The Snack Thief (6 page)

bered their phone call that morning, which had ended on a
sour note.

I called to ask you to forgive me for my boorishness.
But thats not the only reason. If you only knew how much I
missed you...

It occurred to him that he might be overdoing it.
Do you miss me, really?
Yes, a lot, really.
Listen, Salvo, why dont I catch a plane on Saturday

morning? Ill be in Vig just before lunchtime.
He became terrified. Livia was the last thing he needed

at the moment.
No, no, darling, its such a bother for you...
When Livia got something in her head, she was worse

than a Calabrian. Shed said Saturday morning, and Saturday

morning it would be. Montalbano realized hed have to call
the commissioner the next day. Good-bye, pasta in squid ink!

Around eleven oclock the next morning, since nothing was
happening at headquarters, the inspector headed lazily off to
Salita Granet. The first shop on that street was a bakery; it
had been there for six years. The baker and his helper had indeed
heard that a man who owned an office at number 28
had been murdered, but they didnt know him and had never
seen him. As this was impossible, Montalbano became more
insistent in his questioning, acting more and more the cop
until he realized that to get to his office from his home,
Mr. Lapra would have come up the opposite end of the
street. And in fact, at the grocers at number 26, they did
know the late lamented Mr. Lapra, and how! They also
knew the Tunisian girl, whats-her-name, Karima, good-looking
womanand here a few sly glances and grins were exchanged
between the grocer and his customers. They couldnt swear
by it, of course, but the inspector could surely understand, a
pretty girl like that, all alone indoors with a man like the late
Mr. Lapra, who carried himself awfully well for his
age...Yes, he did have a nephew, an arrogant punk who
sometimes used to park his car right up against the door to
the shop, so that one time Signora Miccichwho tipped the
scales at a good three hundred pounds, got stuck between the
car and the door to the shop ...No, the license plate, no. If
it had been one of the old kinds, with pa for Palermo or mi
for Milan, that would have been a different story.

The third and last shop on Salita Granet sold electrical
appliances. The proprietor, a certain Angelo Zircone (as the
sign said outside), was standing behind the counter, reading
the newspaper. Of course he knew the deceased; the shop
had been there for ten years. Whenever Mr. Lapra passed
byin recent years it was only on Mondays,Wednesdays, and
Fridayshe always said hello. Such a nice man. Yes, the appliance
man also used to see the Tunisian girl, and a fine-
looking girl she was. Yes, the nephew, too, now and then. The
nephew and his friend.

What friend? asked Montalbano, taken by surprise.

It turned out that Mr. Zircone had seen this friend at
least three times. He would come with the nephew, and the
two of them would go to number 28. About thirty, blondish,
sort of fat. That was about all he could tell him. The license
plate? Was he kidding? With these license plates nowadays you
couldnt even tell if someone was a Turk or a Christian ...A
metallic gray BMW. If he said any more, hed be making it up.

The inspector rang the doorbell to Lapras office. No
answer. Galluzzo, behind the door, was apparently trying to
decide how to react.

Its Montalbano.

The door opened at once.

The Tunisian girl hasnt shown up yet, said Galluzzo.

And shes not going to. You were right, Gall

The policeman lowered his eyes, confused.

Who leaked the news?

Jacomuzzi.

To pass the time during his stakeout, Galluzzo had orga

nized himself. Having seized a pile of old issues of Il Venerd
di Repubblica, the glossy Friday magazine supplement of the
Rome daily that Mr. Lapra kept in orderly stacks on a
shelf with fewer files, he had scattered them across the desktop
in search of photos of more or less naked women. After
tiring of looking at these, he had applied himself to solving a
crossword puzzle in a yellowed old magazine.

Do I have to stay here all frigging day? he asked dejectedly.

Im afraid so. Youll have to make the best of it. Listen,
Im going in back, to take advantage of Mr. Lapras bathroom.

It wasnt often that nature called so far off schedule for
him. Perhaps the rage hed felt the previous evening upon
seeing Jacomuzzi playing the fool on television had altered
his digestive rhythms.

