“What about my car?”
“We’ll come back for it later.”
They set off, and after a few minutes of silence Ingrid asked him a question she should have asked from the start.
“Why did you want to see me?”
The inspector was mulling over the idea that had come to him as he told her to get in the car: it was a real cop’s sort of idea, but he was, after all, a cop.
“I wanted to see you, Mrs. Cardamone, because I need to ask you some questions.”
“ ‘Mrs. Cardamone’? Listen, Inspector, I’m very familiar with everyone I meet, and if you’re too formal with me I’ll only feel uncomfortable. What’s your first name?”
“Salvo. Did Counselor Rizzo tell you we found the necklace?”
“What necklace?”
“What do you mean, what necklace? The one with the diamond-studded heart.”
“No, he didn’t tell me. Anyway, I have no dealings with him. He certainly must have told my husband.”
“Tell me something, I’m curious: are you in the habit of losing jewelry and then finding it again?”
“Why do you ask?”
“Come on, I tell you we found your necklace, which is worth about a hundred million lire, and you don’t bat an eyelash?”
Ingrid gave a subdued laugh, confined to her throat.
“The fact is, I don’t like jewelry. See?”
She showed him her hands.
“I don’t wear rings, not even a wedding band.”
“Where did you lose the necklace?”
Ingrid didn’t answer at once.
Then the woman began speaking, mechanically.
Being a foreigner didn’t help her to lie.
“I was curious about this place called the Pastor—”
“Pasture,” Montalbano corrected.
“I’d heard so much about it. I talked my husband into taking me there. Once there I got out, walked a little, and was almost attacked. I got scared and was afraid my husband would get in a fight. We left. Back at home I realized I no longer had the necklace on.”
“How did you happen to put it on that evening, since you don’t like jewelry? It doesn’t really seem appropriate for going to the Pasture.”
Ingrid hesitated.
“I had it on because that afternoon I’d been with a friend who wanted to see it.”
“Listen,” said Montalbano, “I should preface all this by saying that even though I am, of course, talking to you as a police inspector, I’m doing so in an unofficial capacity.”
“What do you mean? I don’t understand.”
“What I mean is, anything you tell me will remain between you and me. How did your husband happen to choose Rizzo as his lawyer?”
“Was he not supposed to?”
“No, at least not logically. Rizzo was the right-hand man of Silvio Luparello, who was your father-inlaw’s biggest political adversary. By the way, did you know Luparello?”
“I knew who he was. Rizzo’s always been Giacomo’s lawyer. And I don’t know a bloody thing about politics.”
She stretched, arching her arms behind her head.
“I’m getting bored. Too bad. I thought an encounter with a cop would be more exciting. Could you tell me where we’re going? Is there still far to go?”
“We’re almost there.”
~
After they passed the San Filippo bend, the woman grew nervous, looking at the inspector two or three times out of the corner of her eye. She muttered:
“Look, there aren’t any bars or cafes around here.”
“I know,” said Montalbano, and, slowing the car down, he reached for the leather purse that he had placed behind the seat Ingrid was in. “I want you to see something.”
