The Snack Thief (8 page)

Tell her, the inspector said while looking at the photographs
from the drawer, that Allah is great and merciful,
but if shes bullshitting me, Allah is going to be very upset,
because shell be cheating justice, and then shell really be
fucked.

Busca carefully translated, and the old woman shut up

as if her spring had come unwound. But then a little key inside
her wound her back up, and she resumed speaking uncontrollably.
The uncle, who was very wise, was right; hed
seen things clearly. Several times in the last two years, Karima
had received visits from a young man who came in a large
automobile.

Ask her what color.

The exchange between Busca and the old woman
was long and labored.

I believe she said metallic gray.

And what did Karima and this young man do?

What a man and woman do, uncle. The woman heard
the bed creaking over her head.

Did he sleep with Karima?

Only once, and the next morning he drove her to work
in his automobile.

But he was a bad man. One night there was a lot of
commotion. Karima was shouting and crying, and then the
bad man left.

She had come running and found Karima sobbing, her
naked body bearing signs of having been hit. Fortunately,
Frans hadnt woken up.

Did the bad man by any chance come to see her last
Wednesday evening?

How had the uncle guessed? Yes, he did come, but didnt
do anything with Karima. He only took her away in his car.

What time was it?

It might have been ten in the evening. Karima brought

Frans down to her, saying shed be spending the night out.
And in fact she came back the next morning around nine,
then disappeared with the boy.

Was the bad man with her then?

No, shed taken the bus. The bad man arrived a little
later, about fifteen minutes after Karima had left with her
son. As soon as he learned the woman wasnt there, he got
back in his car and sped away to look for her.

Had Karima told her where she was going?

No, she hadnt said anything. The old woman had only
seen them heading on foot towards the old quarter of Villaseta,
where the buses stop.

Did she have a suitcase with her?

Yes, a very small one.

He told the old woman to look around. Was there anything
missing from the room?

She threw open the doors of the armoire, and the scent
of Voluptxploded in the room. She opened a few drawers
and rummaged around in them.

When shed finished, she said that Karima had packed
that suitcase with a pair of slacks, a blouse, and some panties.
She didnt wear bras. Shed also thrown in a change of
clothes and some underwear for the boy.

The inspector asked the woman to look very carefully.
Was anything else missing?

Yes, the large book she kept next to the telephone.

The book turned out to be some sort of diary or ledger.
Karima must certainly have taken it with her.

Shes not planning to stay away very long, Fazio commented.

Ask her, the inspector told Busca, if Karima spent
the night out often.

Now and then, not often. But she always let her know.

Montalbano thanked Busca and asked him:

Could you give Fazio a ride to Vig?

Fazio gave his superior a perplexed look.

Why, what are you going to do?

Im going to hang around a little longer.

Among the many photographs the inspector began to examine
were those in a large yellow envelope, some twenty-odd
photos of Karima in the nude, in various poses from
provocative to downright obscene, a kind of sampling of the
merchandise, which was obviously of the highest quality.
How was it a woman like that hadnt succeeded in finding a
husband or rich lover to take care of her so she wouldnt
have to prostitute herself ? There was a shot of a pregnant
Karima some time before, gazing lovingly at a tall, blond
man and literally hanging from him. Probably Franss father,
the Frenchman passing through Tunisia. Other photos
showed Karima as a little girl with a boy slightly older than
her. They bore a strong resemblance, had the same eyes.
Brother and sister, no doubt. Actually there were a great
many photos of her with her brother, taken over the years.
The last must have been the one in which Karima, with her
infant son, a few months old, in her arms, stood next to her

brother, who was wearing some sort of uniform and holding
a submachine gun. He took this photograph and went
downstairs.

The woman was crushing minced meat in a mortar, folding
in grains of cooked wheat. On a platter beside her, all
ready to be roasted, were some skewers of meat, with each
morsel wrapped in a vine leaf. Montalbano brought his fingertips
together, pointing upwards, artichokelikea cacola,in
Sicilianand shook his hand up and down. The old woman
understood the question and, pointing to the mortar, said:

Kubba.

Then she picked up one of the skewers.
Kebab, she said.
The inspector showed her the photo and pointed at the

man. The woman answered something incomprehensible.
Montalbano felt pissed off at himself. Why had he been in
such a hurry to send Busca away? Then he remembered
that for years and years the Tunisians had been mixed up with
the French. He gave it a try.

Fr?
The old womans eyes lit up.

Oui. Son fr Ahmed.
O-il?
Je ne sais pas, said the woman, throwing up her hands.
After this exchange straight out of a French conversation

manual, Montalbano went back upstairs and grabbed the

photo of the pregnant Karima with the blond man.
Son mari?
The old woman made a gesture of scorn.

Simplement le p de Frans. Un mauvais homme.

Shed met too many of thembad men, that ishad the
beautiful Karima, and was apparently still meeting them.

Je mappelle Aisha, the old woman said out of the blue.

Mon nom est Salvo, said Montalbano.

He got in the car, found the pastry shop hed caught a
glimpse of on the way, bought twelve cannoli, and drove back
to the house. Aisha had set a table under a tiny pergola behind
the cottage, at the front of the garden. The countryside
was deserted. Before doing anything else, Montalbano unwrapped
the pastry tray, and the old woman immediately ate
two cannoli as an appetizer. Montalbano wasnt too thrilled
with the kubba, but the kebabs had a tart, herbal flavor that
made them a little more sprightly, or so, at least, he defined
them according to his imperfect use of adjectives.

During the meal Aisha probably told him the story of
her life, but shed forgotten her French and was speaking only
Arabic. Nevertheless, the inspector actively participated:
when the old woman laughed, he laughed too; when she
grew sad, he put on a face fit for a funeral.

When supper was over, Aisha cleared the table, while
Montalbano, at peace with himself and the world, smoked a
cigarette. When the old woman returned, she was wearing
a mysterious, conspiratorial expression. In her hand was a
narrow, flat black box that probably once held a necklace or
something similar. Aisha opened it, and inside was a

savings-account passbook for the Banca Popolare di Montelusa.

Karima, the old woman said, bringing her forefinger to
her lips, meaning that this was a secret and should remain so.

Montalbano took the booklet from the box and opened it.

An even five hundred million lire.

The previous yearSignora Clementina Vasile Cozzo told
himshed suffered a terrible spell of insomnia she could
do nothing about. Luckily it lasted only a few months. She
would spend most of the night watching television or listening
to the radio. Reading, no. She couldnt read for very
long, because after a while her eyes would start to flutter.
Onceit must have been around four in the morning, perhaps
earliershe heard the shouts of two drunkards quarreling
right under her window. She opened the curtain, just
out of curiosity, and noticed that the light was on in Mr.
Lapras office. What could Mr. Lapra be doing there
at that hour of the night? But Mr. Lapra was not there, in
fact. Nobody was there; the front room of the office was
empty. So Signora Vasile Cozzo concluded that somebody
had left the light on. Suddenly, however, from the other
room, which she knew existed but couldnt see from her
window, there emerged a young man who used to come to
the office now and then, even when Lapra wasnt there.
Stark naked, the man ran to the telephone, picked up the receiver,
and started talking. Apparently the telephone had

been ringing, though the signora hadnt heard it. Moments
later, Karima emerged, also from the back room, and also
naked. She stood there listening to the young man, who was
growing animated as he spoke. When the telephone call was
over, the young man grabbed Karima and they went back
into the other room to finish what theyd been doing when
they were interrupted by the telephone. They later reappeared
fully dressed, turned off the light, and left in the
mans large metallic gray car.

Over the course of the previous year this scenario had
repeated itself four or five times. For the most part they
would stay there for hours not doing or saying anything. If
he grabbed her by the arm and took her into the other
room, it was only to pass the time. Sometimes he would
write or read, and she would doze in the chair, head resting
on the table, waiting for the phone to ring. Sometimes,
after the call came in, the man would make a call or two
himself.

On Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, the woman,
Karima, would clean the officebut what was there to clean,
for Christs sake? And sometimes she would answer the
phone, but she never passed the call on to Mr. Lapra, even
when he was right next to her. He would only sit there, listening
to her talk, head down and looking at the floor, as if
none of it was his concern, or as if he felt offended.

In the opinion of Clementina Vasile Cozzo, the maid, the
Tunisian girl, was a bad, evil woman.

Not only did she do what she did with the dark young

man, but now and then she would go and wheedle poor old
Lapra, who inevitably would give in, letting himself be
led into the back room. One time, when Lapra was sitting
at the little secretarial table reading the newspaper, she
kneeled in front of him, unzipped his trousers, and, still
kneeling...

At this point Signora Vasile Cozzo, blushing, interrupted
her narrative.

It was clear that Karima and the young man had keys to
the office, whether they had been given them by Lapra or
had copies made themselves. It was also clear, even though
there were no insomniac witnesses, that the night before
Lapra was murdered, Karima had spent a few hours in the
victims home. This was proved by the scent of VoluptDid
she also own a set of keys to the flat, or had Lapra himself
let her in, taking advantage of the fact that his wife had taken
a generous dose of sleeping pills? In any case, the whole thing
seemed not to make sense. Why risk being caught in the act
by Mrs. Lapra when they could easily have met at the office?
For the hell of it? Just to season an otherwise predictable
relationship with the thrill of danger?

And then there was the matter of the three anonymous
letters, unquestionably pieced together in that office. Why
had Karima and the dark young man done it? To put Lapra
in a difficult bind? It didnt tally. They had nothing to
gain by it. On the contrary, they risked jeopardizing the
availability of their telephone number and whatever it was
the company had become.

For a better understanding of all this, Montalbano would
have to wait for Karima to return. Fazio was right: she must
have slipped away to avoid answering dangerous questions
and would come back on the sly. The inspector was positive
that Aisha would keep the promise shed made to him. In his
unlikely French, hed explained to her that Karima got
mixed up with a nasty crowd, and that sooner or later that
bad man and his friends would surely kill not only her but
also Frans and Aisha herself. He had the impression hed
sufficiently convinced and frightened her.

They agreed that as soon as Karima reappeared, the old
woman would phone him; she had only to ask for Salvo and
say only her name, Aisha. He left her the telephone numbers
to his office and home, telling her to make sure she hid them
well, as she had done with the passbook.

Naturally the argument held water on one condition:
that Karima was not the killer. But no matter how much he
turned it over in his head, the inspector could not picture her
with a knife in her hand.

He glanced at his watch by the flame of his lighter. Almost
midnight. For more than two hours now hed been sitting
on the veranda, in darkness to avoid getting eaten alive by
mosquitoes and sand flies, hashing and rehashing what hed
learned from Signora Clementina and Aisha.

Yet he needed one further clarification. Could he possibly
call Mrs. Vasile Cozzo at that hour? She had told him
that every evening the housekeeper, after giving her dinner,

would help her undress and put her in the wheelchair. But
even if she was ready for bed, she didnt turn in immediately;
she would watch television late into the night. She
could move from the wheelchair to the bed, and vice versa,
by herself.

Signora, its unforgivable, I know.

Not at all, Inspector, not at all! I was awake, watching a
movie.

Well, signora. You told me the dark young man sometimes
used to read or write. Do you know what it was he
read? Or wrote? Could you tell?

He used to read newspapers and letters. And he would
write letters. But he didnt use the typewriter that was there
in the office. Hed bring his own, a portable. Anything
else?

Hi, darling. Were you asleep? No? Are you sure? Ill be at
your place tomorrow around one in the afternoon. Dont go
out of your way for me, please. Ill just come, and if youre
not there, Ill wait. I have the keys, after all.