The Snack Thief (4 page)

a thousand holes, and all Im ever doing is trying to plug as
many holes as possible.

He was absolutely right, and Montalbano, having let off
some steam, changed his tone:

Tell me at least what happened.

I wrote a report, its all in there. A large motor trawler
from Maz del Vallo, the Santopadre, with a crew of six including
one Tunisian. It was his first time on board, poor guy.
The usual scenario, what can I say? A Tunisian patrol boat orders
them to stop, the fishing boat refuses, the patrol boat
fires. Except that things went a bit differently this time. This
time, somebody got killed, and Im sure the Tunisians are sorrier
than anybody about it. Because all they care about is
seizing the boat and squeezing a ton of money out of the
owner, who then has to negotiate with the Tunisian government.

What about ours?

Our what?

Our government. Dont they come into the picture
somewhere?

God forbid! Theyd make everybody waste an endless
amount of time trying to resolve the problem through diplomatic
channels. You see, the longer the fishing boat is detained,
the less the owner earns.

But what do the Tunisian coast guards get out of it?

They get a cut, just like the municipal cops in some of
our towns. Not officially, of course. The captain of the Santopadre,
whos also the owner, says it was the Rameh that attacked
them.

And whats that?

Thats the name of a Tunisian motor patrol boat whose
commanding officer is notorious for behaving exactly like a
pirate. But since somebody got killed this time, our government
will be forced to intervene. The prefect asked for a very
detailed report.

So why did they come and bust our balls instead of
dealing directly with Maz?

The Tunisian didnt die immediately, and Vig was the
nearest port. At any rate, the poor bastard didnt make it.

Did they radio for help?

Yes, they hailed the Fulmine, a patrol boat thats always
riding at anchor in our port.

How did you put that?

Why, what did I say?

You said: riding at anchor. And you probably wrote
that in your report to the prefect. A nitpicker like that, I can
already imagine his reaction! Youre fucked, Mimby your
very own hand.

And what should I have written?

Moored, Mimor docked. Riding at anchor means
anchored on the open sea. Theres a fundamental difference.

Oh, God!

It was well known that the prefect, who went by the
name of Dieterich and hailed from Bolzano, didnt know a
cae from a cruiser, but Augello had swallowed the bait and
Montalbano relished his small victory.

Dont worry about it. So what was the upshot?

The Fulmine arrived at the scene in less than half an

hour, but once there, they didnt find anything. They cruised
around a bit in the area, with no results. This is what the Harbor
Office learned by radio. When our patrol boat comes
back in well know a few more details.

Bah! said the inspector, doubtful.

Whats wrong?

I dont see why it should be of any concern to us or our
government if some Tunisians kill a Tunisian.

Mimmouth agape, just stared at him.

You know, Salvo, Im sure I say my share of stupid things,
but when you come out with one, its always a whopper.

Bah! repeated Montalbano, unconvinced hed said
anything stupid.

So, what about our dead man, the one in the elevator?
What can you tell me about him?

Im not going to tell you anything. That dead mans
mine. You took the Tunisian, Im taking the guy from
Vig.

Lets hope the weather improves, thought Augello. Otherwise,
hows anyone going to put up with this guy?

Hello, Inspector Montalbano? This is Marniti.

What can I do for you, Major?

I wanted to let you know that our command has de-
cidedand I agree with themthat the fishing-boat incident
should be handled by the Harbor Office of Maz. The
Santopadre should therefore weigh anchor at once. Do your
people need to do any further searches on the vessel?

I dont think so. But Im thinking that we, too, ought to
abide by the wise decision of your command.

I didnt dare ask.

Montalbano here, Mr. Commissioner. Please excuse me if

Any news?

