The Patience of the Spider (6 page)

The kid still looked bewildered.

Maybe she wanted to reward you for your patience, said
Montalbano.

Yeah, youre probably right. Because this time, for the
first time, Susanna was present. Entirely present. With me. Do
you understand?

Yes. Sorry, but you said that before meeting you, shed
been to the bank. Do you know why she went?

She had to withdraw some money.

And did she?

Of course.

Do you know how much?

No.

So why had Susannas father said that she had only thirty
euros, at the most, in her pocket? Maybe he didnt know shed
been to the bank? The inspector stood up, and the young man
did the same.

Okay, Francesco, you can go. Its been a real pleasure to
meet you. Ill give you a ring if I need you.

He held out his hand, and Francesco shook it.

Could I ask you one thing? the boy asked.

Of course.

Why, in your opinion, was Susannas motorbike parked
that way?

This Francesco Lipari would make a good cop, no doubt
about it.

He phoned Marinella. Livia had just come in and was happy.

You know what? she said. Ive just discovered a fabulous
place. Its called Kolymbetra. Just think, it used to be a great big
pool, originally carved out by Carthaginian prisoners.

Where is it?
Its right there, near the temples. Now its a kind of vast

garden of Eden, just recently opened to the public.
Did you have lunch?
No, just a panino at Kolymbetra. How about you?
Nah, all I had was a panino, too.
The lie had come out spontaneously, without warning.

Why hadnt he told her hed gorged himself on couscous and
mullets, violating the sort of diet that Livia was forcing him to
follow? For what reason? Perhaps a combination of shame,
cowardice, and a desire to avoid a quarrel.

Poor thing! Will you be back late?
I really dont think so.
Then Ill cook something.
Here was the instant punishment for his lie. He would ex

piate his sin by eating a dinner prepared by Livia. Not that she
was a terrible cook, but her dishes tended toward the flavorless,
the spiceless, the lightest of light, the I-can-but-I-cant-really-
taste-it. Instead of actually cooking, Livia hinted at cooking.

He decided to drop in at the villa to see how things were
going. He drove off, and then, as he drew near, he noticed that
traffic was getting heavy. In fact there were a good ten cars
parked along the road that ran along one side of the villa, and
in front of the closed gate six or seven people jostled about,
videocams on their shoulders, trying to get a good shot of the
lane and the garden. Montalbano closed the windows of his

car and drove forward, wildly honking his horn, until he nearly

crashed into the gate.

Inspector! Inspector Montalbano!

Muffled voices called out to him; some asshole photographer
blinded him with a burst of flashes. Luckily the Montelusa
policeman standing guard recognized him and opened
the gate. The inspector drove his car inside, pulled up, and
got out.

He found Fazio sitting in the usual armchair in the living
room, pale-faced, hollow-eyed, and looking generally very
tired. His eyes were closed, head thrown back and resting
against the back of the chair. A variety of gadgets were now
attached to the phone, including a tape recorder and headset.
A uniformed policeman, not from the Vig force, was standing
near a French door, thumbing through a magazine. The
moment the inspector entered, the telephone rang. Fazio leapt
up, and in the twinkling of an eye had donned the headset,
started the tape recorder, and picked up the receiver.

Hello?

He listened for a moment.

No, Mr. Mistretta is not at home ...No, please dont
insist.

He hung up and saw the inspector. He removed the headset
and stood up.

Oh, Chief! The phones been ringing nonstop for the
last three hours! My head is numb! I dont know how it happened,
but everybody, all over Italy, knows about this disappearance,
and theyre all calling to interview the poor father!

Wheres Inspector Minutolo?

Hes back in Montelusa, packing an overnight bag. Hes
gonna sleep here tonight. He just left.

What about Mistretta?

He just went upstairs to be with his wife. He woke up
about an hour ago.

He was able to sleep?

Not for long, but he was given something. At lunchtime
his brother the doctor showed up with a nurse whos going to
spend the night with the sick wife. Then the doctor gave his
brother a shot of sedative. You know,Chief, there was some kind
of argument between the two brothers.

