The Potter's Field

“Because I didn’t want to be bothered by any calls from Vigata.”

Livia looked at him in shock.

“You used to fret when you had no news from Fazio or Mimi. You’ve changed, you know.”

“Yes, I know,” he admitted.

They went out to eat at the trattoria the inspector had chosen as the Boccadassian alternative to Enzo’s in Vigata. Before the food arrived, Livia brought up the subject of Mimi. She was worried.

“When was the last time Beba called you?”

“Three days ago.”

“You’ll see, the next time she calls she’ll tell you things are going better with Mimi.”

“Have the stakeouts ended?”

“Not yet, unfortunately. But since I know the commissioner is going to commend him for his work, his mood will definitely change, you’ll see.”

Is it possible that one is never done telling lies in life?

He got back to Vigata at nine in the evening, went to eat at Enzo’s, and was home in Marinella by ten-thirty. He undressed, sat down in the armchair, and turned on the television. The Free Channel was running their umpteenth program on the arrival of illegal immigrants on Italian shores. TeleVigata, for its part, featured the thousandth roundtable discussion on the construction of the bridge over the Straits of Messina. As there was still half an hour to go before the nighttime news broadcasts, he went out of the house for a walk along the beach.

On his way back, he thought he heard the telephone ring. He didn’t run to pick up. It couldn’t have been Livia, since he had phoned her from the restaurant. Surely it was Fazio. Once inside, he turned the television back on and tuned in to TeleVigata. He was more than certain that during his absence Mimi had taken some initiative of his own and Fazio hadn’t been able to inform him in time because there was no way to reach him in Boccadasse. And, indeed, the news he was expecting was the first item on the program.

“Major new developments are expected in the case of the man whose dismembered body was found at the so- called critaru,” the anchorman began.

Then, in order of importance, he ran through the other headlines of stories he would cover during the broadcast—fatal crashes on the Montelusa–Palermo highway; sheep stolen in Fela; robbery of a supermarket in Fiacca; a three-year-old boy who fell from a fourth-floor balcony in Montelusa and was unharmed thanks, according to his mother, to the miraculous intervention of Padre Pio; two regional deputies arrested for collusion with the Mafia—before returning to the first story, which featured footage of ’u critaru itself; of Pasquale Ajena, the owner, showing the place where he had first seen the bag with the corpse inside; of the beautiful Dolores Alfano in tears, being supported by Prosecutor Tommaseo, who couldn’t hide his pleasure at putting his hands all over those gifts from God; of Mimi in glory and triumph displaying some tiny thing that Montalbano only afterwards realized was the famous bridge that Alfano had swallowed; of Fazio performing an acrobatic leap to get out of camera range.

The essence of the news reported by the anchorman boiled down to the fact that Dolores had been unable to identify the corpse, “though she knew in her heart that those meager remains must belong to her husband.” He added that it would soon be possible to identify him through DNA testing, since samples of his blood had been taken by the Forensics laboratory of the Reggio Calabria police from the traces found in the victim’s apartment in Gioia Tauro. In fact, Dolores Alfano recalled that on the morning her husband failed to board ship, he had cut himself while shaving with a straight razor. This surprised Montalbano. He hadn’t seen any blood in the bathroom of the Via Gerace apartment, either in the photos or in person. Perhaps Forensics had cleaned it all up. At the end of the news report, it was time for the editorial of Pippo Ragonese, the purse-lipped prince of opinion at TeleVigata.

“Just a few words to underscore how clear it is to everyone that as soon as the investigation into the critaru murder was passed on from Inspector Montalbano to his second-in-command, Inspector Domenico Augello, it immediately took a great leap forward. Indeed, in the space of barely more than twenty-four hours, Inspector Augello, under the guidance of Prosecutor Tommaseo, was able to identify with almost absolute certainty the man so brutally murdered. It must be said that in this particular case it was the close collaboration between Public Prosecutor Tommaseo and his counterpart in Reggio Calabria that yielded such impressive results. Inspector Augello also brought to our attention how the methods of the murder revived certain old Mafia rituals believed to have fallen into disuse. While he preferred not to name any names, it is obvious that the brilliant young deputy inspector already has a clear idea of who might be behind this. Whatever the case, we extend our heartfelt best wishes to Inspector Augello and fervently hope that Inspector Montalbano continues to refrain from participating in this investigation.

“And now let us move on to the arrest of two regional parliamentary deputies of the Center-Right on suspicion of collusion with the Mafia. While we have, of course, only the deepest respect for the magistrature, we cannot help but note that it moves all too often in only one direction. Is it possible, we ask as honest citizens, that—”

Montalbano turned it off. Everything had gone exactly as expected. He hadn’t missed a beat. He had started a game of chess and made the first move (truth be told, he’d had Mimi, the unwitting player, make it). He should have felt satisfied, but in fact he did not. He felt ashamed of the way he was acting, but it was the only course of action he had come up with. Now all that remained for him to do was to pretend to be angry at Mimi and wait for the person who was supposed to make the next move to make it. Because someone, upon hearing Ragonese’s words, was going to feel dragged into this case, and would react accordingly. Which would be the second move of the match.

The phone rang. It was Fazio.

“Ah, finally, Chief! I tried calling you about an hour ago and—”

“I heard the phone ringing but didn’t pick up in time.”

“Did you watch the news?”

“Yes.”

“Chief, you have no idea how many times I tried to reach you in Boccadasse to warn you that Inspector Augello was—”

“I believe you, Fazio. Like an idiot I forgot my cell phone here, and in Boccadasse I was always out of the house. I’m very sorry, it’s all my fault.”