Fazio went on, “but his wife said she hadn’t seen him for two days.”
“I would have won the bet,” said the inspector.
“Why? You think I would have been stupid enough to make it?”
He heard the water running in the bath. Ingrid apparently belonged to that category of women who cannot resist the sight of a bathtub. He dialed Gege’s number, the one to his cell phone.
“Are you alone? Can you talk?”
“As for being alone, I’m alone. As for talking, that depends.”
“I just need a name from you. There’s no risk to you in giving me this information, I promise. But I want a precise answer.”
“Whose name?”
Montalbano explained, and Gege had no trouble giving him the name, and for good measure he even threw in a nickname.
~
Ingrid had lain down on the bed, wearing a large towel that covered very little of her.
“Sorry, but I can’t stand up.”
Montalbano took a small tube of salve and a roll of gauze from a shelf in the bathroom.
“Give me your leg.”
When she moved, her minuscule panties peeped out and so did one breast, which looked as if it had been painted by a painter who understood women.
The nipple seemed to be looking around, curious about the unfamiliar surroundings. Once again Montalbano understood that Ingrid had no seductive intentions, and he was grateful to her for it.
“You’ll see, in a little while it’ll feel better,” he said after spreading the salve around her ankle, which he then wrapped tightly in gauze. The whole time Ingrid did not take her eyes off him.
“You got any whiskey? Let me have half a glass, no ice.”
It was as though they had known each other all their lives. After bringing her the whiskey, Montalbano pulled up a chair and sat down beside the bed.
“You know something, Inspector?” said Ingrid, looking at him with green, sparkling eyes. “You’re the first real man I’ve met in five years around here.”
“Better than Luparello?”
“Yes.”
“Thanks. Now listen to my questions.”
“Fire away.”
As Montalbano was about to open his mouth, the doorbell rang. He wasn’t expecting anyone and went to answer the door in confusion. There in the doorway was Anna, in civilian clothing, smiling at him.
“Surprise!”
She walked around him and into the house.
“Thanks for the enthusiasm,” she said. “Where’ve you been all evening? At headquarters they said you were here, so I came, but it was all dark. I phoned five more times, to no avail. Then I finally saw the lights on.”
She eyed Montalbano, who hadn’t opened his mouth.
“What’s with you? Have you lost your voice?
Okay, listen—”
She fell silent. Past the bedroom door, which had been left open, she had caught a glimpse of Ingrid, half naked, glass in hand. First she turned pale, then blushed violently.
“Excuse me,” she whispered, rushing out of the house.
“Run after her!” Ingrid shouted to him. “Explain everything! I’m going home.”
In a rage, Montalbano kicked the front door shut, making the wall shake as he heard Anna’s car leave, burning rubber as furiously as he had just slammed the door.
“I don’t have to explain a goddamn thing to her!”
“Should I go?” Ingrid had half gotten up from the bed, her breasts now triumphantly outside the towel.
“No. But cover yourself.”
“Sorry.”
Montalbano took off his jacket and shirt, stuck his head in the sink, and ran cold water over it for a while.
Then he returned to his chair beside the bed.
“I want to know the real story of the necklace.”
“Well, last Monday, Giacomo, my husband, was woken up by a phone call I didn’t catch much of—I was too sleepy. He got dressed in a hurry and went out. He came back two hours later and asked me where the necklace was, since he hadn’t seen it around the house for some time. I couldn’t very well tell him it was inside the purse at Silvio’s house. If he had asked me to see it, I wouldn’t have known what to answer. So I told him I’d lost it at least a year before and that I hadn’t told him
