out of the office, and walked by Catarella with his eyes closed, looking like a sleepwalker. Catarella got worried.
“You feel okay, Chief?”
“I feel great, Cat, great.”
So they were worried about his health? But at that moment he felt like a kid again! Twenty years old. No, better not exaggerate, Montalba. Let’s say forty.
He got in the car and headed home to Marinella. As soon as he went inside he raced to see what was in the fridge. Nothing. Totally empty, except for a plate of olives and a little bowl of anchovies. He ran to the oven and opened it. Nothing there either. Only then did he notice a note on the kitchen table.
No, there was no way he could get through this special night on an empty stomach. He would never be able to sleep. The only solution was to get back in the car and go to Enzo’s.
“Wha’? Adelina let you down tonight?” Enzo asked when he saw him come in.
“She wasn’t feeling well and couldn’t cook. What can you give me?”
“Whatever you like.”
He started with a seafood antipasto. Since the
When he came out, he became immediately convinced of the need for a nocturnal stroll to the lighthouse. This time he didn’t go out of his way to check on the cruiser and the yacht. The jetty was deserted. Two steamers were docked there, but they were completely in the dark. He took his walk slowly, one step at a time.
He felt at peace with himself that evening. The sea was breathing gently.
He sat down on the flat rock and fired up a cigarette.
And he concluded that as a cop, he was quite good, and as a man, he was half-assed.
Because as he was approaching the lighthouse, he’d done nothing but think about Laura and the way he’d reacted when he learned she hadn’t gone to Mimi’s place after all.
His happiness had suddenly evaporated when a thought had popped into his head-namely:
