“This whole thing’s beginning to stink,” Valente said pensively.
“Yeah,” said Montalbano.
o o o
They were discussing what their next move should be when the phone rang.
“I told them I wasn’t here for anyone!” Valente shouted angrily. He picked up, listened a moment, then passed the receiver to Montalbano.
Before leaving for Mazara, the inspector had left word at the office as to where he could be found if needed.
“Hello? Montalbano here. Who’s this? Ah, is that you, Mr. Commissioner?”
“Yes, it’s me. Where have you run off to?” He was irritated.
“I’m here with my colleague, Vice-Commissioner Valente.”
“He’s not your colleague. He’s a vice-commissioner and you’re not.”
Montalbano started to feel worried.
“What’s going on, Commissioner?”
“No,
“I don’t understand.”
“What kind of crap have you been digging up?” Crap? Did the commissioner say “crap”? Was this the start of the Apocalypse? Would the trumpets of Judgment soon begin to sound?
“But what have I done wrong?”
“Yesterday you gave me a license-plate number, remember?”
“Yes. am 237 gw.”
“That’s the one. Well, I immediately asked a friend of mine in Rome to look into it, to save time, at your request, and he just called me back, very annoyed. They told him that if he wants to know the name of the car’s owner, he must submit a written request specifying in detail the reasons for said request.” “That’s not a problem, Commissioner. I’ll explain the whole story to you tomorrow, and you, in the request, can—”
“Montalbano, you don’t understand, or perhaps you won’t understand. That’s a cloaked number.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means the car belongs to the secret services. Is that so hard to understand?”
That was no mere stink, what they had smelled. The air itself was turning foul.
o o o
As he was telling Valente about Lapecora’s murder, Karima’s abduction, Fahrid, and Fahrid’s car, which actually belonged to the secret services, a troubling thought occurred to him.
He phoned the commissioner in Montelusa.
“Excuse me, Commissioner, but when you spoke with your friend in Rome about the license plate, did you tell him what it was about?”
“How could I? I don’t know the first thing about what you’re doing.”
The inspector heaved a sigh of relief.
“I merely said,” the commissioner continued, “that it involved an investigation that you, Inspector Montalbano, were conducting.”
The inspector retracted his sigh of relief.
o o o
“Hello, Galluzzo? Montalbano here. I’m calling from Mazara. I think I’m going to be here late, so, contrary to what I said, I want you to go immediately to Marinella, to my house, pick up the old Tunisian lady, and take her to Montelusa. All right? You haven’t got a minute to lose.”
o o o
“Hello, Livia? Listen very carefully to what I say, and do exactly what I tell you to do, without arguing. I’m in Mazara at the moment, and I don’t think they’ve bugged our phone yet.” “Oh my God, what are you saying?”
“I asked you, please don’t argue, don’t ask questions, don’t say anything. You must only listen to what I say. Very soon Galluzzo will be there. He’s going to pick up the old woman and take her back with him to Montelusa. No long good-byes, please; you can tell Francois he’ll see her again soon. As soon as Galluzzo leaves, call my office and ask for Mimi Augello. You absolutely must find him, no matter where he is. And tell him you need to see him at once.” “What if he’s busy?”
“For you, he’ll drop everything and come running. You, in the meantime, will pack Francois’s few possessions into a small suitcase, then—”
“But what do you want—”
“Quiet, understand? Quiet. Tell Mimi that, on my orders, the kid must disappear from the face of the earth. Vanish. He should hide him somewhere safe, where he’ll be all right. And don’t ask where he intends to take him. Is that clear? You mustn’t know where Francois has gone. And don’t start crying, it bothers me. Listen closely. Wait for about an hour after Mimi has left with the kid, then call Fazio. Tell him, in tears—you won’t have to fake it since
