Andrea Camilleri - The Age Of Doubt

When he got to the flat rock under the lighthouse, the inspector sat down, fired up a cigarette, and started thinking about what he had just seen.

What were the owner and captain of the Vanna doing aboard the Ace of Hearts ?

Perhaps just a courtesy visit, a good-neighborly sort of thing? Was it common practice for those kinds of people to do that? Given the time of day, it was also quite possible, even likely, that the Vanna people had been invited to lunch.

Or did they all know each other from before? Were they old friends? Or business associates or something similar?

There was only one way to find out: try to learn more about the Ace of Hearts .

This, however, would mean that the investigation, instead of becoming smaller and more focused, would expand by involving more people. Which was the worst thing that could happen to an ongoing investigation.

At any rate, the only way to get any information on the Ace of Hearts was to ask Laura, whom he had something else to ask as soon as possible.

Laura! Man, was she ever…

Once again he got lost in his thoughts about her. He didn’t like the fact that the moment she came to mind, he could no longer concentrate on anything else. In his head there was only her: the way she walked, the way she laughed… Deep down, he felt a little ashamed of this. It didn’t seem proper for a man his age. But he couldn’t do anything about it.

Once inside the car, instead of going to the station, he took the road to Montelusa. Pulling up in front of the Forensic Medicine Institute, he got out and went inside.

“Is Dr. Pasquano here?”

“He’s here, for what it’s worth.”

Which, translated, meant: He’s here, but it is not advisable to go and bother him.

“Listen, all I need is a copy of the memo the doctor wrote after performing the autopsy on the disfigured corpse.”

“I can get that for you myself, but you should know you can’t take it away with you.”

“I only need some information from it, which I can get here, on the spot, right in front of you. Please do me this favor.”

“All right, but don’t tell the doctor.”

Half an hour later, he pulled up in front of the broadcasting studios of the Free Channel, one of the two local television stations.

“Is Zito in?”

“He’s in his office,” said the secretary, who knew Montalbano well.

The inspector and Zito embraced. They were old friends and were always genuinely happy to see each other.

Montalbano gave him the information he had copied down. Height, weight, hair color, width of shoulders, length of legs, teeth… Zito promised to make the announcement on the eight o’clock evening news and the midnight edition, which were the two most watched. Anyone who happened to call the studio in response would be told to contact the Vigàta police directly.

Back at the office, he found Fazio waiting for him, looking like a beaten dog.

“What’s wrong?”

“We’re fucked, Chief!”

“You think that’s news? What’s so unusual about that? I happen to believe I’ve been fucked since birth. So, a little more fucked, a little less fucked, makes no difference… What’s this about?”

“Shaikiri.”

“Tell me everything.”

“Well, just by chance, as I was on my way to eat, I saw Digiulio, Ricca, and Alvarez going into Giacomino’s tavern. So I waited a few minutes and went in myself, and I sat down at a table not far from theirs. When I heard them talking about Zizì, I pricked up my ears. And you know what?”

“If it’s bad news, I don’t want to hear it. But tell me anyway.”

“Zizì was arrested last night.”

Montalbano cursed.

“By whom?”

“The carabinieri.”

“For what?”

“Apparently, as they were heading back to the ship last night, Zizì saw a carabinieri squad car parked near the port. He’d been drinking a lot, and he went up to the car, unbuttoned his trousers, and pissed on it.”

“What, is the guy crazy? And were there carabinieri inside the car?”

“Yup.”

“And what happened?”

“Well, as they were arresting him, he managed to punch one of the carabinieri.”

Montalbano started cursing again.

“What should we do?” Fazio asked.

“What can we do? We can’t very well phone the carabinieri and tell them to let him go because I need him! Listen, try and make friends with Ricca. It’s the only move we can make at this point.”

He and Laura had agreed the previous evening that she would call him at the office around seven o’clock, but it was now almost eight and he still hadn’t heard from her. Since this time he’d had her give him her cell phone number, after a bit of mental tug-of-war with himself, he called her up.

“Montalbano here.”

“I recognized your voice.”

She’d said it without any enthusiasm at all.

“Did you forget that you-”

“No, I didn’t forget.”

Damn, was she ever expansive!

“Too busy?”

“No.”

“So then why didn’t you-”

“I’d decided not to call you.”

“Oh.”

Silence fell.

And suddenly Montalbano was gripped by a hysterical fear that they’d been cut off. It was idiotic, but he could do nothing about it. Whenever he thought he’d lost his telephone connection, he went into a terrible panic, like a child abandoned in a starship adrift in space.

“Hello! Hello!” he started yelling.

“Don’t shout! I’m here!” she said.

“Can you explain to me why-”

“Not over the telephone.”

“Try.”

“I said no.”

“Well then let’s meet, if you don’t mind! There’s also something I have to ask you about the Vanna .”

Another pause.

This time, however, Montalbano heard her breathing.

“Do you want to have dinner together?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“But not at your house.”

“All right. We can go wherever you like.”

“Then let’s go to that restaurant in Montereale you mentioned to me.”

“All right. Let’s do this: you come here to the station, and we can take my car to-”

“No. Just tell me how to get to this restaurant. We can meet there. But give me about an hour; I still need to change.”

What had got into Laura? Why had her mood changed so drastically? He couldn’t figure it out.

About ten minutes later, the phone rang.

“Ahh Chief Chief! Ahh Chief!”

Bad sign. Whenever Catarella intoned these lamentations, it meant that Mister C’mishner, as he reverently called him, was on the line.

“Does the commissioner want me?” Montalbano asked.

“Yessir, Chief! An’ iss rilly urgint!”

“Tell him I’m not in my office.”

The commissioner was likely to tell him to come to Montelusa, which would make him miss his appointment with Laura.

“ Matre santa , Chief!” Catarella wailed.

“What’s wrong with you?”

“Wha’ss wrong izzat when I gotta tella lie to hizzoner the c’mishner, iss like I’m c’mittin’ a mortal sin!”

“So just go and confess!”

Forty-five minutes later, he was about to get up and leave when Fazio came in.

“Chief, I have a very good friend who’s a carabiniere, and I took the liberty of-”

“What did you do?”

“I asked him what they planned to do with Shaikiri.”

“And how did you explain your interest in him?”

“I told him he was a friend of mine and that whenever he drank he lost his head, and I apologized for him.”

“And what did the guy say?”

“They released him at five o’clock this afternoon. He was charged with assault and resisting arrest. What should I do? Go look for him at Giacomino’s tavern?”