The Patience of the Spider (16 page)

Then the unexpected happened. Clack. The jamming of
the mechanism in his head rang out like a pistol shot. Why? It
certainly wasnt three twenty-seven and forty seconds in the
morning. He was sure of that. And so? Panic assailed him
with the viciousness of a rabid dog. The desperate red of the
smell became a vortex that threatened to suck him in. His
chin began to tremble. His knees, no longer stiff, turned to
pudding. To avoid falling, he clutched the marble top of the
side table. Luckily the nurse, who was busy with the dying
woman, noticed nothing. Then the part of his brain not yet

seized by blind fear reacted, enabling him to respond properly.
That Thing which had marked him as the bullet penetrated his
flesh was trying to tell him that it was here, too, in this very
room. Lurking in a corner, ready to appear at the right moment
and in the form most appropriatebullet, tumor, flesh-
burning fire, life-drowning water. It was merely a presence
made manifest. It didnt concern him. It wasnt his turn yet.
And this sufficed to give him some strength. At that moment
he noticed a photograph in a silver frame on the side table. A
man, Mr. Mistretta, was holding the hand of girl of about ten,
Susanna, who in turn held the hand of an attractive, healthy,
smiling woman full of life, Signora Giulia. The inspector kept
staring at that happy face, to cancel out the image of the other
face on the pillow, if one could still call it that. Then he turned
heel and went out, forgetting to say goodbye to the nurse.

He raced like a madman toward Marinella, got home, pulled
up, got out of the car but did not go inside. Instead he ran
down the beach to the water, took off his clothes, waited a few
seconds for the cold night air to chill his skin, then began to
advance slowly into the water. With each step the cold cut
him with a thousand blades, but he needed to clean his skin,
flesh, bones, and still further within, down to his very soul.

He started to swim. But after about ten strokes, a hand
armed with a dagger must have emerged from the black waters
and stabbed him in the exact same spot as his wound. At
least that was how it seemed to him, so sudden and violent was
the pain. It began at the wound and spread throughout his
body, becoming unbearable, paralyzing. His left arm froze up,

and it was all he could do to turn over on his back and do the
dead mans float.

Or was he dying in earnest? No, by this point he darkly
knew that it was not his fate to die in the water.

Finally, and ever so slowly, he was able to move again.

He swam back to shore, picked up his clothes, and smelled his
arm, seeming still to detect a trace of the horrendous stench
of the dying womans chamber. The saltwater hadnt succeeded
in getting rid of it. He would have to wash every pore
in his skin, one by one. Panting as he climbed the steps of the
veranda, he tapped at the French doors.

Who is it? Livia asked from within.

Open up, Im freezing.

Livia opened the door and saw him standing there naked,
dripping wet and purple with cold. She started crying.

Livia, please . . .

Youre insane, Salvo! You want to die! And you want to
kill me, too! What did you do? Why? Why?

Despairing, she followed him into the bathroom. The inspector
covered his entire body with liquid soap, and when he
was all yellow he stepped into the shower stall, turned on the
water, and began scraping his skin with a piece of pumice
stone. Livia, whod stopped crying, looked at him petrified.
He let the water run a long time, nearly emptying the tank on
the roof.

As soon as he got out of the shower, Montalbano asked
wild-eyed:

Can you smell me?

And as he was asking this question, he took a whiff of his

arm. He looked like a hunting dog.
But whats got into you? Livia asked, distressed.
Just come here and smell me, please.
Livia obeyed, running her nose over Salvos chest.
What do you smell?
Your skin.
Are you sure?
Finally satisfied, the inspector put on a clean set of under

wear, a shirt, and a pair of jeans.

They went into the living room. Montalbano sat down in
an armchair, Livia settled into the one beside it. For a short
spell neither said a word. Then, with her voice still unsteady,
Livia asked:

Better now?
Better.
Another stretch of silence. Then Livia again:
Are you hungry?
Im hoping I will be soon.
More silence. Then Livia ventured:
Want to tell me about it?
Its hard.
Just try, please.
And so he told her about it. It took time, for it really was

hard for him to find the right words to describe what he had
seen. And what he had felt.
When he had finished, Livia asked a question, only one,
but it hit the nail on the head.
Would you explain to me why you went to see her? What
need was there?

