“When?”
“When you discovered your husband had withdrawn a large sum from his bank account.”
This time, too, the inspector was bluffing. It worked.
“Two hundred million lire!” the widow said in rage and despair. “Two hundred million for that disgusting whore!” That explained part of the money in Karima’s bank book.
“If I didn’t stop him, he was liable to eat up the office, our home, and our savings!”
“Shall we put this all in a statement, signora? But first tell me one thing. What did your husband say when you appeared before him?”
“He said: ‘Get the hell out of my way. I have to go to the office.’ He’d probably had a spat with the slut, she’d left, and he was running after her.”
o o o
“Mr. Commissioner? Montalbano here. I’m calling to let you know that I’ve just now managed to get Mrs. Lapecora to confess to her husband’s murder.”
“Congratulations. Why did she do it?”
“Self-interest, which she’s trying to disguise as jealousy. I need to ask a favor of you. Could I hold a press conference?” There was no answer.
“Commissioner? I asked if I could—”
“I heard you perfectly well, Montalbano. It’s just that I was speechless with amazement.
“And yet it’s true.”
“All right, go ahead. But later you must explain to me what’s behind it.”
o o o
“Are you saying that Mrs. Lapecora had long known about her husband’s relations with Karima?” asked Galluzzo’s brother-in-law in his capacity as a reporter for TeleVigata.
“Yes. Thanks to no less than three anonymous letters that her husband had sent to her.”
At first they didn’t understand.
“Do you mean to say that Mr. Lapecora actually denounced himself to his wife?” asked a bewildered journalist.
“Yes. Because Karima had started blackmailing him. He was hoping his wife’s reaction would free him from his predicament. But Mrs. Lapecora did not intervene. Nor did their son.” “Excuse me, but why didn’t he turn to the police?”
“Because he thought it would create a big scandal.
Whereas, with his wife’s help, he was hoping matters would stay within the, uh, family circle.”
“But where is this Karima now?”
“We don’t know. She escaped with her son, a little boy.
Actually one of her friends, who was worried about their disappearance, asked the Free Channel to air a photo of the mother and her son. But so far nobody has come forward.” They thanked him and left. Montalbano smiled in satisfaction. The first puzzle had been solved, perfectly, within its specific outline. Fahrid, Ahmed, and even Aisha had been left out of it. With them in it, had they been properly used, the puzzle’s design would have been entirely different.
o o o
He was early for his appointment with Valente. He stopped in front of the restaurant where he’d gone the last time he was in Mazara. He gobbled up a saute of clams in breadcrumbs, a heaping dish of spaghetti with white clam sauce, a roast turbot with oregano and caramelized lemon, and he topped it all off with a bitter chocolate timbale in orange sauce. When it was all over he stood up, went into the kitchen, and shook the chef ’s hand without saying a word, deeply moved. In the car, on his way to Valente’s office, he sang at the top of his lungs: “
o o o
Valente showed Montalbano into a room next to his own.
“It’s something we’ve done before,” he said. “We leave the door ajar, and you, by manipulating this little mirror, can see what’s happening in my office, if hearing’s not enough.” “Be careful,Valente. It’s a matter of seconds.”
“Leave it to us.”
o o o
Commendatore Spadaccia walked into Valente’s office. It was immediately clear he was nervous.
“I’m sorry, Commissioner Valente, I don’t understand.
You could have easily come to the prefecture yourself and saved me some time. I’m a very busy man, you know.”
“Please forgive me, Commendatore,” Valente said with abject humility. “You’re absolutely right. But we’ll make up for that at once; I won’t keep you more than five minutes. I just need a simple clarification.” “All right.”
“The last time we met, you told me the prefect had been asked in some way—”
