Inspector. I was expecting this! I could sense he would end up this way, that degenerate hoodlum! In jail! Behind bars for his whole life, till the day he dies!'
'Who are you talking about, signora? ’
'Who do you think? My husband! He's been out of the house for three days straight! Gambling, drinking, whoring, the vile, filthy wretch!'
‘I’m sorry, signora, but I didn't come here because of your husband.'
'Ah, no? So who'd you come for, then?'
'For Giacomo Pellegrino. He was renting the apartment downstairs, wasn't he?' The sort of globe that was Signora Catarina's face began to look more and more bloated, and the inspector was beginning to fear it might explode. In reality the woman was smiling with delight
'Now there's a line boy for you! So educated and polite! I'm so sorry I lost him!'
‘ You lost him in what sense?' 'I lost him because he left my house.' 'He no longer lives downstairs?' ‘ No, sir.'
'Please tell me the whole story from the beginning, signora.'
'What beginning?' she said in dialect. 'Round about the twenty-fifth of August, he comes up here and tells me he's gonna move out, and since he dint give no advance notice, he puts three months' rent in my hands. On the thirtieth, in the morning, he packed two suitcases with his stuff, said goodbye to me, and left the apartment empty. And that's the beginning and the end.'
'Did he say where he was going to live?'
'An' why should he tell me that? What are we? Mother and son? Husband and wife? Brother and sister?'
‘ Not even cousins?' asked Montalbano, offering another variation on the possibilities of relation. But Signora Cata rina didn't grasp the irony.
‘ Not a chance! All he said to me was he was going to Germany for about a month, but when he got back he was gonna move into his own house. Such a good boy. May the good Lord stand by him and help him!'
'Has he written or phoned you from Germany?'
‘ Why would he do that? What are we, relatives or something?'
‘I think we've well established the answer to that question,' said Montalbano. ‘H as anyone come looking for him?'
'No, sir, nobody. Except around the fourth or fifth of September, when somebody did come looking for him.' 'Do you know who it was?'
‘ Yessir, a pliceman. He said Mr Giacomo was supposed to report to the p'lice station. But I told him he left for Germany.'
'Did he have a car? ’
‘ Who, Giacomino? No, he knew how to drive, had his licence and all, but he din't have no car. He had a little broken-down motorbike. Sometimes it'd start, sometimes it wouldn't.'
Montalbano stood up, thanked her, and said goodbye. ' 'Scuse me if I don t walk you to the door,' said Signora Catarina, 'but it's hard for me to stand up.'
'Reason with me for a minute ’ said the inspector to the red mullets he had on his plate. 'According to what Signora Catarina told me, Giacomo left the house on the morning of August the thirtieth. According to his namesake uncle, the next day Giacomo told him he was flying to Germany at four o'clock that afternoon. So the question is this: Where did Giacomo sleep on the night of the thirtieth? Wouldn't it have been more logical to leave the apartment on the morning of the thirty-first after spending the night
there? And also: What happened to the motorbike? But the main question is: Is Giacomo's story of any importance to the investigation? And, if so, why?' The mullets did not answer, among other reasons because they were no longer on the plate but in Montalbano's belly.
'Let's proceed as if it was important,' he concluded.
‘F azio, I want you to check if there was a reservation for Giacomo Pellegrino on the four o'clock flight for Germany on August the thirty-first'
‘ For where in Germany?'
‘I don't know.'
'Chief, there are a lot of cities in Germany.' ‘ You trying to be funny?'
‘ No, Chief. And out of which airport? Palermo or Catania?'
‘ Palermo, I would say. And now get outta here.'
‘ Yes, sir. I just wanted to
'Who are you talking about, signora? ’
'Who do you think? My husband! He's been out of the house for three days straight! Gambling, drinking, whoring, the vile, filthy wretch!'
‘I’m sorry, signora, but I didn't come here because of your husband.'
'Ah, no? So who'd you come for, then?'
'For Giacomo Pellegrino. He was renting the apartment downstairs, wasn't he?' The sort of globe that was Signora Catarina's face began to look more and more bloated, and the inspector was beginning to fear it might explode. In reality the woman was smiling with delight
'Now there's a line boy for you! So educated and polite! I'm so sorry I lost him!'
‘ You lost him in what sense?' 'I lost him because he left my house.' 'He no longer lives downstairs?' ‘ No, sir.'
'Please tell me the whole story from the beginning, signora.'
'What beginning?' she said in dialect. 'Round about the twenty-fifth of August, he comes up here and tells me he's gonna move out, and since he dint give no advance notice, he puts three months' rent in my hands. On the thirtieth, in the morning, he packed two suitcases with his stuff, said goodbye to me, and left the apartment empty. And that's the beginning and the end.'
'Did he say where he was going to live?'
'An' why should he tell me that? What are we? Mother and son? Husband and wife? Brother and sister?'
‘ Not even cousins?' asked Montalbano, offering another variation on the possibilities of relation. But Signora Cata rina didn't grasp the irony.
‘ Not a chance! All he said to me was he was going to Germany for about a month, but when he got back he was gonna move into his own house. Such a good boy. May the good Lord stand by him and help him!'
'Has he written or phoned you from Germany?'
‘ Why would he do that? What are we, relatives or something?'
‘I think we've well established the answer to that question,' said Montalbano. ‘H as anyone come looking for him?'
'No, sir, nobody. Except around the fourth or fifth of September, when somebody did come looking for him.' 'Do you know who it was?'
‘ Yessir, a pliceman. He said Mr Giacomo was supposed to report to the p'lice station. But I told him he left for Germany.'
'Did he have a car? ’
‘ Who, Giacomino? No, he knew how to drive, had his licence and all, but he din't have no car. He had a little broken-down motorbike. Sometimes it'd start, sometimes it wouldn't.'
Montalbano stood up, thanked her, and said goodbye. ' 'Scuse me if I don t walk you to the door,' said Signora Catarina, 'but it's hard for me to stand up.'
'Reason with me for a minute ’ said the inspector to the red mullets he had on his plate. 'According to what Signora Catarina told me, Giacomo left the house on the morning of August the thirtieth. According to his namesake uncle, the next day Giacomo told him he was flying to Germany at four o'clock that afternoon. So the question is this: Where did Giacomo sleep on the night of the thirtieth? Wouldn't it have been more logical to leave the apartment on the morning of the thirty-first after spending the night
there? And also: What happened to the motorbike? But the main question is: Is Giacomo's story of any importance to the investigation? And, if so, why?' The mullets did not answer, among other reasons because they were no longer on the plate but in Montalbano's belly.
'Let's proceed as if it was important,' he concluded.
‘F azio, I want you to check if there was a reservation for Giacomo Pellegrino on the four o'clock flight for Germany on August the thirty-first'
‘ For where in Germany?'
‘I don't know.'
'Chief, there are a lot of cities in Germany.' ‘ You trying to be funny?'
‘ No, Chief. And out of which airport? Palermo or Catania?'
‘ Palermo, I would say. And now get outta here.'
‘ Yes, sir. I just wanted to
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