He sat down on the toilet seat, heaving his customary
sigh of satisfaction, and at that exact moment his mind
brought into focus something hed seen a few minutes earlier
but had paid absolutely no attention to.

He leapt to his feet and raced into the next room, holding
his pants and underpants at half-staff in one hand.

Stop! he ordered Galluzzo, who, in fright, turned pale
as death and instinctively put his hands up.

There it was, right next to Galluzzos elbow: a black R in
boldface, carefully cut out of some newspaper. No, not some
newspaper, but a magazine: the paper was glossy.

What is going on? Galluzzo managed to articulate.

It might be everything and it might be nothing,
replied the inspector, sounding like the Cumaean sibyl.

He pulled up his trousers, fastened his belt, leaving the
zipper down, and picked up the telephone.

Sorry to disturb you, signora. On what date did you say
you received the first anonymous letter?

On the thirteenth of June of last year.

He thanked her and hung up.

Gimme a hand, Gallre going to put all these issues
of this magazine in order and see if any pages are missing.

They found what they were looking for: the June 7 issue,
the only one from which two pages had been torn out.

Lets keep going, said the inspector.

The July 30 issue was also missing two pages; the same
for the September 1 issue.

The three anonymous letters had been composed right
there, in the office.

Now, if youll excuse me, Montalbano said politely.

Galluzzo heard him singing in the bathroom.

5

Mr. Commissioner? Montalbano here. Im calling to say
Im very sorry, but I cant make it to dinner at your house tomorrow
evening.

Are you sorry because you wont be able to see us, or
because youll miss the pasta in squid ink?

Both.

Well, if its something to do with work, I cant really

No, its got nothing to do with work . . . Its that Im about
to receive an impromptu twenty-four-hour visit from my...

Fianc That sounded downright nineteenth-century to
the inspectors ear. Girlfriend? At their age?

Companion? the commissioner suggested.

Right.

Miss Livia Burlando must be very fond of you to undertake
such a long and tedious journey to see you for just
twenty-four hours.

Never had he so much as mentioned Livia to his superior,
whoofficially, at leastshould have been unaware of
her existence. Not even when he was in the hospital, that
time hed been shot, had the two ever met.

Listen, said the commissioner, why dont you intro

duce her to us? My wife would love that. Bring her along
with you tomorrow evening.
Saturdays feast was safe.

Is this the inspector Im speaking to? In person?
Yes, maam, this is he.
I wanted to tell you something about the gentleman

who was murdered yesterday morning.
Did you know him?
Yes and no. I never spoke to him. Actually, I only found

out his name yesterday, on the TV news.
Tell me, maam, do you consider what you have to tell

me truly important?
I think so.
All right. Come by my office this afternoon, around

five.
I cant.
Well, tomorrow, then.
I cant tomorrow, either. Im paralyzed.
I see. Then Ill come to you, right away, if you wish.
Im always at home.
Where do you live, signora?
Salita Granet 23. My name is ClementinaVasile Cozzo.

Walking down the Corso on his way to the appointment, he
heard someone call him. It was Major Marniti, sitting at the
Cafflbanese with a younger officer.

Let me introduce to you Lieutenant Piovesan, commander
of the Fulmine, the patrol boat that

Montalbanos the name, pleased to meet you, said the
inspector. But he wasnt pleased at all. He had managed to
dump that case. Why did they keep dragging him back in?

Have a coffee with us.
Actually, Im busy.
Just five minutes.
All right, but no coffee.
He sat down.
You tell him, Marniti said to Piovesan.
In my opinion, none of its true.
Whats not true?
I find the whole story of the fishing boat hard to swal

low. We received the Santopadres Mayday signal at one in the
morning; they gave us their position and said they were being
pursued by the patrol boat Rameh.

What was their position? the inspector inquired in

spite of himself.
Just outside our territorial waters.
And you raced to the scene.
Actually it should have been up to the Lampo patrol

boat, which was closer.
So why didnt the Lampo go?
Because an hour earlier, an SOS was sent out by a fish

ing boat that was taking in water from a leak. The Lampo radioed
the Tuono for backup, and so a big stretch of sea was
left unguarded.

