IM11 The Wings of the Sphinx (2009) by Andrea Camilleri

made use of his association in his own home.
    “Hello? I didn’t understand who this is.”
    “Cavaliere, I’m Inspector Montalbano. I urgently need to see you.”
    “About a house?”
    What was he talking about? What did houses have to do with this?
    “No, I need some information from you about a few Russian girls who—”
    “I understand. Since my main occupation is selling houses, I thought ...Who gave you my number?”
    “Monsignor Pisicchio, who also gave me a flyer of your association, Benevolence.”
    There. He’d managed not to call it an organization.
    “Ah. So we could meet later at Via Empedocle.”
    “Okay. Tell me what time.”
    “Six o’clock okay with you? If you’d like to see me sooner, you could come to my real estate office, which is in Via—”
    “No, thank you, Cavaliere, six o’clock is perfectly fine with me.”
    He had a moment of doubt. What if everyone at Benevolence was as obsessive as Monsignor Pisicchio?
    “I should warn you that I may arrive a little late.”
    “No problem. I’ll wait for you.”

    The first to report back at five was Mimì Augello.
    “Did you see the commissioner?”
    “Did you know that Signora Ciccina had already spoken to him?”
    “Well, what a surprise! The lady was probably at the commissioner’s at the crack of dawn! In short, what did he say to you?”
    “That we’ve been taking the kidnapping too lightly. That we immediately drew the conclusion that it was all staged, and so we didn’t conduct any serious searches.That we’ve been too slapdash. That he’s not the least bit inclined to defend us if it turns out that a kidnapping indeed occurred. That we have no authorization whatsoever to think that Signora Ciccina might not be right. That the man in the photo may well be a double. That the popular belief that every person has six identical copies in the world may not be so far-fetched. That—”
    “That’s enough. To conclude?”
    “Remember Pontius Pilate?”
    Fazio came in.
    “You got anything big for me?”
    “No, Chief, I’m empty-handed. And anyway, I’m moving too slowly.”
    “Why do you say that?”
    “Because I don’t know what I’m supposed to ask, I don’t know what I’m supposed to do, I don’t know where I’m supposed to look. At any rate, I began with the two restorers and the one furniture works here in town.”
    “Tell me about ’em.”
    “The Januzzi furniture works went out of business a year ago. The store is open for a clearance sale of the pieces they’ve still got remaining, but the big warehouse where they used to make them is shut down, and nobody works there anymore. I looked at the padlocks on the doors, and they’re all rusted. I can guarantee you they haven’t been touched for months.”
    “And what about the restorers?”
    “One of them works in a shop about fifteen feet by fifteen, and he’s only a restorer in a manner of speaking. He repairs wicker chairs, dressers missing a leg, that sort of thing. He keeps the stuff he needs to work on out on the sidewalk, then piles it all up inside in the evening. The other guy is a real restorer. I talked to him, and his name is Filippo Todaro. He had a little purpurin and showed it to me. He explained that he only needs a little bit to restore the gilded pieces. Just a few grams.”
    “Are you telling me we should forget about restorers?”
    “That’s right, Chief.”
    “Okay. I remember you said that there were only four furniture makers that need to be checked out.”
    “Yes, but . . .”
    “You think there’s no point in it?”
    “Yessir. Nuttata persa e figlia femmina .”
    “Don’t get discouraged, Fazio. By tomorrow, you’ll be done. Believe me, it’s too important.You’ve got to check them out.”
    “I can take two,” said Mimì, moved to pity by Fazio’s disconsolate face.
    “But why do you think it’s pointless?” Montalbano insisted.
    “I can’t put it into words, Chief. It’s a feeling.”
    “You want to know