The Patience of the Spider (20 page)

Silence, as if theyd been cut off.

Hello? said Montalbano.

Im still here. Answer me sincerely, Inspector: Do you
think that if Id known there was only scrap paper inside that
well, I would have told you and Inspector Minutolo?

No.

Well, the moment he heard the news, my client called me
up, extremely upset. He was in tears. He realized that this discovery
was like cementing his feet and throwing him into the
sea. Death by drowning, with no chance of ever coming back
to the surface. Inspector, that duffel bag was not his. Hed put
his money in a suitcase.

Can he prove it?

No.

And how does he explain that police found a duffel instead
of a suitcase?

He cant explain it.

And hed put the money in this suitcase?

Of course. Lets say roughly sixty-two bundles of five-
hundred-euro bills totaling three million ninety-eight thousand
euros and seventy-four cents, rounded off to the euro,
and equaling six billion old lire.

And you believe that?

Inspector, I have to believe my client. But the point is not
whether I believe him. Its whether the public believes him.

But there may be a way to prove that your client is telling
the truth.

Oh, really? What?

Simple. As you yourself said, Mr. Peruzzo had very little
time to scrape together the ransom money. Therefore there
must be bank documents with the related data attesting to the
withdrawal of the amount. All you have to do is make these
documents public, and your client will have proved his absolute
good faith.

Deep silence.
Did you hear me, Counsel?
Of course. Its the same solution I promptly suggested to

him myself.
So, as you can see
Theres a problem.
What?
Mr. Peruzzo didnt get the money from any banks.
Oh, no? Then where did he get it?
My client agreed not to reveal the names of those who

so generously consented to assist him at this delicate moment.
In short, nothing was written down on paper.
Out of what filthy, stinking sewer had come the hand that

gave Peruzzo the money?
Then the situation seems hopeless to me.
To me, too, Inspector. So hopeless, in fact, that Im begin

ning to wonder if my counsel is still of any use to Mr. Peruzzo.
So the rats, too, were getting ready to abandon the sinking
ship.

The press conference began at five-thirty sharp. Behind a
large table sat Minutolo, the judge, the commissioner, and Dr.

Lattes. The conference hall was packed with journalists, photographers,
and cameramen. Nicolto and Pippo Ragonese
were there, too, at a proper distance from one another. The first
to speak was Commissioner Bonetti-Alderighi, who thought
it best to start at the beginningthat is, to explain how the
kidnapping came about. He pointed out that this first part of
the account was based on declarations made by the girl. On
the evening of the abduction, Susanna Mistretta was returning
home on her moped, along the road she normally took, when,
at the intersection with the San Gerlando trail, right near her
house, a car pulled up beside her and forced her to turn onto
the dirt road to avoid collision. Upset and confused by the incident,
Susanna barely had time to stop before two men got
out of the car, their heads covered by ski masks. One of them
lifted her bodily and threw her into the car.

Susanna was too stunned to react. The man removed her
helmet, pressed a cotton wad to her nose and mouth, gagged
her, tied her hands behind her back, and made her lie down at
his feet.

In confusion, the girl heard the other man get back in the
car, take the wheel, and drive off. At this point she lost consciousness.
Investigators hypothesize that the second man had
gone to remove the motorbike from the road.

When Susanna woke up, she was in total darkness. She was
still gagged, but her hands had been untied. She realized she
was in an isolated place. Moving about in the dark, she gathered
that shed been put inside some sort of concrete vat at
least ten feet deep. There was an old mattress on the ground.
She spent the first night this way, despairing not so much over
her own situation, but for her dying mother. Then she must

have drifted off to sleep. She woke up when someone turned
on a light, a lamp of the sort used by mechanics to light up a
cars motor. Two men in ski masks were watching her. One of
them took out a small portable cassette recorder, and the other
came down into the vat on a ladder. The man with the tape
recorder said something while the other removed Susannas
gag. She cried for help, and the gag was put back on. They returned
a short while later. One of them came down the same
ladder, removed her gag, then climbed back up. The other took
a Polaroid snapshot of her. They never gagged her again. To
bring her foodalways cannedthey always used the ladder,
which they would lower each time. In one corner of the vat
there was a pail for bodily functions. As of that moment the
light remained on.

