Andrea Camilleri - The Track of Sand

“That’s what you think. But I’ve already noticed that, for some time now, when you read, you hold things out at arm’s length.”

“So? What does that mean?”

“It means you’re presbyopic. And don’t make that face! It’s not the end of the world if you have to wear glasses!”

Maybe not the end of the world, but certainly the end of one’s prime. Wearing glasses for reading meant surrendering to old age without the least bit of a fight.

“So, what’s this troglodyte’s name?” he asked gruffly.

“Firruzza; Antonio Firruzza. He’s the custodian, who for the moment is taking the place of the watchman, whose name is Ippolito Vario.”

“And where’s the watchman?”

“In the hospital.”

“You mean the night the horse was kidnapped, it was Firruzza on guard duty?”

“No, it was Ippolito.”

“So Vario’s his surname?”

The inspector was distracted. He couldn’t take his eyes off the bespectacled Augello.

“No,Vario’s his given name.” [5] “No,Vario’s his given name”: In Italian bureaucratic usage, the surname is always placed before the first name, giving rise to some confusion in cases such as the present one,Vario Ippolito, where both names could be first names.

“I’m not following anything anymore.”

“Salvo, if you don’t stop continually interrupting me, I’ll get lost, too. So, what’s it gonna be?”

“Okay, okay.”

“So, that night, around two o’clock Ippolito was woken up by the sound of the doorbell.”

“Does he live alone?”

“Jeez, what a pain in the ass! Will you let me speak, or not? Yes, he lives alone.”

“I’m sorry. But don’t you think a lighter frame would suit you better?”

“Beba likes this one. May I continue?”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“Ippolito gets up out of bed thinking it’s Lo Duca, just back from his travel, with some crazy hankering to see his horses. It wouldn’t have been the first time. So Ippolito grabs a flashlight and goes out to the gate. Bear in mind that it’s a very dark night. But as he approaches the man who wants to come in, he realizes that it’s not Lo Duca. He asks the man what he wants, and by way of an answer the guy points a gun at him. Ippolito is forced to open the gate with his keys.The man then takes the keys and whacks Ippolito in the back of the head with the butt of his pistol, knocking him out.”

“Which prevented the watchman from seeing anything else. Listen, how strong is the correction on those things?”

Mimì stood up in a huff.

“Where are you going?”

“I’m leaving, and I’m not coming back until you stop fixating on my glasses.”

“C’mon, sit down. I swear I won’t ask anything else about your glasses.”

Mimì sat back down.

“Where was I?”

“So the watchman had never seen the man who assaulted him before?”

“Never. Anyway, to conclude, Ippolito was found by Firruzza and two other men who look after the horses, in his house, bound and gagged and with a serious concussion.”

“So it could not have been Ippolito who phoned La Esterman to inform her of the theft.”

“Obviously.”

“Maybe it was Firruzza.”

“Firruzza? Impossible.”

“So who was it, then?”

“Do you think it’s so important? May I continue?”

“Sorry.”

“So, Firruzza and the other two men immediately notice two open stalls and realize that two horses have been stolen.”

“Two?” said Montalbano, surprised.

“That’s right. Two. Rachele Esterman’s horse, and one of Lo Duca’s horses that bore a strong resemblance to it.”

“Want to bet that, when faced with the choice, they couldn’t make up their minds, and weighing their options, they decided to grab both?”

“That’s what I asked Pignataro, and he—”

“Who’s Pignataro?”

“One of the two men who look after the horses every day. Matteo Pignataro and Filippo Sirchia. Pignataro maintains that of the five or six people who stole the horses, at least one of them must have known a lot about horses. Just think, they took all the right trappings for those two horses from the shed, including the saddles. So there wasn’t any confusion as to the choice; they took them away knowing exactly what they were doing.”

“How did they take them away?”

“In a properly equipped truck. Here and there you can even see some of the tire tracks.”

“Who informed Lo Duca?”

“Pignataro.Who also called the ambulance for Ippolito.”

“So it was probably Lo Duca who told Pignataro to inform Esterman.”

“You seem stuck on this idea of finding out who informed Esterman. Mind telling me why?”

“Bah, I dunno, really. Anything else?”

“No. Not enough for you?”

“On the contrary.You’ve done pretty well for yourself.”

“Thank you, maestro, for the breadth, fullness, and variety of your praises, which deeply move my humble heart.”

“Stick it, Mimì.”

“So, how should we proceed?”

“With whom?”

“Salvo, this is not the independent republic of Vigàta. Our police department answers to the commissioner’s office in Montelusa. Or have you forgotten?”

“So what?”

“Montelusa’s got an investigation going. Is it not our duty to inform them exactly how Signora Esterman’s horse was killed here?”

“Mimì, think rationally for a moment. If our colleagues in Montelusa are conducting an investigation, sooner or later they will interrogate Signora Esterman. Right?”

“Right.”

“Signora Esterman will certainly relate to them, word for word, what she learned from me about her horse. Right?”

“Right.”

“At which point our colleagues will race over here to ask us some questions. Which only then will we duly answer. Right?”

“Right. But how come the sum of all these right things is wrong?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that our colleagues may ask us why we didn’t come to them of our own initiative and tell—”

“ O matre santa! Mimì, we haven’t received any report of this crime, and they haven’t said a word to us about the theft of those horses.We’re even.”

“If you say so.”

“To get back to the subject, when you arrived at the stables, how many horses were there in the stalls?”

“Four.”

“So, when the thieves got there, there were six.”

“Right. But what’s the point of counting?”

“I’m not counting. I’m wondering why the thieves didn’t steal all the horses while they were at it.”

“Maybe they didn’t have enough trucks.”

“Are you saying that just to be funny?”

“You doubt me? You know what I say to you? That I’ve talked enough for today. Goodbye.”

He stood up.

“But Mimì, another frame, not necessarily different, since Bebe likes this one, but just a wee bit lighter in color . . .”

Mimì went out cursing, slamming the door behind him.

What could this business of the two horses mean? No matter which angle he looked at it from, something didn’t make sense. For example, Rachele Esterman’s horse was stolen and then slaughtered. But then why didn’t they just kill it on the spot, instead of hauling it all the way to the beach of Marinella to do it in? And then the other horse, Lo Duca’s: Did they also steal that one in order to kill it? And, if so, where? On the beach at Santolì, or somewhere near the stables? Or, if they killed one but not the other, what did that mean?

The telephone rang.

“Chief, that’d be the Signora Striostriommi.”

What did Ingrid want?

“On the telephone?”

“Yessir, Chief.”