“Your faxes, as well as your having persuaded Vice-Commissioner Valente of Mazara to interrogate the captain of the fishing boat and the head of the prefect’s cabinet, these and other things were the stick you used to flush us out.” “So where does the carrot come in?”
“The carrot consists in the declarations you made at the press conference you held after arresting Mrs. Lapecora for the murder of her husband. You could have dragged us into that one by the hair, but you didn’t. You were careful to keep that crime within the confines of jealousy and greed. Still, that was a menacing carrot; it said—” “Colonel, I suggest you drop the metaphor; at this point we’ve got a talking carrot.”
“Fine.You, with that press conference, wanted us to know that you had other information in your possession which, at that moment, you were unwilling to show. Am I right?” The inspector extended a spoon towards the ice cream, filled it, and brought it to his mouth.
“It’s still hard,” he said to Lohengrin Pera.
“You discourage me,” the colonel commented, but he went on. “Anyway, since we’re laying our cards on the table, will you tell me everything you know about the case?”
“What case?”
“The killing of Ahmed Moussa.”
He’d succeeded in making him say that name openly, as duly recorded by the tape in the videocamera.
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because I love the sound of your voice, the way you speak.”
“May I have a glass of water?”
To all appearances, Lohengrin Pera was perfectly calm and controlled, but inside he was surely close to the boiling point. The request for water was a clear sign.
“Go get it yourself in the kitchen.”
While the colonel fussed about in the kitchen with the glass and faucet, Montalbano, who was looking at him from behind, noticed a bulge under his jacket, beside the right buttock. Want to bet the midget is armed with a gun twice his size? He decided not to take any chances and brought a very sharp knife, which he had used to cut the bread, closer to him.
“I’ll be explicit and brief,” Lohengrin Pera began, sitting down and wiping his lips with a tiny handkerchief, an embroidered postage stamp. “A little more than two years ago, our counterparts in Tunis asked us to collaborate with them on a delicate operation aimed at neutralizing a dangerous terrorist, whose name you had me repeat just a moment ago.” “I’m sorry,” said Montalbano, “but I have a very limited vocabulary. By ‘neutralizing’ do you mean ‘physically eliminating’?”
“Call it whatever you like. We discussed the matter with our superiors, naturally, and were ordered not to collaborate.
But then, less than a month later, we found ourselves in a very unpleasant position, where it was we who had to ask our friends in Tunis for help.”
“What a coincidence!” Montalbano exclaimed.
“Yes. Without any questions, they gave us the help we wanted, and so we found ourselves morally indebted —”
“No!” Montalbano yelled.
Lohengrin Pera gave a start.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“You said:
“As you wish. Let’s say merely ‘indebted,’ without the adverb, all right? But excuse me; before going on, I have to make a telephone call. I keep forgetting.”
“Be my guest,” the inspector said, gesturing towards the phone.
“Thanks; I’ve got a cell phone.”
Lohengrin Pera was not armed. The bulge on his buttock was his portable phone. He punched in a number that Montalbano was unable to read.
“Hello? This is Pera. All’s well, we’re talking.” He turned off the cellular and left it on the table.
“Our colleagues in Tunis discovered that Ahmed’s favorite sister, Karima, had been living in Sicily for years, and that, through her work, she had a vast circle of acquaintances.” “Vast, no,” Montalbano corrected him. “Select, yes. She was a respectable prostitute; she inspired confidence.”
“Ahmed’s right-hand man, Fahrid, suggested to his chief that they establish a base of operations in Sicily and avail themselves of Karima’s services. Ahmed rather trusted Fahrid; he didn’t know he’d been bought by the Tunisian secret services. With our discreet assistance, Fahrid came here and made contact with Karima, who, after a careful review of her clients, chose Lapecora. Perhaps by threatening to inform his wife of their relationship, Karima forced Lapecora to reopen his old import-export business, which turned out to be an excellent cover. Fahrid was able to communicate with Ahmed by writing coded business letters to an imaginary company in Tunis. By the way, in your press conference you said that at a certain point Lapecora wrote anonymously to his wife, informing her of his liaison. Why did he do that?” “Because he smelled something fishy in the whole arrangement.”
“Do you think he suspected the truth?”
“Of course not! At the most, he probably thought they were trafficking drugs. If he’d discovered he was at the center of an international intrigue, he’d have been killed on the spot.” “I agree. At first, our primary concern was to keep the impatience of the Tunisians in check. But we also wanted to be certain that, once we put the bait in the water, the fish would bite.” “Excuse me, but who was the blond young man who showed up now and then with Fahrid?”