At no time during her confinement was Susanna subjected
to any mistreatment. She had no way, however, to attend
to her personal hygiene. Nor did she ever hear her
abductors speak. And they never once answered her questions
or addressed her in any manner. They didnt even say she was
about to be freed when they had her come up out of the vat.
Later Susanna was able to lead investigators to where she was
released. And there, in fact, police found the rope and the
handkerchief that had been used to gag her. In conclusion, the
commissioner said, the girl was in fairly good condition, considering
the terrible ordeal shed just been through.

Lattes then pointed to a journalist, who stood up and asked
why they couldnt interview the girl.

Because the investigation is still ongoing, replied the
judge.

In short, was the ransom paid or not? asked Zito.

Were not at liberty to reveal that right now, the judge
answered again.
At this point Pippo Ragonese stood up. His lips were
pursed so tightly that the words came out compressed.

Id like nt task a questn bt tmake a sttmnt

Speak clearly! shouted the Greek chorus of journalists.

I want to make a statement, not to ask a question.
Shortly before I came here, our studios received a phone call
that was forwarded to me. I recognized the voice of the same
kidnapper who had phoned me before. He declared, and I
quote, that the ransom had not been paid, and that although
the person who was supposed to pay had tricked them, they
had decided to set the girl free anyway, because they didnt
want to have a death on their conscience.

Mayhem broke out. People leapt to their feet, gesticulating,
other people ran out of the room, the judge inveighed
against Ragonese. The uproar got so loud that you couldnt
understand a word anyone was saying. Montalbano turned off
the television, went out on the veranda, and sat down.

Livia got home an hour later and found Salvo looking out at

the sea. She didnt seem the least bit angry.

Where were you?

I dropped in to say hi to Beba and then went over to
Kolymbetra. Promise me youll go there one of these days. And
where were you? You didnt even phone to say you werent
coming home for lunch.

Im sorry, Livia, but

Dont apologize. I have no desire to quarrel with you.

These are our last few hours together, and I dont want to
spoil them.

She flitted about the house a bit, then did something she
almost never did. She went and sat on his lap and held him
tight. She stayed there awhile, in silence. Then:

Shall we go inside? she whispered in his ear.

Before going into the bedroom Montalbano, for one reason
or another, unplugged the telephone.

As they lay in each others arms, dinnertime passed. And after-
dinnertime as well.

Im so happy Susannas kidnapping was solved before I
left, Livia said at a certain point.

Yeah, replied the inspector.

Hed managed to forget about the abduction for a few
hours. But he was instinctively grateful to Livia for having reminded
him of it. Why? What did gratitude have to do with
it? He had no explanation.

As they ate they spoke little. Livias imminent departure
weighed heavy on both their minds.

She got up from the table and went to finish packing. At
some point he heard Livia call from the other room:

Salvo, did you take the book of yours I was reading?

No.

It was a novel by Simenon, Monsieur Hire.

Livia came and sat beside him on the veranda.

I cant find it. I wanted to bring it with me so I can finish
it.

The inspector had a hunch where it might be. He got up.

Where are you going?
Ill be right back.
The book was where he thought it would be, in the bed

room, caught between the wall and the head of the bed, having
fallen off the nightstand. He bent down, picked it up, and
put it on top of the already closed suitcase. He went back out
on the veranda.

