IM11 The Wings of the Sphinx (2009) (27 page)

He would have all the time in the world to do it the following morning.

He decided to stay out on the veranda until sleep came over him.

The next morning he woke up later than usual, after eight. Apparently his brain and body already felt like they were on vacation. He took a long shower and, after shaving, grabbed his razor, soap, comb, and other things he needed for personal maintenance, put them in an elegant black toilet kit that Livia had given him, and put it all into the suitcase. Then he opened the armoire and started picking out some shirts. By nine o’clock the suitcase was ready. He shut it, carried it out to the car, and put it in the trunk.

Should he stop by the police station? Or just get into the car without telling anyone and, if anything, phone in to headquarters from outside?

Perhaps it was best to call and let them know he was leaving. As he was lifting the receiver, he saw the little statue. He picked it up and examined it.

The head fit perfectly, but all around the neck was a very fine line, thin as a hair, unmistakably revealing the break and subsequent repair.

Of course, seen from a distance, the statuette looked whole, perfect. But from up close . . .

Too bad, he thought, putting it back where it had been. The important thing was that he had saved it and didn’t have to throw it away.

He picked up the receiver and heard someone speaking. Had the lines crossed? He immediately recognized Catarella’s voice.

“Hullo? Hullo? Whoozat onna line?”

“Montalbano here, Cat.”

“But djou call me, sir?”

“No, Cat, I was about to call you, but you were already on the line.”

“So howsit I answered witout you callin’ me?”

“You didn’t answer; apparently you were calling me when . . . Listen, never mind, forget about it. I was calling to tell you I’m not coming in to the office because I’m about to leave for—”

“You can’t leave, Chief, assolutely not!”

“Why not?”

“ ’Cause summon’s been killed.”

It was like a punch in the face.

“Where?”

“ ’Zackly where the Montelusa road comes inna town.”

The inspector had been hoping that it had happened outside their police jurisdiction. Whereas now they would have to deal with it.

“Do you know what his name was?”

“Fazio tol’ me, but I can’t remember now . . . Wait. . . . Whass a blue stone called?”

A fine time for a quiz!

“I dunno, Cat. A sapphire?”

“Nossir.”

“Amethyst?”

“Nossir, sounds like fusilli.”

“Lazuli? Lap—”

“ ’Ass it, Chief! Mr. Lazuli was killed.”

“Listen, isn’t Inspector Augello there?”

“No, Chief, Isspector Augello’s not onna premisses in so much as they took ’im to the hospital lass night.”

“Oh my God! What happened to him?”

“To him poissonally in poisson, nuttin, Chief. But they hadda take the little kid. They took him to the podiatric hospital.”

The inspector weighed his options. If he left the house at once, he would have about half an hour to help out Fazio before he had to leave for the Punta Raisi Airport.Yes, half an hour should be enough. He didn’t know of anyone named Lazuli or Lazulli, nor had he ever heard of any such name. Wait, hadn’t there been some recent mention of a Fasulo? Maybe it was a settling of accounts between drug dealers. He could certainly leave the matter in Fazio’s hands. In any case, Augello would have to return from the hospital sooner or later, and he could take over from there.

“Tell me where Fazio is.”

Catarella told him.

When he got there he had to fight his way through a throng of photographers, journalists, and television cameramen blocking the view of a Fiat Panda that had crashed into a tree at the side of the road. Gallo was directing the traffic of cars coming and going to and from Montelusa. Galluzzo was trying to keep away the curious onlookers who were pulling up and getting out of their cars to see what had happened. Fazio was talking to Galluzzo’s brother-in-law, who was a journalist for TeleVigàta. Montalbano managed to go up to the Panda and noticed that it was empty. He took a better look. Blood was spattered on the dashboard and the headrest of the driver’s seat.

Fazio, who had seen him arrive, came up to him.

“Where’s the corpse?”

“The victim’s not dead, Chief. But I don’t think he’ll make it. They took him to Montelusa Hospital, but I don’t know if he got there alive.”

“Was it you who called the ambulance?”

“Me? Are you kidding? By the time we got here it was all over. When they shot him there was traffic all around, a big mess. Two or three cars pulled over, one of ’em called 118, another called us . . .”

“Did anyone see anything?”

“Yessir. There’s one eyewitness. I had him tell me what he saw, took down his name and address, and let him go.”

“What did he tell you?”

“Said he saw a high-powered motorcycle come up alongside the Panda, and then the car swerved and the biker sped away.”

“Did he get a look at his face?”

“The screen on the helmet covered his whole face.”

“How about the license plate, for what it’s worth?”

“He didn’t take it down.”

“Listen, Fazio, I need to tell you something.When Catarella called me, I was about to leave for three or four days. Since I think you and Augello can manage things quite well—”

Fazio looked stunned.