He didnt want the shot?

Well, that too, but first Mr. Mistretta got upset when he
saw the nurse. He told his brother he didnt have the money to
pay her, to which his brother replied that he would pay for it
himself. Then Mistretta started crying, saying he was reduced
to living on other peoples charity ...Poor man, I really do
feel sorry for him.

Listen Fazio, sorry or not, tonight youre going to clock
out, go home and get some rest. Okay?

Okay, okay. Heres Mr. Mistretta.

The sleep hadnt done him any good. He was swaying as
he walked, weak-kneed and hands trembling. Seeing Montalbano,
he became alarmed.

Oh my God! Whats happened?

Nothing, I assure you. Please dont get excited. But since
Im here, Id like to ask you a question. Do you feel up to answering?

Ill try.

Thank you. Do you remember that this morning you told
me Susanna could only have had thirty euros, at the most, on
her? Was that the amount your daughter usually went around
with?

Yes, I can confirm that. Thats more or less how much
she usually had on her.
Did you know that she went to the bank yesterday afternoon?

Mistretta looked stunned.

In the afternoon? No, I didnt know. Who told you that?

Francesco, Susannas boyfriend.

Mr. Mistretta looked sincerely bewildered. He sat down in
the first chair that came within reach and ran a hand over his
brow. He was trying very hard to understand.

Unless . . . he muttered.

Unless what?

Well, yesterday morning I told Susanna to go to the bank
to see if some back payments had been credited to my pension.
The account is in both of our names, mine and hers. If
the money was there, she was supposed to withdraw three
thousand euros and pay off some debts that, frankly, I didnt
want to think about anymore. They weighed on my mind.
What kind of debts, if you dont mind my asking?

I dunno, the pharmacy, some shopkeepers... Not that
they ever put any pressure on us, but it was I who ...But,
when Susanna came home around noon, I didnt ask her
whether shed been to the bank, so maybe . . .

. . . Maybe shed forgotten to do it and didnt remember
until the afternoon, the inspector finished his sentence for
him.

Im sure thats what happened, said Mistretta.

But that means that Susanna had three thousand or more
euros on her person. Which isnt a whole lot, of course, but to
an imbecile . . .

But she would have paid the bills with it!
No, she didnt.
How can you be so sure?
Because when she came out of the bank she . . . stopped

to talk with Francesco.
Oh.
Then he clapped his hands together. But...we can call

and check . . .

Mistretta got up wearily, went over to the phone, dialed a
number, then spoke in a voice so soft that all they could hear
were the words:

Hello? Bevilacqua Pharmacy?
He hung up almost at once.
You were right, Inspector, she didnt stop at the phar

macy to pay off our outstanding bill ...And if she didnt go
to the pharmacy, she probably didnt go anywhere else.
Then all at once, he cried out:

O Madonna mia!

It seemed impossible, but his face, which was pale as could
be, somehow managed to turn even paler. Montalbano worried
that the man might be having a stroke.

Whats wrong?
Now they wont believe me! Mistretta moaned.
Who wont believe you?
The kidnappers! Because I told a journalist
What journalist? Did you talk to journalists?

Yes, but only to one. Inspector Minutolo said I could.

But why, for the love of God?

Mistretta looked at him, befuddled.

Wasnt I supposed to? I wanted to send a message to the
kidnappers. ...To say that they were making a terrible mistake,
that I havent got any money to pay the ransom ...And now
theyre going to find three thousand ...Can you imagine, a
young girl going around with all that money in her pocket?
Theyll never believe me! Poor...girl ...My poor daughter!

Sobbing prevented him from going on, but as far as the
inspector was concerned, hed said more than enough.

Good day, Montalbano said.

And he stalked out of the living room, in the grips of an
uncontrollable rage. What the hell was Minutolo thinking
when he authorized him to make that declaration? He could
already imagine how the newspapers, television, and everybody
else would embroider the story! The kidnappers now
would likely turn nasty, and the person who would suffer the
most would be poor Susanna. Assuming there was, in fact, a
ransom to be paid. From the garden, he called to the policeman
who was reading near the French door.

