“Maybe. If she does, let me know.”
o o o
Then the procession began. Preceded by his howling mother, ’Ntonio, the little boy Montalbano met at Villaseta, who’d been punched because he wouldn’t hand over his food, walked in. He’d recognized the thief in the photo they showed on TV. That was him, no doubt about it. ’Ntonio’s mother, shouting loud enough to wake the dead and hurling curses and expletives, presented her demands to the horrified inspector: thirty years for the thief, life imprisonment for the mother. And in case earthly justice did not agree, from divine justice she demanded galloping consumption for the mother and a long, debilitating illness for the boy.
The son, however, unfazed by his mother’s hysteria, shook his head.
“Do you also want him to die in jail?” the inspector asked him.
“No,” the boy said decisively. “Now that I seen him calm, he looks nice.”
o o o
The “extras” granted Paolo Guido Mandrino, a seventy-year-old professor of history and geography, now retired, consisted of a little bath Karima would give him. On one of the four Saturday mornings when she came, the professor would wait for her under the bedcovers, naked. When Karima ordered him to go take his bath, Paolo Guido would pretend to be very reluctant. And so Karima, yank-ing down the sheets, would force the professor to turn over and would proceed to spank him. When he finally got in the tub, Karima would carefully cover him with soap and then wash him. That was all. Price of the extras: one hundred fifty thousand lire; price of the housecleaning: fifty thousand lire.
o o o
“Montalbano? Listen, contrary to what I told you, I can’t see you today. I have a meeting with the prefect.”
“Just say when, Mr. Commissioner.”
“Well, it’s really not very urgent. Anyway, after what Inspector Augello said on TV—”
“Mimi?!” he yelled, as if he were singing
“Yes. Didn’t you know?”
“No. I was in Mazara.”
“He appeared on the one o’clock news. He issued a firm, blunt denial. He said Ragonese hadn’t heard correctly.
The man being sought wasn’t a snack thief, but a sneak thief, a dangerous drug addict who went around with dirty syringes for protection in case he got caught. Augello offered apologies for the entire police department. It was very effective. I think maybe Deputy Pennacchio will calm down now.”
o o o
“We’ve already met,” said Vittorio Pandolfo, accountant, as he entered the office.
“Yes,” said Montalbano. “What do you want?” Rude, and he wasn’t just playacting. If Pandolfo was there to talk about Karima, it meant he’d been lying when he said he didn’t know her.
“I came because on TV they showed—”
“A photograph of Karima, the woman you said you knew nothing about. Why didn’t you tell me anything sooner?”
“Inspector, these are delicate matters, and sometimes one feels a little embarrassed. You see, at my age —”
“You’re the Thursday-morning client?”
“Yes.”
“How much do you pay her to clean house?”
“Fifty thousand.”
“And for extras?”
“One hundred fifty.”
Fixed rate. Except that Pandolfo got extras twice a month. But the person being bathed, in this case, was Karima. Afterwards, the accountant would lay her down on the bed and sniff her all over. And now and then, a little lick.
“Tell me something, Mr. Pandolfo. Were you, Lapecora, Mandrino, and Finocchiaro her regular playmates?”
“Yes.”
“And who was it that first mentioned Karima?”
“Poor old Lapecora.”
“And what was his financial situation?”
“Awfully good. He had almost a billion lire in Treasury bonds, and he also owned his flat and office.”
o o o
The three afternoon clients on Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays lived in Villaseta, all widowers or bachelors getting on in years. The price was the same as in Vigata. The extra granted Martino Zaccaria, greengrocer, consisted of having her kiss the soles of his feet; with Luigi Pignataro, retired middle-school headmaster, Karima would play blindman’s buff. The headmaster would strip her naked, blindfold her, then go and hide somewhere. Karima would then look for him and find him, after which she would sit down in a chair, take the principal in her lap,