Need. Was that the right word? Or the wrong word? True,
there was no need, but at the same time, inexplicably, there was.

Ask my hands and feet, he would have liked to reply. Better
not delve too deeply. There was still too much confusion in
his head. He threw up his hands.

I cant explain it, Livia.

As he was saying these words, he realized they were only
half true.

They talked a while more, but Montalbanos appetite did
not return. His stomach was still in knots.

Do you think Peruzzo will pay? Livia asked as they were
about to get into bed.

It was the question of the day. Inevitable.

Hell pay, hell pay.

Hes already paying, he wanted to add, but said nothing.

As he held her tight and kissed her upon entering her, Livia
sensed that he was sending a desperate plea for consolation.

Cant you feel that Im here? she whispered in his ear.

12

When he awoke, it was already broad daylight. Maybe there
had been no clack that night, or if there had, it hadnt been
loud enough to make him open his eyes. It was time to get up,
but he chose to lie in bed instead. Though he said nothing to
Livia, his bones ached, clearly a consequence of his swim the
evening before. And the fresh scar on his shoulder had turned
purple and throbbed. Livia noticed that something wasnt
right, but decided not to ask any questions.

Between one chore and another, he arrived at the office a little
late.

Ahh, Chief, Chief! The pitchers Cicco De Cicco made for
yous blown up on your desk! Catarella said, looking around
with suspicion, as soon as the inspector walked in.

De Cicco had, in fact, done an excellent job. In the enlargements
it became clear that the crack in the concrete just under
the rim of the basin wasnt a crack at all. It was a deceptive
play of light and shadow created by a piece of string hanging
from a nail. Attached to the other end of the string was a large
thermometer of the sort used to measure the temperature of

must. Boththe stringand thermometer were blackfromprior
useand thesootthathad accumulatedonthem.

There was no doubt in Montalbanos mind: The kidnappers
had stuck the girl in a long-abandoned wine vat. So there
had to be a press nearby, at a higher level. But why hadnt they
bothered to remove the thermometer? Perhaps they hadnt
paid any mind to it, having got used to seeing the vat the way
it had always been. If you see something enough times you
often end up not noticing it anymore. Whatever the case, this
discovery greatly reduced the area of the search. They were
no longer looking for a secluded country cottage, but a veritable
farmstead, one perhaps partially in ruin.

He immediately got on the phone to Minutolo and told
him of his discovery. Minutolo thought this was a very important
development and said that since this considerably lessened
the number of targets for their search, he would immediately
issue new orders to the men out scouring the countryside.

Then he asked:

What do you think of the news?

What news?

Didnt you see TeleVigs eight oclock report?

Do you think the first thing I do in the morning is turn
on the TV?

The kidnappers phoned TeleVig, and the TV station
recorded everything, then played the recording on the air.
The same disguised voice. He says that the person concerned
has until tomorrow evening. Otherwise nobody will ever see
Susanna again.

Montalbano felt a cold shudder run up his back.

Theyve invented the multimedia kidnapping. Didnt they
say anything else?

Ive reported the whole call to you word for word. In
fact, theyre sending me the tape in a little bit, if you want to
come hear it. The judge is up in arms, he wants to put
Ragonese in jail. And you know something? Im starting to
get seriously worried.

Me too, said Montalbano.

So the kidnappers no longer deigned to call the Mistretta
home. They had achieved their goal, which was to involve Antonio
Peruzzo without ever mentioning his name. Public opinion
was unanimously against him. Montalbano was now certain
that if the kidnappers ended up killing Susanna, people would
hold it not against them but against the uncle, who had refused
to do his duty and intervene. Kill? Wait a second. The kidnappers
never used that word. They clearly spoke good Italian and
knew what to do with the language. Theyd said that nobody
would ever see the girl again. And when speaking to common
folk, a word like kill would certainly have made more of an impression.
So why hadnt they used it? He seized upon this linguistic
fact with all the intensity of his despair. It was like
holding onto a blade of grass to keep from falling off a cliff.
Perhaps the kidnappers intended to leave a margin for negotiation
and did so by avoiding the use of a verb from which there
was no return. Whatever the case, one had to act fast. But how?