No, nothing. I was just having some, uh, procedural
doubts. Major Marniti of the Harbor Office phoned me just
now to tell me their command has decided that the investigation
of the Tunisian who was machine-gunned should be
transferred to Maz. So I was wondering if we, too

Yes, I see, Montalbano. I think youre right. Ill call my
counterpart in Trapani at once and tell him were quitting
the investigation. Theyve got a vice-commissioner in
Maz whos really on the ball, if I remember correctly.
Well let them take over everything. Were you handling the
case directly yourself ?

No, my deputy, Inspector Augello, was taking care of it.

Tell him well be sending the autopsy and ballistics reports
to Maz. Well have copies sent to Inspector Augello
to keep him informed.

He kicked open the door to Mimugellos office, held out
his right arm, clenching the fist and grabbing the forearm
with his left hand.

Here, Mim

Whats that supposed to mean?

It means the investigation of the killing on the fishing
boat has been transferred to Maz.Youre left empty-handed,
while Ive still got my elevator murder. One to nothing.

He felt in a better mood now. In fact, the wind had
dropped and the sky was clearing.

Around three in the afternoon, Officer Gallo, guarding the
late Lapras apartment and awaiting his widows return,
saw the door to the Culicchia flat open up. The accountant
approached the policeman and said in a whisper:

My wife has fallen asleep.

Informed of this, Gallo didnt know what to say.

The names Culicchia, the inspector knows me. Have
you eaten?

Gallo, whose insides were tied in knots from hunger,
shook his head no.

Culicchia went back into his apartment and soon returned
with a platter on which there was a bread roll, a sizable
slice of caciocavallo cheese, five slices of salami, and a
glass of wine.

Thats Corvo white. The inspector bought it for me.

He returned again half an hour later.

I brought you the newspaper, to help you pass the time.

At seven-thirty that evening, as if on cue, every single balcony
or window on the same side of the building as the main

entrance was full of people looking out for the return of Signora
Antonietta, who still didnt know shed become a
widow. The show was going to be in two parts.

Part one: Signora Antonietta, stepping off the bus from
Fiacca, the seven twenty-five, would appear at the top of the
street five minutes later, with her usual unsociability and self-
possession in full view, and with no idea whatsoever that a
bomb was about to explode over her head. This first part was
indispensable to a full appreciation of the second (for which
the spectators would move quickly away from balconies and
windows and onto landings and stairwells): upon hearing
from the officer on duty why she couldnt enter her apartment,
the widow, now apprised of her widowhood, would
begin behaving like the Virgin Mary, tearing out her hair,
crying out, beating her breast while being ineffectually restrained
by fellow mourners who in the meantime would
have promptly come to her aid.

The show never took place.

It wasnt right, the security guard and his wife decided,
for Signora Antonietta to learn of her husbands murder from
a strangers mouth. Dressed for the occasionhe in a
charcoal-gray suit, she completely in blackthey lay in wait
for her near the bus stop. When Signora Antonietta got off,
they came forward, their faces now matching the colors of
their clothing: he gray, she black.

Whats wrong? Signora Antonietta asked in alarm.

There is no Sicilian woman alive, of any class, aristocrat or
peasant, who, after her fiftieth birthday, isnt always expecting

the worst. What kind of worst? Any, so long as its the worst.

Signora Antonietta conformed to the rule:

Did something happen to my husband? she asked.

Since she was doing it all herself, the only thing left for
Cosentino and his wife was to play supporting roles. They
spread their hands apart, looking sorrowful.

And here Signora Antonietta said something that, logically
speaking, she shouldnt have said.

Was he murdered?

The Cosentinos spread their hands apart again. The
widow teetered, but kept her footing.

The people at their windows and balconies therefore
witnessed a scene that could only have been a disappointment:
Mrs. Lapra walking between Mr. and Mrs. Cosentino
and speaking calmly. She was explaining in great detail
the operation that her sister had just undergone in Fiacca.

In the dark as to these developments, Officer Gallo, upon
hearing the elevator stop at his floor at seven thirty-five, stood
up from the stair on which hed been sitting, reviewing what
he was supposed to say to the unhappy woman, and took a
step forward. The elevator door opened and a man got out.