Fulmine, Lampo, Tuono: lightning, flash, thunder. Its always
bad weather for the coast guard, thought Montalbano. But
he said:

Naturally, they didnt find any fishing boat in trouble.

Naturally. And me, too, when I arrived at the scene, I
found no trace of the Santopadre or the Rameh, which, by the
way, was certainly not on duty that night. I dont know what
to think, but the whole thing stinks to me.

Of what?
Of smuggling.
The inspector stood up, threw up his hands, and

shrugged:
Well, what can we do? The people in Trapani and
Maz have taken over the investigation.
A consummate actor, Montalbano.

Inspector! Inspector Montalbano! Somebody was calling
him again. Was he ever going to get to see Signora, or Signorina,
Clementina before nightfall? He turned around; it was
Gallo who was chasing after him.

Whats wrong?
Nothings wrong. I saw you walking by so I called you.
Where are you going?
Galluzzo phoned me from Lapras office. Im going

to buy some sandwiches and keep him company.
Number 23, Salita Granet, was directly opposite number

1. The two buildings were identical.
   

Clementina Vasile Cozzo was a very well-dressed seventy-
year-old lady. She was in a wheelchair. Her apartment was so
clean it glistened. With Montalbano following behind, she
rolled herself over to a curtained window. She gestured to
the inspector to pull up a chair and sit down in front of her.

Im a widow, she began, but my son Giulio sees to all
my needs. Im retired; I used to teach elementary school. My
son pays for a housekeeper to look after me and my flat. She
comes three times a day, in the morning, at midday, and in the
evening, when I go to bed. My daughter-in-law, who loves
me like a daughter, drops by at least once a day, as does
Giulio. I cant complain, except for this one misfortune,
which befell me six years ago. I listen to the radio, watch
television, but most of the time I read. You see?

She waved her hand toward two bookcases full of books.

So when was the signoranot signorina, that much was
cleargoing to get to the point?

Ive just given you this preamble to let you know Im
not some old gossip who spends all her time spying on what
others are up to. Still, now and then I do see things I would
rather not have seen.

A cordless phone rang on the shelf below the womans
armrest.

Giulio? Yes, the inspectors here. No, I dont need anything.
See you later. Bye.

She looked at Montalbano and smiled.

Giulio was against our meeting. He didnt want me
getting mixed up in things that, in his opinion, were no concern
of mine. For decades the respectable people here did
nothing but repeat that the Mafia was no concern of theirs
but only involved the people involved in it. But I used to
teach my pupils that the see-nothing, know-nothing attitude
is the most mortal of sins. So now that its my turn to
tell what I saw, Im supposed to take a step back?

She fell silent, sighing. Montalbano was starting to like
Clementina Vasile Cozzo more and more.

Youll have to forgive me for rambling. In my forty
years as a schoolteacher, I did nothing but talk and talk. I
never lost the habit. Please stand.

Montalbano obeyed, like a good schoolboy.

Come here behind me and lean forward; bring your
head next to mine.

When the inspector was close enough to whisper in her
ear, the signora raised the curtain.

They were practically inside the front room of Mr.
Lapras office, since the white muslin lying directly
against the windowpanes was too light to act as a screen.
Gallo and Galluzzo were eating their sandwiches, which
were actually more like half-loaves, with a bottle of wine
and two paper cups between them. Signora Clementinas
window was slightly higher than the one across the street,
and by some strange effect of perspective, the two policemen
and the various objects in the room looked slightly enlarged.

In winter, when they had the light on, you could see

better, the woman commented, letting the curtain drop.
Montalbano returned to his chair.
So, signora, what did you see? he asked.
Clementina Vasile Cozzo told him.

When shed finished her story and he was already taking his

leave, the inspector heard the front door open and close.
The housekeepers here, said Signora Clementina.
A girl of about twenty, short, stocky, and stern-looking,

cast a stern glance at the intruder.
Everything all right? she asked suspiciously.
Oh yes, everythings fine.
Then Ill go in the kitchen and put the water on, she