The Scent of the Night (2 page)

'But why do they hate him so much?' the woman asked as
Mimì
was leaving.

She was wringing her hands and had now turned, in reaction, from pale to tomato-red.

‘
Well, the
y've probably got their reasons’
the inspector replied diplomatically.
‘
You know better than I that the
ragioniere
has disappeared.'

'Of course, but why must people immediately think the worst? He might have lost his memory in a car accident, or
after a fall, I don't know
...
I even took the liberty of telephoning—'

She broke off, shaking her head disconsolately.

'Never mind,' she said, concluding her thought.

'Tell me who it was you called'

'Do you watch television?
’

'Sometimes. Why?
’

‘I’
d heard there was a programme called
Anybody Seen 'Em?,
which is about missing persons. So I got their telephone number and—'

‘
I get the picture. What did they tell you?'

They said they couldn't do anything, since I was unable to give them the necessary information, age, place of disappearance, photographs, that sort of thing.'

Silence fell Mariastella's hands had become a single, inextricable knot. Montalbano's accursed police instincts, which had been dozing off, suddenly popped awake for no apparent reason.

'You, signorina, must also take into account the fact that a lot of money disappeared with Mr Gargano. We're talking about billions and billions of lire, you know.'

‘
Yes, I know.'

'And you haven't the slightest idea where—'
‘
I only know that he invested that money. Where and in what he invested it, I can't say.' 'And you and he
...
?' Mariastella's face became a blaze of fire.
‘
What
...
what do you mean?
’

'Has he contacted you in any way since his disappearance?'

If he had, I would have mentioned it to Inspector Augell
o, when he questioned me. But I’ll
repeat to you what I said to your assistant: Emanuele Gargano has only one goal in life, a
nd that is to make others happy’

‘I
have no problem believing that,' said Montalbano.

And he meant it. He was convinced that
ragioniere
Gargano was making some high-class prostitutes, nightclub owners, casino managers, and luxury-car dealers very happy on some lost Polynesian island.

Mimì
Augello returned with a bottle of mineral water, a few paper cups, and his mobile phone glued to his ear.

‘
Yessir, yessir,
I’ll
put him on right away.'

He handed the contraption to the inspector.

'It's for you. The commissioner.'

What a pain in the arse! Relations between Montalbano and Commissioner Bonetti-Alderighi could hardly be said to be characterized by mutual esteem and sympathy. If he was calling the inspector, it meant there was some unpleasant matter to discuss. And Montalbano, at that moment, had no desire for any such thing.

'At your service, Mr Commissioner.'

'Come here immediately.'

'Give me an hour at the most, and
‘I’ll
—'

'Montalbano, you may be Sicilian, but surely you studied Italian at school? Don't you know the meaning of the adverb ''immediately''?'

Just a second, ‘I’l
l need to think that over. Ah, yes. It means, "Without interval of time." Am I right, Mr Commissioner?'

'Spare me the wit. You have exactly fifteen minutes to get here to Montelusa.'

He hung up.

‘
Mimì
, I have to go and see the commissioner right away. Grab Garzullo's pistol and take it in to headquarters. And Miss Cosentino, allow me a word of advice: close this office right now and go home.'

'Why?
’

'Because in a very short while, you see, everyone in town will know about Mr Garzullo's stroke of genius. And it's not beyond the realm of possibility that some idiot will repeat the stunt, and that this time it will be somebody younger and more dangerous.'

'No’ said a resolute Mariastella. ‘I’
m not leaving this place. What if Mr Gargano were to return? He'd find nobody here.'

Imagine the disappointment!' said Montalbano, furious. 'And another thing: do you intend to press charges against Mr
Garzullo?'

'Absolutely not.'

'So much the better’

The road to Montelusa was jammed with traffic, and Montalbano's dark mood worsened as a result. He was, moreover, in a wretched state from all the sand scratching between his socks and skin, collar and neck. At one point, about a hundred yards up the road, on the left and therefore on the opposite side, he saw the 'Trucker s Rest Stop', where he knew they made first-rate coffee. When he was nearly parallel to the spot, he indicated and turned. A riot, a pandemonium of screeching brakes, blaring horns, shouts, insults, and curses ensued. By some miracle he reached the car park in front of the restaurant unscathed, got out of the car, and went insi
de. The first thing he saw were
two people he immediately recognized, even though they had their backs to him. It was Fazio and Galluzzo, each knocking back a glass of cognac, or so, at least, it looked to him. Cognac, at that hour of the morning? He wedged himself in between the two and ordered a coffee from the barman. Recognizing his voice, Fazio and Galluzzo turned around with a start

'To your health,' said Montalbano.

‘
No
...
it's just that...' Galluzzo began, trying to justify himself.

‘
We were feeling a little upset,'said Fazio.

'And we needed something strong,' Galluzzo added.

'Upset? Why?'

'Poor Mr Garzullo died! He had a heart attack,' said Fazio.
‘
By the time we got to the hospital he was unconscious. We called the attendants and they rushed him inside. After we parked the car we went straight back in, and they told us
...'

It shook us up’
said Galluzzo.

