“It’s already two o’clock.”
“Why on earth hasn’t Fazio arrived?” Montalbano asked himself, pretending to be worried. Then he added: “I have to make a phone call.”
He got up, went over to the phone on his desk two yards away, and started speaking in a loud voice so that Lohengrin Pera would hear everything.
“Hello, Fazio? Montalbano here.”
Fazio, drowsy with sleep, spoke with difficulty.
“Chief. What is it?”
“Come on, did you forget about the arrest?”
“What arrest?” said Fazio, at sea.
“The arrest of Simone Fileccia.”
Simone Fileccia had been arrested the day before, by Fazio himself. And, in fact, Fazio understood at once.
“What should I do?”
“Come pick me up at my place, and we’ll go get him.”
“Should I bring my own car?”
“No, better make it a squad car.”
“I’ll be right there.”
“Wait.”
The inspector put his hand over the receiver and turned to the colonel.
“How much more time will this take?”
“That’s up to you,” said Lohengrin Pera.
“Be here in, say, twenty minutes or so,” the inspector said to Fazio, “not before. I have to finish talking to a friend.” He hung up, sat back down. The colonel smiled.
“Since we’ve got so little time, tell me your price immediately, if you’ll forgive the expression.”
“I come cheap, very cheap,” said Montalbano.
“I’m listening.”
“Two things, that’s all. Within a week, I want Karima’s body to turn up, and in such a way that there can be no mistake as to its identification.”
A billy club to the head would have had less effect on Lohengrin Pera. Opening and closing his mouth, he gripped the edge of the table with his tiny hands, as if afraid he might fall out of his chair.
“Why?” he managed to utter with the voice of a silkworm.
“None of your fucking business,” was the firm, blunt reply.
The colonel shook his little head from left to right and right to left, looking like a spring puppet.
“It’s not possible.”
“Why?”
“We don’t know where she was . . . buried.”
“And who does know?”
“Fahrid.”
“Has Fahrid been neutralized? You know, I’m starting to like that word.”
“No. He’s gone back to Tunisia.”
“Then there’s no problem. Just get in touch with his playmates in Tunis.”
“No,” the midget said firmly. “The matter has been put to rest at this point.We have nothing to gain by stirring things up again with the discovery of a corpse. No, it’s not possible. Ask me anything you like, but that is one thing we cannot grant you. Aside from the fact that I can’t see the purpose of it.” “Too bad,” said Montalbano, getting up. Automatically, Lohengrin Pera also stood up, in spite of himself. But he wasn’t the type to give in easily.
“Well, just for curiosity’s sake, would you tell me what your second demand is?”
“Certainly. The commissioner of Vigata has put in a request for my promotion to vice-commissioner—”
“We shall have no problem whatsoever having it accepted,” said the colonel, relieved.
“What about having it rejected?”
Montalbano could distinctly hear Lohengrin Pera’s world crumble and fall to pieces on top of him, and he saw the colonel hunch over as if trying to shield himself from a sudden explosion.
“You are totally insane,” said the colonel, sincerely terrified.
“You’ve just noticed?”
“Listen, you can do whatever you like, but I cannot give in to your demand to turn up the body. Absolutely