“But, Chief—”

“Listen, Fazio, I really need to go away for three days. In any case, I think this Lazuli—”

“Lazuli?”

“What, isn’t that his name?”

“No, Chief, it’s somebody you wanted to meet. His name is Lapis, Tommaso Lapis. The guy from the Benevolence Association. Remember?”

At that exact moment everyone arrived: the Forensics team, the prosecutor, and Dr. Pasquano, who started cursing like a madman as soon as he realized he’d been summoned needlessly.

Montalbano realized he was lost. It was already ten-thirty. If he left at once, racing at a speed he was utterly incapable of, he might just make it to Punta Raisi by noon. The best thing was to forewarn Livia that he would be late. He asked Fazio for his cell phone and dialed.

Right. At that hour Livia was at the airport and about to board the plane. Or maybe already in the air.

What to do? Send one of the station’s cars, paying for the gas out of his own pocket? That would certainly send Livia into a rage. They had decided on something quite different. From Punta Raisi they were supposed to head off to a place they would choose on the spot. No, that would immediately jeopardize things.

At this point there was no choice but to wait until noon, at which time Livia would turn her cell phone back on, and they could agree on a plan.

“Fazio, it seems to me we’re just wasting time here.”

“I think so, too.”

“Phone the hospital and find out what condition Lapis is in.”

“Chief, they won’t tell me because of this privacy stuff.”

“Let’s go there in my car.”

At the hospital they were able to talk to a doctor friend.

“We don’t think he’s going to make it,” said the doctor.

“How many times was he shot?”

“Just once, but it was devastating. It must have been a large-caliber weapon. The shot was fired through the open car window. It entered the left jawbone, blew off half his face, and exited just above the right eye.”

Montalbano then asked a question that made the doctor balk.

“Did it also blow off his upper teeth?”

“Yes. Why?”

“Just curious. So you think he’s not—”

“It’s a matter of hours at this point.”

“So where to now?”

“To Vigàta. To the station.”

They got back in the car and drove off.

“Why’d you ask him about the teeth?” said Fazio. “Do you think there could be a connection with the killing of the girl with the tattoo?”

“Since you’re so good at asking questions, why don’t you try to be as good at answering them?”

“Hey, hey, Chief, why so touchy? I can understand how you’d be upset ’cause this has all put a hitch in your plans, but these things happen, you know, what can you do about it? It’s in our jurisdiction!”

“Go back, immediately!”

“To the hospital?”

“No, to the commissioner’s office.”

Maybe the solution to the problem lay in the word Fazio had used: “jurisdiction.”

Pulling into the parking lot of Montelusa Central, he told Fazio to wait for him in the car and then dashed up to the anteroom of Commissioner Bonetti-Alderighi. Where, inevitably, he ran into Dr. Lattes, who, upon seeing him, came forward with open arms. What? Now that he was no longer investigating Benevolence, was he no longer the reprobate and excommunicate?

“Dear Inspector!”

“The family’s all fine, thanks to the Blessed Virgin. Listen, I would like to speak with the commissioner. It’s extremely urgent.”

Dr. Lattes made a disconsolate face.

“But he’s in Rome! Didn’t you know?”

“No. When will he be back?”

“Day after tomorrow.”

“Good-bye.”

“Give my best to your loved ones!”

The inspector went out cursing. His intention was to present the attempted murder of Lapis and the killing of the tattooed girl as closely connected. As a result, he, Montalbano, would be forced to reopen the investigation of Benevolence. What did Mr. C’mishner think about this? Surely Bonetti-Alderighi, terrified at the thought of Montalbano resuming his shuffling with elephantine grace between monsignors and devout souls, would have passed the case on, as a matter of “jurisdiction,” to Di Nardo or someone under him. And he, Montalbano, would have been free to go wherever he pleased.

But things, unfortunately, had not turned out that way.

“So where to now?”

“To the station.”

Seeing the inspector even gloomier than before, Fazio didn’t dare open his mouth. They’d gone a couple of miles in silence when the inspector said:

“Let’s go back.”

“Back?” asked Fazio, between dismay and anger.

“Back, back. After all, it’s my car and I’m paying for the gas!”

“Are we going back to the commissioner’s?”

“No, we’re going to the Free Channel’s studios.”

He burst in so furiously that the girl at the reception desk took fright.

“Oh my God, Inspector Montalbano, you really—”

“Is Zito in?”

“He’s in his office. He’s alone.”

He pushed the door open with such force that it slammed against the wall, and the newsman leapt from his chair.

“What is this? Has the Catarella method been adopted by your entire police force?”

“Sorry, Nicolò, I’m in a really big hurry. Have you heard about the attempted murder of a man named Lapis?”