Andrea Camilleri - The Dance of the Seagull

Fazio had lied to his wife, telling her he had an appointment at the port. Why at the port of all places? That might be the answer to everything, or it might mean nothing at all. He might have simply said the first thing that had come into his head.

The troubling thing was that he hadn’t phoned his wife. And that must certainly have been because . . . because apparently he was in no condition to do so.

Be clearer, Montalbà , said Montalbano Two.

He doesn’t want to be any clearer because he’s afraid , Montalbano One cut in.

Of what?

Of the conclusions he’s forced to draw.

And what are they?

That Fazio can’t phone because he’s being held prisoner by someone, or else he’s injured or dead.

But why do you always have to imagine the worst?

What else can you imagine in this situation? That Fazio ran off with another woman?

Augello came in.

“What’s the big rush?”

“Close the door and sit down.”

Augello obeyed.

“Well?”

“Fazio has disappeared.”

Mimì gawked at him, open-mouthed.

After talking for fifteen minutes, they arrived at a conclusion. Which was that Fazio had clearly started an investigation on his own without telling anyone. He did get these sorts of brilliant ideas every once in a while. This time, however, he’d underestimated the danger, which seemed strange, given his experience, and had ended up in trouble.

There was no other possible explanation.

“We have to track him down by tomorrow at the very latest,” said Montalbano. “I can probably keep his wife at bay until then, since she has a lot of faith in me, but sooner or later I’ll have to tell her the truth. Whatever it is.”

“Where do you want me to start looking?”

“Let’s assume the story about the port is true. You should start there.”

“Can I bring someone with me?”

“No, it’s better if you go alone. I don’t want word to go around that we’re looking for him. It might get back to the wife. If by this time tomorrow we haven’t made any progress, then we’ll get moving on a big scale.”

After Augello left, the inspector had an idea.

“Catarella, get someone to sit in for you for five minutes, then come into my office.”

“Straightaways, Chief.”

And indeed he appeared straightaways.

“Listen, Cat, I need you to give me a hand with something.”

Catarella’s eyes began to sparkle with contentment, and he stood at attention.

“I’ll even give yiz both ’ands, Chief.”

“Think hard before answering. There’s no direct phone line in Fazio’s office, right?”

“Right, sir.”

“Therefore every phone call that comes in for him has to pass through the switchboard, right?”

Catarella didn’t reply, but twisted up his face.

“What’s wrong?”

“Chief. Fazio’s gotta sill phone. If summon happens a call ’im on ’is sill phone, Fazio’s sill phone, I mean, that summon callin’ ’ass callin’ don’ go true the swishboard.”

“That’s true. But let’s just put that problem aside for now. Let’s think only about the switchboard. I want you to tell me whether there’ve been any phone calls for Fazio in the last four or five days, from anyone who had never called before. Is that clear?”

“Poifickly, Chief.”

“Now I want you to sit down at my desk, grab a pen and a sheet of paper, and write down every name you can remember. And in the meantime I’m going to go outside to smoke a cigarette.”

“I’m sorry, Chief, but I coun’t do that.”

“You can’t remember who called?”

“No, no, Chief, I can’t sit atcher disk.”

“Why not? The chair’s the same as any other.”

“Yessir, ’ass right, sir, but iss the ass, if you’ll ascuse the ’spression, o’ the poisson sittin’ in the chair ’at makes the chair wha’ it is.”

“All right, then just stay seated where you are.”

He went outside the building, smoked a cigarette while walking slowly around the parking lot, then went back inside.

3

Catarella handed him a sheet of paper. There were three names written on it. Loccicciro (which must have been Lo Cicero ); Parravacchio (only God knew what the real name was); and Zireta (here the error was slight: Ziretta ).

“Only three?”

“No, Chief, there’s four.”

“But you wrote only three names.”

“I din’t write the fourth cuz I din’t need to. Y’see how, ’tween Garavacchio an’—”

“Here you wrote down Parravacchio.”

“Iss not important. Y’see, how ’tween Saravacchio an’ Zireta ’ere’s a blank space?”

“Yes. What’s it mean?”

“Blank, Chief. It means blank.”

“I don’t get it.”

“Means the fourth poisson ’at called’s name’s Blank.”

Brilliant.

“Listen, isn’t Blanc the guy who was arrested last week for brawling?”

“Yessir, Chief. An’ Loccicciro was callin’ cuz summon livin’ onna floor above ’is floor’s pissin’ on ’im—if you’ll pardon my lankwitch—every mornin’ from the overlookin’ balcony.”

“And do you know what Parravacchio wanted?”

“Nah. But Taravacchio’s a rilitive o’ Fazio’s.”

“Between Parravacchio and Ziretta, do you know which called more often?”

“Yessir, ’twas Pinetta, but he’s calling ’bout a application fer applyin’ fer a passpott.”

Montalbano felt disappointed.

“But insofar as concerning the continuous pain-in-the-ass calls in continuosity, ’twas Mansella doin’ the callin’ till five days ago.”

“Is that Mansella with an S or a Z?”

“Wit’ a S like a Z, Chief.”

“And did this Manzella go through the switchboard when he called Fazio?”

“Chief, Mansella call true the swishboard insofar as cuz Fazio’s sill phone’s always busy. Or swished off. An’ so he tol’ me ’e’s Mansella an’ ’at I’s asposta tell summon a tell Fazio ’at ’e’s asposta call ’im, ’im bein’ Mansella. Or ellis ’e’s asposta toin ’is sill phone on.”

“And did Fazio call him back?”

“I dunno, Chief. Insofar as cuz I’s never present. If he called ’im back, ’twas witta sill phone.”

“I guess you don’t remember the first time this Manzella called.”

“Wait a seccon’, Chief.”

He went out of the room, then returned at a run, holding a notebook with a black cover. He started leafing through it. The pages were densely covered with names and numbers.

“What’s that?”

“Chief, innytime innyone calls, I write down ’is name, who’s they want, the day, anna zack time o’day.”

“Why?”

“Cuz ya nivver know.”

“But aren’t they automatically registered?”

“Yessir, ’ass true, but I don’ trust nuthin’ attomattic. Who knows ’ow the attomattic feels about it! Awright, ’ere we are: Mansella calla foiss time tin days ago. Then ’e call ivry day till five days ago. A lass time ’e call tree times. ’E’z noivous. An’ ’e tol’ me a tell Fazio ’at ’e better toin ’is sill phone on.”

“And then?”

“An’ ’enn ’e din’t call no more. But after ’twas Fazio allways askin’ a’ least twice a day if Mansella a call askin’ fr’im. An’ ivry time I say no, ’e says if ’e calls to put ’im true straightaways cuz iss a rilly important matter.”

“All right, thanks, Cat. You’ve been very helpful.”

“One more ting, Chief, if I mays.”

“Go ahead.”

“Wass’ goin’ on wit Fazio?”