Giuseppe Cosentinos the name. Seeing as how Mrs.
Lapra is going to have to wait, Im putting her up at my
place. Please inform the inspector. I live on the sixth floor.

The Lapra apartment was in perfect order. Livingdining
room, bedroom, study, kitchen, and bath, nothing out of
place. On the desk in the study lay the wallet of the de

ceased, with all his documents and one hundred thousand
lire. ThereforeMontalbano said to himselfAurelio Lapra
had got dressed to go somewhere he wouldnt need
identification, credit, or money. He sat down in the chair behind
the desk and opened the drawers, one after the other. In
the first drawer on the left he found stamps, old envelopes
with aurelio lapra inc. / importazione-esportazione
printed on the back, pencils, ballpoint pens, erasers, outdated
stamps, and two sets of keys. The widow explained that one
set was for the house and the other for the office. In the
drawer below this one, there were only some yellowed letters
bound together with string. The first drawer on the right
held a surprise: a brand-new Beretta with two reserve cartridge
clips and five boxes of ammunition. Mr. Lapra, if
hed wanted to, could have carried out a massacre. The last
drawer contained lightbulbs, razor blades, rolls of string, and
rubber bands.

The inspector told Galluzzo, who had replaced Gallo, to
bring the weapon and ammunition to headquarters.

Then check to see if the pistol was registered.

A smell of stale perfume, burnt straw in color, hung aggressively
in the air of the study, even though the inspector,
upon entering, had thrown the window wide open.

The widow had gone and sat in an armchair in the living
room. She seemed utterly indifferent, as if sitting in a railway
station waiting room, awaiting her train.

Montalbano also sat down in an armchair, and at that
moment the doorbell rang. Signora Antonietta instinctively
started to get up, but the inspector stopped her with a gesture.

Galluzzo, go see who it is.

The door was opened, they heard some whispering, and
the policeman returned.

Theres somebody who lives on the sixth floor says he
wants to talk to you. Says hes a security guard.

Cosentino had put on his uniform; he was on his way
to work.

Sorry to disturb you, but seeing as how something just
occurred to me

What is it?

You see, after she got off the bus, Signora Antonietta,
when she found out her husband was dead, asked us if hed
been murdered. Now, if somebody came to me and told me
my wife was dead, I might think of the different ways she
could have died, but I would never imagine shed been murdered.
Unless Id considered the possibility beforehand. Im
not sure if thats clear...

Its perfectly clear. Thank you, said Montalbano.

He went back in the living room. Mrs. Lapra looked
as if shed been embalmed.

Do you have any children, signora?

Yes.

How many?

One son.

Does he live here?

No.

What does he do?

Hes a doctor.

How old is he?

Thirty-two.
He should be informed.
Ill tell him.
Gong. End of the first round. When they resumed, the

widow took the initiative.
Was he shot?
No.
Strangled?
No.
Then how did they manage to kill him in an elevator?
With a knife.
A kitchen knife?
Probably.
The woman got up and went into the kitchen. The in

spector heard her open and close a drawer. She returned and

sat back down.
Nothing missing here.
The inspector went on the counterattack.
Why did you think the knife might be yours?
Just a thought.
What did your husband do yesterday?
He did what he did every Wednesday. He went to his

office. He used to go there Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fri

days.
What was his schedule?
Hed go from ten in the morning to one in the after

noon, then hed come home for lunch, take a little nap, go
back to work at three-thirty and stay there till six-thirty.
What would he do at home?

Hed sit down in front of the television and not move.

And on the days when he didnt go to the office?

Same thing, hed sit in front of the TV.

So this morning, today being a Thursday, your husband
should have stayed home.

Thats right.

Instead he got dressed to go out.

Thats right.

Do you have any idea where he was going?

He didnt tell me anything.

When you left the house, was your husband awake or
asleep?

Asleep.

Dont you think its strange that, as soon as you went
out, your husband suddenly woke up, got dressed in a
hurry, and