That afternoon Mimugello, whod got sick of lolling about
the house, popped up at the office with two bits of news.

The first was that late that morning, Signora Valeria,

Antonio Peruzzos wife, when about to get in her car in a
Montelusa parking lot, was recognized by three women, who
surrounded her, shoved her, knocked her to the ground, and
started spitting on her, screaming that she ought to be ashamed
of herself and should advise her husband to stop wasting time
and pay the ransom. More people, meanwhile, had gathered
round to lend support to the three women. What saved Signora
Valeria was a patrol of Carabinieri that happened to be
passing by. At the hospital, the engineers wife was found to
have contusions, bruises, and cuts.

The second bit of news was that two large trucks belonging
to Peruzzo Ltd. had been set on fire. To avoid any misunderstandings
or misinterpretations, on a wall nearby someone
had written pay up now, asshole!

If the kidnappers kill Susanna, Mimoncluded, Pe-
ruzzos gonna get lynched.

Do you think the whole things going to come to a bad
end? asked Montalbano.

No, Mimaid at once, without having to think twice.

But, say the engineer doesnt pay a cent? The kidnappers
have sent him a kind of ultimatum.

Ultimatums are made to be violated. Theyll come to an
agreement, youll see.

Hows Beba doing? asked the inspector, changing the
subject.

Pretty well, actually. By the way, Livia came by to see us,
and Beba told her we were planning to ask you to be our sons
godfather at the baptism.

No, come on! Was the whole town set on making him
godfather?

Why, you want a notarized document or something? Did
you somehow imagine we wouldnt ask you?
Of course not, but
Anyway, Salvo, I know you too well. If I hadnt asked

you, you would have felt offended and pulled a long face
on me.

Montalbano realized it was best to steer the conversation
away from his character, which lent itself to contradictory interpretations.

And what did Livia say?

She said you would be overjoyed, especially since it
would even things out, though I dont know what she meant
by that.

Me neither, Montalbano lied.

Of course he knew exactly what shed meant: a criminals
son and a policemans son, both with him as their godfather.
That would even things out, according to Livia, who, when
she put her mind to it, could be just as mean as him, if not
more.

It was now evening. He was about to leave the station to go
home when Nicolto called.

I havent got any time to explain cause Im about to go
on the air, he said in a rush. Watch my newscast.

The inspector dashed down to the cafThere were about
thirty people there, and the television was tuned to the Free
Channel. A message on the screen read: In a few minutes, an
important announcement on the Mistretta kidnapping. He

ordered a beer. The message disappeared, giving way to the
news logo. Then Nicolpeared, sitting behind his customary
glass desk. He was wearing the face he reserved for momentous
occasions.

This afternoon, he said,we were contacted by Francesco
Luna, a lawyer who has defended the concerns of Engineer
Antonio Peruzzo more than once. He asked us to allow him
the airtime to make an announcement. It is not an interview.
He also stipulated we must not follow his declaration with any
commentary of our own. We decided to accept his conditions,
despite their restrictions, because this is a very important
moment for the fate of Susanna Mistretta, and Mr. Lunas
words may go a long way towards clarifying matters and leading
to a happy resolution of this delicate and dramatic case.

Cut. A typical lawyers office appeared. Dark wood bookcases
full of unread books, collections of laws dating back to
the late nineteenth century but surely still in effect, because
in Italy no part of any hundred-year-old law is ever thrown
away. Same as with pigs. Mr. Luna looked exactly the way his
name would suggest: lunar. Round, full-moon face, obese,
full-moon body. Obviously influenced by this fact, the lighting
engineer bathed the whole scene in a blue, lunar light.
The lawyer was spilling out of an armchair. In his hand he
held a sheet of paper, which he looked down at from time to
time as he spoke.