When he left Lattes’s office it was already past ten. He dashed down the stairs, not bothering to wait for the elevator, which was slow, and raced to the car.
“We’re going to Marinella, quick!”
“Shall I turn on the siren?” asked Gallo, pleased.
“Yes.”
Montalbano would have suffered less inside a race car on the track at Indianapolis. At a certain point it occurred to him that if he wasn’t going to be handling the case any longer, there was no need for Mimi to engage in another night of gymnastics with La Giovannini. He might as well spare himself the effort.
He dialed Augello’s cell phone number.
“Montalbano here. Can you talk?”
“Ah, Gianfilippo! How good to hear from you!” said Augello. “Where are you calling from? Tell me, what can I do for you?”
In other words, he couldn’t talk. Obviously La Giovannini was right beside him.
“I wanted to tell you that if you want to bail out, you can.”
“Why?”
“Because the boss has decided to take me off the case. So it’s not our concern anymore.”
“Listen, Gianfilippo, I don’t think you can back out at this point, you know what I mean? It’s too late. Once you’re out on the dance floor, you have to dance. I’m sorry, but that’s the way I see it. So you take care now, and we’ll talk again tomorrow.”
Which meant that his phone call had arrived past regulation playing time.
He immediately noticed that there was no sign of Laura’s car in front of the house. He bade Gallo a hasty goodbye, opened the door, and went inside.
Laura wasn’t on the veranda, either, like last time.
She hadn’t waited for him. Or, more likely, she had waited for him but then became convinced he wasn’t going to come any time soon and had left.
He went and stuck his head under the bathroom faucet to cool his anger, then plucked up his courage and dialed her number.
“Hi, Salvo here.”
“Yes?” she said cold as ice.
He had to stay calm and try to explain clearly what had happened.
“Forgive me, Laura, I’m truly sorry, but I got a call from the commissioner and-”
“I figured that something had come up.”
Then why was she so distant?
“Listen, I’ll tell you what we can do to set things right. Wait for me outside the front door of your building in fifteen minutes, and I’ll come by and pick you up.”
“No.”
She’d said it without hesitation. A “no” as crisp and clean as a gunshot to the chest.
“It’s not that late, you know,” he insisted. “Have you already had dinner?”
“I don’t feel hungry anymore.”
Her voice sounded strange, neither indifferent nor angry. It was like a smooth barrier against which all words slid off, leaving no trace.
“Come on, once you sit down, your hunger will return.”
“It’s too late.”
“All right, but I’ll come anyway.”
“No.”
“We could at least spend half an hour together, no?”
“No.”
“What’s wrong? Are you upset? You know, I did call you at the Harbor Office to tell you I was running late, then I tried your cell phone, but I-”
“I’m not upset.”
“All right, then. Shall we meet tomorrow?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’ve been thinking about this, and I’ve come to the conclusion that the commissioner’s phone call was providential.”
There was no way any phone call from Bonetti-Alderighi could ever be providential. It would be against nature.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean that it was fate. It was a very precise sign.”
Was she raving?
“Listen, explain yourself a little better.”
“It means there can never be and must never be anything between us.”
“Don’t tell me you believe that sort of rubbish!”
She didn’t reply, and Montalbano got further incensed.
“What, do you get up and read the horoscope in the paper first thing every morning?”
Laura hung up.
Montalbano redialed the number, but the phone rang and rang without reply.
His appetite, naturally, had gone south.
The only thing to do was to sit out on the veranda, armed with cigarettes and whisky, and wait for the rage to subside so he could go to bed.
He went out, ducked into the Marinella Bar, came back, and as he was about to unlock the door, he heard the telephone ringing. In his haste, he fumbled with the keys and had to set the bottle down to open the door.
Naturally, by the time he raised the receiver, he heard only a dial tone.
How was it possible he could never manage to pick up the phone in time?
It must certainly have been Laura trying to call.
So, what to do now? Call her himself? And what if it hadn’t been Laura? At that moment the phone started ringing again.
“Laura!”
At the other end, total silence. Want to bet it was that pigheaded commissioner again?
“Who is this?” the inspector asked.
“Livia.”
In an instant, he was bathed in sweat.
“And I want to know who this Laura is,” she added.
Not knowing in his despair what to say, he laughed.
“Ha ha!”
“You find my question funny?”
“So you’re jealous, eh?
“Of course I’m jealous. Answer me and stop acting like an imbecile.”