I found it, he said, and started to sit back down.
Where? asked Livia.
Montalbano froze, thunderstruck. One foot slightly

raised, body leaning slightly forward. As if in the throes of a

back spasm. He held so still that Livia got scared.
Salvo, whats wrong?
He was powerless to move. His legs had turned to lead,

but his brain kept whirring, all the gears spinning at high

speed, happy to be finally turning the right way.
My God, Salvo, are you ill?
No.
Ever so slowly, he felt his blood, no longer petrified, begin to

flow again. He managed to sit down. But he had an expression

of utter astonishment on his face and didnt want Livia to see it.
He rested his head on her shoulder and said:
Thanks.
At that moment he understood why, earlier, when they

were lying in bed, hed felt a gratitude for which, at first, hed
had no explanation.

15

When times mechanism jammed at three twenty-seven and
forty seconds, Montalbano didnt wake up, since he was already
awake. He hadnt been able to fall asleep. He would
have liked to toss and turn in bed, letting himself be carried
off by waves of thought following one upon the other like
breakers in rough seas, but he was forcing himself not to disturb
Livia, whod fallen asleep almost at once, and therefore he
couldnt thrash his arms and legs about.

The alarm went off at six, the weather looked promising,
and by seven-fifteen they were already on the road to Punta
Raisi, the airport of Palermo. Livia drove. Along the way they
spoke little or not at all. Montalbano was already far away,
thinking about what he was itching to do, to determine
whether the idea hed had was an absurd fantasy or an equally
wild reality. Livia was also lost in thought, worrying about
what awaited her in Genoa, the backlog at work, the things
left hanging because shed suddenly needed to go to Vig
for a long stay at Salvos side.

Before Livia entered the boarding area, they embraced in
the crowd like two teenagers in love. As he held her in his arms,
Montalbano felt two conflicting emotions that had no natural
right to be together, yet there they were. On the one hand he

felt deep sadness that Livia was leaving. Without a doubt the
house in Marinella would underscore her absence at every turn,
now that he was well on his way to becoming a man of a certain
age and starting to feel the weight of solitude. On the other
hand he felt rather pressed, anxious for Livia to leave right away,
without further delay, so that he could race back to Vig to do
what he had to do, totally free and no longer obliged to conform
to her schedule or answer her questions.

Then Livia broke away, looked back at him, and headed
towards the security checkpoint. Montalbano stood still. Not
because he wanted to follow her with his eyes until the last
moment, but because a kind of astonishment had blocked his
next move, which would have been to turn his back and head
for the exit. For he thought hed glimpsed, deep in her eyes
all the way insidea sort of glimmer, a twinkle that shouldnt
have been there. It had lasted barely an instant, then gone out
at once, cloaked by the opaque veil of emotion. Yet that
flashmuted, yes, but still a flashhad lasted long enough for
the inspector to see it and remain bewildered by it. Want to
bet that Livia, too, as they were embracing, had felt the same
contradictory feelings as he? That she too felt at once bitter
over their parting and anxious to get back her freedom?

At first he felt angry, then started laughing. How did the
Latin saying go? Nec tecum nec sine te. Neither with nor without
you. Perfect.

Montalbano? This is Minutolo.

Hi. Were you able to get any useful information out of
the girl?

Thats just it, MontalbPart of the problem is that shes
still shaken by the abduction, which is logical, and part of its
that she hasnt slept a wink since shes been back, and so she
hasnt been able to tell us much.

Why hasnt she been able to sleep?

Because her mothers taken a turn for the worse and she
hasnt wanted to leave her bedside for even a minute. Thats
why, when I got a call this morning telling me that Signora
Mistretta had died during the night

You dashed over there, very tactfully and opportunistically,
to interrogate Susanna.

I dont do those kinds of things, MontalbI came here
because I felt it was my duty. After all the time Ive spent in
this house

Youve become like one of the family. Good for you.
But I still dont understand why you called me.

Okay. Since the funeral will be held tomorrow morning,
I would like to begin questioning Susanna the day after tomorrow.
The judge is in agreement. How about you?

What have I got to do with it?

Shouldnt you be there too?

I dont know. The commissioner will decide whether I
should or not. Actually, do me a favor. Give him a ring, see
what his orders are, and call me back.