trap.
Montalbano turned on the light and leaned out the window.
“Bring him upstairs.You, Grasso, go round up the others.” Meanwhile the child’s wailing had stopped and turned into sobbing. Livia was holding him in her arms, talking to him.
o o o
He was still very tense but had stopped crying. Eyes glistening and ardent, he studied the faces around him, slowly regaining confidence. He was sitting at the same table where, only a few days before, he had sat with his mother beside him. This, perhaps, was why he clung to Livia’s hand and didn’t want her to leave him.
Mimi Augello, who had briefly absented himself, returned with a bag in his hand. Everyone immediately realized he’d been the only one with the right idea. Inside were some ham sandwiches, bananas, cookies, and two cans of Coca-Cola. As a reward, Mimi received an emotional glance from Livia, which naturally irritated Montalbano. The deputy inspector stammered: “I had somebody prepare it last night . . . I thought that, if we were dealing with a hungry little boy . . .” As he was eating, Francois gave in to fatigue and fell asleep. He didn’t manage to finish the cookies. All at once his head fell forward onto the table, as if someone had turned off a switch inside him.
“So where do we take him now?” asked Fazio.
“To our house,” Livia said decisively.
Montalbano was struck by that “our.” And as he was gathering up a pair of jeans and a T-shirt for the little boy, he couldn’t tell whether he should be pleased or upset.
The kid didn’t open his eyes once during the ride back to Marinella, or when Livia undressed him after making up a bed for him on the living room sofa.
“What if he wakes up and runs away while we’re asleep?” asked the inspector.
“I don’t think he will,” Livia reassured him.
Montalbano, in any case, wasn’t taking any chances. He closed the window, lowered the shutters, and gave the front-door key two turns.
They too went to bed. But despite how tired they were, it took them a long time to fall asleep. The presence of Francois, whom they could hear breathing in the next room, made them both inexplicably uneasy.
o o o
Around nine o’clock the next morning, very late for him, the inspector woke up, got quietly out of bed so as not to disturb Livia, and went to check on Francois. The kid wasn’t there.
Not on the couch, nor in the bathroom. He’d escaped, just as the inspector had feared. But how the hell did he do it, with the front door locked and the shutters still down? He started looking everywhere the kid might be hiding. Nothing. Vanished. He had to wake Livia and tell her what had happened, get her advice. He reached out and at that moment saw the child’s head resting against his woman’s breast. They were sleeping in each other’s arms.
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“Certainly. I’ll come to Montelusa.”
“No, that’s all right. I’ll come down to Vigata. Shall we meet in an hour at the office in Salita Granet?”
“Yes, thanks, Lagana.”
o o o
He went into the bathroom, trying to make as little noise as possible. Also to avoid disturbing Livia and Francois, he put on his clothes from the previous day, which were additionally rumpled from the nightlong stakeout. He left a note: there was a lot of stuff in the fridge, he’d be back by lunchtime. As soon as he’d written it, he remembered that the commissioner had invited them for lunch. That was out of the question now, with Francois there. He decided to phone at once, otherwise he might forget. He knew that the commissioner spent Sunday mornings at home, except in extraordinary circumstances.
“Montalbano? Don’t tell me you’re not coming for lunch!”
“Unfortunately I can’t, Mr. Commissioner, I’m sorry.”
“Is it something serious?”
“Quite. The fact is, early this morning, I became—I don’t know how to put this—sort of a father.”
“Congratulations!” was the commissioner’s reply. “So, Miss Livia . . . I can’t wait to tell my wife, she’ll be so happy.
But I don’t understand how this would prevent you from coming. Ah, I get it: the event is imminent.” Flummoxed by his superior’s misapprehension, Montalbano recklessly proceeded to entangle himself in a long, tor- tuous, stammering explanation that jumbled together murder victims and children’s snacks,Volupte perfume and the Mulone printing works. The commissioner gave up.
“All right, all right, you can explain it all later. Listen, when is Miss Livia leaving?”
“Tonight.”
“So we won’t have the pleasure of meeting her. Too bad.
It’ll have to wait till next time. Tell you what, Montalbano: when you think you’ll have a couple of free hours, give me a ring.”
Before going out, he went to take a last look at Livia and Francois, who were still asleep. Who would ever break
