The Potter's Field

“Yes. Do you remember now?”

“One of the people I talked to was an old, retired shopkeeper who told me that Giovanni Alfano, Dolores’s husband, was Filippo Alfano’s son.”

“So?”

“When he told me, I didn’t attach any importance to it. It’s something that goes back to before you started working here. This Filippo Alfano was a big cheese in the Sinagra family. He was also a distant relative.”

“Whoa!”

The Sinagras were one of the two historic Mafia families of Vigata. The other was the Cuffaro family.

“At a certain point this Filippo Alfano disappeared. He resurfaced in Colombia with his wife and son, Giovanni, who at the time wasn’t yet fifteen years old. Of course, Filippo Alfano didn’t leave the country legally. He didn’t have a passport, and he had three serious convictions. Around town they said the Sinagras had sent him abroad to look after their interests in Bogota. But after he’d been there awhile, Filippo Alfano was shot and killed; nobody ever found out by whom. And there you have it.”

“What do you mean, ‘and there you have it’?”

“I mean that’s the end of the story, Chief. Giovanni Alfano, Dolores’s husband, works as a ship’s officer and has a clean record, absolutely spotless. Why, do the sons of mafiosi always have to become mafiosi like their fathers?”

“No. So, if Giovanni Alfano is clean, then the attempt to run over his wife can’t have been an indirect vendetta or a warning. It must have been a nasty prank or drunken antic. Do you agree?”

“I agree.”

The inspector was thinking of going home to change clothes for his meeting with Ingrid when he heard Galluzzo’s voice asking permission to enter.

“Come in, come in.”

Galluzzo entered and shut the door behind him. He had an envelope in his hand.

“What is it?” Montalbano asked.

“Inspector Augello told me to give you this.”

He set the envelope down on the desk. It wasn’t sealed. On the outside, in block letters typed by the computer printer, it said: “FOR CHIEF INSPECTOR SALVO MONTALBANO.” And below: “PERSONAL AND CONFIDENTIAL.” And on the upper left: “FROM DOMENICO AUGELLO.”

Montalbano didn’t take the letter out. He looked at Galluzzo and asked:

“Is Inspector Augello still in his office?”

“No, Chief, he left about half an hour ago.”

“Why did you take half an hour to bring me this letter?”

Galluzzo was visibly embarrassed.

“Well, I . . .” he began to say.

“Did he tell you to wait half an hour before bringing it to me?”

“No, Chief, it took me that long to understand what he had written by hand on the sheet of paper he told me to type up and bring to you. A lot of stuff was crossed out and some of the words were hard to decipher. When I finished, I went back to his office to ask him to sign it, but he’d already left. So I decided to bring it to you anyway, without his signature.”

He reached into his jacket pocket, pulled out a sheet of paper, and laid it down beside the envelope.

“This is the original.”

“Okay. You can go.”

6

The letter said:

Dear Salvo,

As I’ve already brought directly to your attention, the situation that has developed between us needs to be fully clarified, without any holding back or beating around the bush. I believe that, after so many years of working together—where I, however, have always played a subordinate role—the time has come for me to have my own space and autonomy. I am convinced that the investigation into the as yet unidentified, dismembered forty-year-old man could be a sort of decisive test for the two of us. In other words: I want you to assign the case exclusively to me, and for you to step completely aside. Naturally, it will be my responsibility to keep you up-todate on everything, but you must not interfere in any way. I am even willing, once the case is closed, to give you publicly all the credit.

This isn’t an ultimatum. Please try to understand me: If anything, what I am asking of you is some proof of your esteem for me. And some help, as well. Naturally, it will also be a test, however difficult, of my abilities.

Should you not be in agreement, I shall have no choice but to ask the commissioner to transfer me elsewhere.

Whatever you decide, my great affection and esteem for you will always remain unchanged.

With love,

There was no signature, as Galluzzo had already said. But it was too late now to think all this over.