it all nicely made up by the time the lady
arrived.’
‘So it would seem.’
The inspector remained pensive. Then, looking Fazio in the eye, he said:
‘We absolutely have to find out who it was that used to go and see her when Strangio was away.’
‘Of course,’ said Fazio. ‘But how? It was only by chance, you know, that I met the housekeeper and found these things out. Otherwise, we’d be completely in the dark. And
Strangio’s house, except for the big apartment building next to it, is rather isolated. It’s unlikely I’ll find anyone who can say to me that on certain nights he saw
such-and-such a car parked outside the gate until dawn.’
‘But we should try anyway, using her as our starting point.’
‘Meaning?’
‘Fazio, what do we know about this girl? Hardly anything at all. We know she was studying architecture, that her parents don’t live in Vigàta, and that she slept till ten in
the morning. Don’t you think it would be a good idea to find out more? To go into the house, search through photos, papers? And while you’re at it, you could have a look at his things
too . . . Find out, for example, whether the girl had any female friends, somebody she saw often . . .’
‘Chief, the seals have gone up on the house, you know.’
‘And I’m not telling you to do a repeat of the supermarket. This time go and get proper authorization from Tommaseo.’
*
‘Catarella? Listen carefully. I want you to search the Rome telephone directory for the number of the main office of Ugotti—’
‘Yeah, Chief, I got it.’
‘You got what?’
‘I’m asposta fine yiz the nummer o’ the main office.’
‘Yes, but the main office of what?’
‘Ya din’t tell me the name o’ the company, y’only said to look for the nummer o’ the main office, an’ then y’ast if I got it, an’ I said,
“Yeah, I got it.” ’
The misunderstanding became clear to Montalbano. ‘No, Cat, I didn’t ask you if you got it. The name of the company I need the number for is
Ugotti
.’
‘Now I got it, Chief. Sorry ’bout the quiquivacation. Then whaddo I do?’
‘When you get the number, dial it, and when they answer, put the call through to me.’
‘Straightaways, Chief.’
Five minutes went by, and the telephone rang.
‘Ugotti Computers. Can I help you?’ said a crabby, high-pitched female voice with a Roman accent.
‘This is Inspector Montalbano, police. I’d like to speak with somebody in management.’
‘What about, may I ask?’
‘About yesterday’s meeting of regional representatives.’
‘I’ll put you through to Quagliotti. Just a moment, please.’
The moment – with a background of sacred music by Bach, whose connection with computers was entirely unclear – lasted so long that Montalbano had enough time to review the times
tables for 7, 8, and 9.
‘Quagliotti here. What can I do for you, Inspector? I should forewarn you, however, that we’re not allowed to divulge confidential information over the telephone. It’s company
policy. It would therefore be best if you—’
‘I don’t need any confidential information. I just want to know at what time the meeting of your regional representatives was held yesterday.’
‘From ten a.m. to one p.m.,’ the other began, speaking very fast, ‘lunch break from one to two, afternoon session from two to five.’
‘A final question and I’ll let you go. Was Giovanni Strangio at the afternoon session?’
‘He signed back in at two o’clock. Whether he left later on, I can’t say . . .’
Montalbano thanked him and hung up.
*
All things considered, this wasn’t necessarily a solid alibi.
If it happened to come out in the post-mortem that Mariangela was murdered in the late afternoon, Strangio would still have had time to catch a plane in Rome and drive from Punta Raisi airport
to Vigàta, snuff out the girl, drive back to Punta Raisi, spend the night in Rome, and head back to Vigàta the following morning.
To
arrived.’
‘So it would seem.’
The inspector remained pensive. Then, looking Fazio in the eye, he said:
‘We absolutely have to find out who it was that used to go and see her when Strangio was away.’
‘Of course,’ said Fazio. ‘But how? It was only by chance, you know, that I met the housekeeper and found these things out. Otherwise, we’d be completely in the dark. And
Strangio’s house, except for the big apartment building next to it, is rather isolated. It’s unlikely I’ll find anyone who can say to me that on certain nights he saw
such-and-such a car parked outside the gate until dawn.’
‘But we should try anyway, using her as our starting point.’
‘Meaning?’
‘Fazio, what do we know about this girl? Hardly anything at all. We know she was studying architecture, that her parents don’t live in Vigàta, and that she slept till ten in
the morning. Don’t you think it would be a good idea to find out more? To go into the house, search through photos, papers? And while you’re at it, you could have a look at his things
too . . . Find out, for example, whether the girl had any female friends, somebody she saw often . . .’
‘Chief, the seals have gone up on the house, you know.’
‘And I’m not telling you to do a repeat of the supermarket. This time go and get proper authorization from Tommaseo.’
*
‘Catarella? Listen carefully. I want you to search the Rome telephone directory for the number of the main office of Ugotti—’
‘Yeah, Chief, I got it.’
‘You got what?’
‘I’m asposta fine yiz the nummer o’ the main office.’
‘Yes, but the main office of what?’
‘Ya din’t tell me the name o’ the company, y’only said to look for the nummer o’ the main office, an’ then y’ast if I got it, an’ I said,
“Yeah, I got it.” ’
The misunderstanding became clear to Montalbano. ‘No, Cat, I didn’t ask you if you got it. The name of the company I need the number for is
Ugotti
.’
‘Now I got it, Chief. Sorry ’bout the quiquivacation. Then whaddo I do?’
‘When you get the number, dial it, and when they answer, put the call through to me.’
‘Straightaways, Chief.’
Five minutes went by, and the telephone rang.
‘Ugotti Computers. Can I help you?’ said a crabby, high-pitched female voice with a Roman accent.
‘This is Inspector Montalbano, police. I’d like to speak with somebody in management.’
‘What about, may I ask?’
‘About yesterday’s meeting of regional representatives.’
‘I’ll put you through to Quagliotti. Just a moment, please.’
The moment – with a background of sacred music by Bach, whose connection with computers was entirely unclear – lasted so long that Montalbano had enough time to review the times
tables for 7, 8, and 9.
‘Quagliotti here. What can I do for you, Inspector? I should forewarn you, however, that we’re not allowed to divulge confidential information over the telephone. It’s company
policy. It would therefore be best if you—’
‘I don’t need any confidential information. I just want to know at what time the meeting of your regional representatives was held yesterday.’
‘From ten a.m. to one p.m.,’ the other began, speaking very fast, ‘lunch break from one to two, afternoon session from two to five.’
‘A final question and I’ll let you go. Was Giovanni Strangio at the afternoon session?’
‘He signed back in at two o’clock. Whether he left later on, I can’t say . . .’
Montalbano thanked him and hung up.
*
All things considered, this wasn’t necessarily a solid alibi.
If it happened to come out in the post-mortem that Mariangela was murdered in the late afternoon, Strangio would still have had time to catch a plane in Rome and drive from Punta Raisi airport
to Vigàta, snuff out the girl, drive back to Punta Raisi, spend the night in Rome, and head back to Vigàta the following morning.
To
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