‘I
feel a little shook up myself...' Montalbano admitted. 'Listen, I want you to do something. Find out if he had any relatives and. if not, track down some close friend and report to me after I get back from Montelusa.'

Fazio and Galluzzo said goodbye and left. Montalbano drank his coffee calmly, then he remembered that the Trucker's Rest Stop was also known for selling a
tumazzo
goat's cheese which was supposed to be delicious, although nobody knew who made it. He immediately wanted some and went over to that part of the counter where, along with the
tumazzo,
there was a variety of sausages and salami on display. The inspector was tempted to spend a lot of money, but managed to control himself and bought only a small round of goat's cheese.

When it came time to pull out from the car park and onto the road, he realized this would be no easy feat The line of trucks and cars was packed tight, with no openings in sight. After waiting five minutes, he saw daylight and joined the procession. All the while he was driving, a thought kept trying to form in his mind, but he was unable to give it any shape, and this bothered him. And thus, without even noticing, he found himself back in Vigata.

What now? Take the road back to Montelusa and show up late at the commissioner's? With nothing more to lose, he decided he might as well go home to Marinella, take a shower, change into some better clothes, and, all dean and fresh, face the commissioner with a dear head.

As the water streamed over him, the thought came into focus.

Half an hour later, he pulled up in front of headquarters, got out of his car, and went inside. The moment he entered, he was deafened by Catarella's shouting; actually, more than shouting, it was something between barking and whinnying.

'Aaaahhhh, Chief, Chief, Chief!
You're here? Here?'

'Yes, Cat, I'm here. What's wrong?'

‘
What's wrong is that his honour the c'mishner is making like a pack of demons, Chief! He called here five times! Each time madder than the last!'

'Tell him to relax.'

'I couldn't talk to his honour the c'mishner like that! Never in a million years! That'd be a terrible act of disrespeck! Whaddo I tell 'im if he calls again?'

'Tell him I'm not here.'

‘
Nossirree, I won't! I can't be telling lies to his honour the c'mishner!'

'Then let him talk to Inspector Augello.'

He opened the door to
Mimì
's office.

‘
What'd the commissioner want?
’
asked
Mimì
.

'I don't know, I haven't been to see him yet'

Jesus Christ! And who's gonna deal with him now?
’

‘
You are. You're going to call him and tell him that as I was rushing to see him, I was driving too fast and went off the road. Nothing serious, just three stitches on my forehead. Tell him I'm feeling better now, and that I'll
fulfil my obligation this afternoon. Fill his ears wit
h chatter. Then come and see me’

He went into his office and was immediately followed by Fazio.

‘I
wanted to tell you we found Garzullo's granddaughter
’

Well done. How'd you do it?
’

‘
We didn't have to do anything, Chief. She came forward on her own. She was worried because he wasn't home when she went to see him this morning. She waited a bit, then decided to come here. I had to give her the triple bad news.'

Triple?'

'Come on, Inspector. First: she didn't know her grandfather had lost all his savings to Gargano; second: she didn't know her grandfather had started acting out scenes from gangster movies; and third: she didn't know her grandfather was dead.'

'How did the poor thing take it?'

'Badly. Especially when she found out he'd let somebody piss away all the money he'd saved, which was supposed to go to her when he died.'

Fazio went out and Augello came in, wiping his neck with a handkerchief.

'He really made me sweat, that commissioner.' In the end he told me to tell you that unless you're on the very brink of death, he'll be expecting you this afternoon.'

'Sit down,
Mimì
, and give me the low-down on
ragioniere
Gargano.'
‘
Now?'

‘
Now. What's the matter, you in a hurry?'

‘
No, it's just that the story's sort of complicated'

'Make it nice and simple for me.'

'All right. But I can really only tell you the half of it, because we've only been dealing with the part that falls under our authority. Those were the commissioner's orders. The meat of the case has been handled by Inspector Guamotta, the fraud specialist.'

Looking each other in the eye, they couldn't help but burst out laughing. It was well known that, two years earlier, Amelio Guarnotta had let himself be persuaded into buying many shares in a company that was going to turn the Colosseum, after its privatization, into a luxury apartment complex.

'Anyway, Emanuele Gargano was born in February of 1960 in Fiacca and got his accounting degree in Milan.'

‘
Why Milan? Had his family moved there?'

'No, his family moved to heaven in a car crash. And since he was an only child, he was adopted, in a manner of speaking, by his father's brother, a bachelor and bank manager. Once Gargano received his degree, his uncle got him a job at the same bank. About ten years later, after his protector passed away and left him alone in the world, he went to work for an investment firm and showed a great
deal of promise. Three years ago he left the firm and opened King Midas Associates in Bologna, with himself as the sole proprietor. And this is where things start to get weird. Or at least that's what I'm told, since this part doesn't come under our authority.'
‘
What's weird about it?'

'First of all, the entire staff of King Midas of Bologna consists of a single employee, a woman rather like our own Miss Cosentino; and secondly, the firm's entire turnover amounts to about two billion lire over three years. Peanuts.'

'A cover.'

'Of course. But a preventive cover, with a view in mind to the big scam Gargano was planning to pull off down here.'

'Could you explain this scam to me?'

