The Shape of Water

“Make me a drawing that shows the exact spot where you found the necklace. You’re a land surveyor, aren’t you?”

As Saro was sketching, on the other sheet Montalbano wrote: I the undersigned, Salvo Montalbano, Chief Inspector of the Police Department of Vigata (province of Montelusa), hereby declare having received on this day, from Mr. Baldassare “Saro” Montaperto, a solid-gold necklace with a heart-shaped pendant, also solid gold but studded with diamonds, found by Mr. Montaperto around the area known as “the Pasture” during the course of his work as ecological agent. In witness whereof, And he signed, but paused a moment to reflect before adding the date at the bottom. Then he made up his mind and wrote, “Vigata, September 9, 1993.” Meanwhile Saro had finished. They exchanged sheets.

“Perfect,” said the inspector, looking over the detailed drawing.

“Here, however, the date is wrong,” Saro noticed.

“The ninth was last Monday. Today is the eleventh.”

“No, nothing wrong there. You brought that necklace into my office the same day you found it.

You had it in your pocket when you came to police headquarters to tell me you’d found Luparello dead, but you didn’t give it to me till later because you didn’t want your fellow worker to see. Is that clear?”

“If you say so, sir.”

“Take good care of this statement.”

“What are you going to do now? Arrest him?”

asked the woman.

“Why? What’s he done?” asked Montalbano, standing up.

7

Montalbano was well respected at the San Calogero trattoria, not so much because he was police inspector as because he was a good customer with discerning tastes. Today they fed him some very fresh striped mullet, fried to a delicate crisp and drained on absorbent paper. After coffee and a long stroll on the eastern jetty, he went back to the office. Fazio got up from his desk as soon as he saw him.

“There’s someone waiting for you, chief.”

“Who is it?”

“Pino Catalano, remember him? One of the two garbage collectors who found Luparello’s body.”

“Send him right in.”

He immediately noticed that the youth was tense, nervous.

“Have a seat.”

Pino sat with his buttocks on the edge of the chair.

“Could you tell me why you came to my house to put on the act that you did? I’ve got nothing to hide.”

“I did it simply to avoid frightening your mother.

If I told her I was a police inspector, she might’ve had a heart attack.”

“Well, in that case, thanks.”

“How did you figure out it was me who was looking for you?”

“I phoned my mother to see how she was feeling—when I left her she had a headache—and she told me a man had come to give me an envelope but forgot to bring it with him. She said he’d gone out to get it but never came back. I became curious and asked her to describe the guy. When you’re trying to pretend you’re somebody else, you should cover up that mole you’ve got under your left eye. What do you want from me?”

“I have a question. Did anyone come to the Pasture to ask if you’d found a necklace?”

“Yes, someone you know, in fact: Filippo di Cosmo.”

“What did you say?”

“I told him I hadn’t found it, which was the truth.”

“And what did he say?”

“He said if I found it, so much the better for me, he’d give me fifty thousand lire, but if I found it and I didn’t turn it over to him, so much the worse. He said the same thing to Saro. But Saro didn’t find it either.”

“Did you go home before coming here?”

“No, sir, I came here directly.”

“Do you write for the theater?”

“No, but I like to act now and then.”

“Then what’s this?”

Montalbano handed him the page he’d taken from the little table. Pino looked at it, unimpressed, and smiled.