'Not at all. That's really my name. My father named me Lenin and I'm proud of it. But maybe you're of the same stripe as the people next door?'
'No, I'm not. Anyway, I'm only here on a case. So I'll repeat my question: Did you know Cavaliere Misuraca?'
'I certainly did. He spent his whole life going in and out of that door and busting my balls with his rattletrap Fiat 500.'
'Did the car bother you?'
'Did it bother me? He always parked it in front of my store! Even on the day he smashed into that truck!'
'He parked it right here?'
'Do I speak Turkish or something? Right here, he parked it. And I asked him to move it, but he went nuts and started yelling and said he didn't have any time to waste on me. So I got really mad and gave him hell. Anyway, to make a long story short, we were about to go at it when luckily some kid passed by and told the late Cavaliere he'd be happy to move the car for him. So Misuraca gave him the keys.'
'Do you know where he parked it?'
'No sir.'
'You think you could recognize this kid? Had you ever seen him before?'
'I seen him sometimes going in next door. Must be a member of their fancy club.'
'The party chief's name is Biragh, isn't it?'
'Something like that. He's from around Venice somewhere. Works at the Public Housing Office; he's probably there now. This place here won't reopen till after six; right now it's too early.'
...
'Mr. Biragh, ' he shouted into the public phone. 'This is Inspector Montalbano of Vig Police. Sorry to disturb you at work.'
'Not at all. What can I do for you?'
'I need you to remember something for me. The last party meeting attended by Cavaliere Misuraca, what kind of meeting was it?'
'I don't understand the question.'
'No need to get touchy, sir, this is just a routine investigation to clarify the circumstances of the Cavaliere's death.'
'Why, was there something unclear about it?'
A real pain in the ass, this Ferdinando Biragh.
'It's all clear as day, I assure you.'
'So what's the problem?'
'I have to close the file, understand? I can't leave a dossier incomplete.'
Upon hearing the words file and dossier, Biragh a bureaucrat from the Public Housing Office, changed his tune at once.
'Yes, of course, I know how it is. Well, it was a meeting of the local party leadership, which the cavaliere was not entitled to attend. But we stretched the rules a little.'
'So it was a rather small meeting.'
'About ten people.'
'Did anyone come looking for the cavaliere?'
'No. We'd locked the door. I would remember something like that. Actually, he did get a phone call.'
'Pardon my asking, but I assume you're unfamiliar with the tenor of that conversation?'
'I'm not only familiar with the tenor, I also know the bass, the baritone, and the soprano!' He laughed.
'You know how the cavaliere spoke, of course,' Biragh continued. 'As if everyone else were deaf. It was hard
not to overhear when he was talking. Just imagine, on one occasion..'
'I'm sorry, sir, I haven't got much time. So you were able to grasp the..' he stopped, discarding the word tenor to spare himself another dose of Biraghs tragic sense of humor...'the gist of that phone call?'
'Of course. Somebody had done the cavaliere the favor of moving his car. And by way of thanks, the cavaliere only scolded him for parking it too far away.'
'Were you able to tell who it was that called?'
'No. Why do you ask?'
'Because,' said Montalbano. And he hung up.
So the kid, having completed his deadly little service in the shelter of some complicitous garage, had also decided, just for fun, to make the cavaliere get a little exercise.
At the Free Channel studios, Montalbano explained to a polite young woman that he was utterly hopeless when it came to anything electronic. Turning on a television, yes, flipping the channels, turning it off, no problem. As for