Go tell your colleague to hold the gate open for me.

He got in his car, turned on the ignition, waited a few
seconds, then took off like Schumacher in a Formula 1 race.
The journalists and cameramen scattered in every direction,
cursing.

What is he, crazy? Is he trying to kill us?

Instead of continuing down the same road hed come in
on, he turned left onto the dirt road where the motorbike had
been found. And in fact the road was impassable for a normal

vehicle. He had to drive as slowly as possible and continually
perform complicated maneuvers to keep the wheels from
plunging into huge trenches and hollows of the sort one might
find between dunes in the desert. But the worst was yet to
come. Less than half a mile before the outskirts of town, the
road was cut off by an enormous excavation pit. Apparently
one of those roadworks ahead that in Italy have the peculiarity
of always lying ahead even when the whole world has
passed them by. To get past it, Susanna must have got off her
motorbike and walked it around the pit, or else had to make
an even wider detour, since those whod passed through before
her had, by dint of going repeatedly back and forth, created
a kind of bypass trail through the open countryside. But
what did it mean? Why had Susanna taken this route? He had
an idea. With a series of maneuvers so exacting and numerous
that his injured shoulder began to ache again, he turned the
car around and headed back. The dirt road was starting to
seem endless when at last he came to the main road and
stopped. It was getting dark. He couldnt make up his mind. It
would take at least an hour to do what he wanted to do, which
meant that he would return home late, likely sparking a
squabble with Livia. And he was in no mood for that. On the
other hand, what he wanted to do was merely a routine check,
which anyone at the station could do. He started the car back
up and drove back to headquarters.

Summon Inspector Augello to my office at once, he ordered
Catarella.

Chief, he int poissonally here.

Who is?

Want their names in flabbetical order?

Okay, theres Gallo, Galluzzo, GermanGiallombardo,
Grasso, Imbr. .
He chose Gallo.
What can I do for you, Chief?
Listen, Gallo, I want you to go back to that dirt road
where you took me this morning.

What do you want me to do?

Theres ten or so little country houses along that road. I
want you to stop at every house and ask if anyone knows Susanna
Mistretta, or if they saw a girl pass by last night on a
motorbike.

All right, Chief, Ill get on it first thing in the morning.
No, Gallo, perhaps I didnt make myself clear. I want you
to go there immediately and then ring me at home.

He arrived home feeling a little worried that Livia might give
him the third degree. And indeed she started the questioning
at once, after greeting him with a kiss that seemed a bit distracted
to him.

So why did you have to go in to work?

Because the commissioner put me back on duty. And he
added, as a precaution, But only temporarily.

Do you feel tired?

Not at all.

Did you have to drive?

I had the squad car take me around.

End of interrogation. Some third degree! This was a piece
of cake with icing.

5

Did you watch the news? he asked in turn, seeing that the
danger had passed.

Livia replied that she hadnt even turned on the television.
He would therefore have to wait for the ten-thirty edition of
TeleVig News, since Minutolo must surely have chosen to
speak to the station that was always pro-government regardless
of who was in power.

Although the pasta was a tad overcooked and the sauce
acidic, and although the meat looked and tasted exactly like a
piece of cardboard, the dinner Livia had cooked up could not
really be considered an incitement to homicide. Throughout
the meal, Livia spoke to him about Kolymbetra, trying to convey
a little of the excitement shed felt.

Without warning she broke off, stood up, and went out on
the veranda.

It took Montalbano a few moments to realize shed
stopped speaking to him. Without getting up, and convinced
that Livia had gone outside because shed heard something, he
asked her in a loud voice:

What is it? What did you hear?

Livia reappeared with fire in her eyes.

Nothing, thats what I heard. What was I supposed to

hear? All I heard was your silence! That was loud and clear!
You never listen when I talk to you, or else you pretend to listen
and then answer in an incomprehensible mumble!