It's simple. Let's say you give me a million lire to invest for you, and I, six months later, give you back a profit of two hundred thousand lire. Twenty per cent. That's a really high rate of return, and the word gets around. Along comes another friend of yours who invests another million with me. At the end of the next six months, I give you another two hundred thousand lire return, and the same to your friend. At this point I decide to skip town, making off with a gain of one million four hundred thousand lire. Subtract, say, another four hundred thousand in expenses, and in the end I've still pocketed a cool million. To make a long story short, Gargano, according to Guarnotta, raked in over twenty billion lire this way.'

'Damn. It's all the television's fault,' commented Montalbano.

‘
What's television got to do with it?
’

Everything. There's not a single TV news programme that doesn't bombard you with noise about the stock market, the Mibtel, the Dow Jones, the Nasdaq, the Nisdick
...
People don t know the first thing about it, but they're impressed. They know it's risky, but they also know you can make a lot of money, and so they rush into the arms of the first swindler they run across. Let me play too, I wanna play... Skip it. What's your impression?'

‘I
think — and Guamotta does too — that Gargano's biggest clients must have included some mafioso who knocked him off when he realized he'd been had.'

'So you don't subscribe to the school of thought that has Gargano living happily ever after on some South Sea island?
’

‘
No. What do you think?'

‘
I think you and Guamotta are a couple of dumb fucks.'

‘Wh
y?
’

I'll tell you why. But first you have to find me a mafioso stupid enough not to realize that Gargano's scam. is pretty crude. If anything, the mafioso would have forced Gargano to make him a senior partner in the business. And anyway, how would this hypothetical mafioso have intuited that G
argano was about to rip him off
'

‘I
don't understand.'

'We'
re a little slow today, eh,
Mimì
? Think. How did the mafioso guess that Gargano wasn't going to show up to pay the dividends? When was he last seen?'

‘I
don't know, about a month ago, in Bologna. He told his secretary he was leaving for Sicily the next day.'

‘
How's that?'

'He said he was leaving for Sicily the next day,' Augello repeated.

Montalbano slammed his hand against the table;

'Has Catarella become contagious or something? Are you becoming a cretin too? I was asking you by what means of transport he would be coming to Sicily. Plane? Train? On foot?'

The woman didn't know. But every time he came to Vigata, he would drive around in a fully equipped Alfa 166, the kind with a computer on the dashboard.'

‘
Was this car ever found?'

'No.'

'He had a computer in his car, but I didn't see a single one in his office. Strange.'

'He had two. Guarnotta had them confiscated.'

'And what did he find out?'

'They're still working on them.'

'How many employees did Gargano have working for him at the local branch, apart from Miss Cosentino?'

'A couple of kids, the kind who nowadays know everything about the Internet and all that stuff. One of them, Giacomo Pellegrino, has a degree in business economics; the other's a girl, Michela Manganaro, and she's also working on a degree in business
economics. They live in Vigata’

‘I
want to talk to them. Get me their phone numbers. Have them on my desk by the time I get back from Montelusa.'

Augello darkened, stood up, and left the room without a word.

Montalbano understood.
Mimì
was afraid he would take the case away from him. Or, worse yet, he was worried the inspector had come up with some brilliant idea that would steer the investigation in the right direction. But that wasn't at all the case. How could Montalbano tell him that he was acting on an insubstantial impression, a pale shadow, a tenuous thread ready to break at the slightest breath of wind?

At the Trattoria San Calogero the inspector wolfed down two servings of grilled fish, one right after the other, as his first and second courses. Afterwards he took a long digestive stroll along the jetty, all the way out to the lighthouse. There he hesitated a moment, undecided as to whether he should sit down on his customary rock. The wind was too strong and too cold and, anyway, he thought it was probably better to get the commissioner out of the way.

Arriving in Montelusa, instead of going immediately to the commissioner's office, he paid a visit to the editorial
offices of the Free Channel. They told him his friend, the newsman Nicolo Zito,
was out on assignment. But Anna
lisa, the all-purpose secretary, made herself available.

'Have you done any reports on Emanuele Gargano, the investment banker, at the Free Channel?'

'On his disappearance, you mean?'

‘
Even before that.'

'We have as many as you want.'

'Could you tape for me the ones you consider the most important? And could I have them by tomorrow afternoon?'

Leaving his car in the car park of Montelusa Central Police, he entered through a side door and waited for the lift There were three people waiting with him. One of them, an assistant commissioner, was an acquaintance, and they greeted each other. Montalbano got in ahead of the others. When all of them, including a man who'd rushed in at the last second, were inside, the assistant commissioner raised his index finger to press the button but never got any further, paralysed by a screaming Montalbano. 'Stop!'

They all turned round to look at him, half dumbstruck, half terrified.

'Excuse me! Excuse me!' the inspector continued, clearing the way with his elbows.

Exiting the lift, he ran to his car, turned on the ignition, and drove off, cursing the saints. He'd completely forgotten that
Mimì
was supposed to tell the commissioner he'd got a couple of stitches in his forehead. His only choice was to return to Vigaia and have a pharmacist friend put a bandage on him.

_THREE