six o’clock, I was in the vicinity of Monte Scibetta. Do you know the area of the dry wells?”
“Yes.”
“I was in a car and was passing by the drinking trough, which used to have water in it. There were three people there, and one of them was sitting on the edge of the trough. The other two were on his right. The seated man had a bandage over his forehead, and his shirt was all stained with blood. Then one of the two punched him in the face, and he fell into the trough. But I’d already recognized him. Or at least I think I did. He looked to me like Signor Fazio.”
“Are you sure about that?”
“Quite sure.”
“Then what?”
“I kept on driving, and in the mirror I saw them pulling him back out.”
“And what did you do after that?”
“I had to get away from Monte Scibetta, and fast, because I’d found out that the carabinieri were coming after me. So I figured the best place to hide was here. But before I got here, I called Signor Zito.”
“How do you know each other?”
“Never mind about that,” Nicolò’s voice said behind him.
“All right, go on.”
“First of all, I wanted confirmation that it was actually Fazio.”
“And when you knew for certain, why did you want Zito to tell me about your phone call?”
“Because once, with my son, Fazio showed he was an honorable man.”
“Why, in your opinion, did they take Fazio all the way out to Monte Scibetta?”
“I’m sorry, but I don’t know why or where they grabbed him.”
“They almost certainly wounded and captured him at the port of Vigàta.”
“Ah,” said the stranger.
But he didn’t speak.
“And so?” Montalbano asked, feeling agitated.
“Inspector, if they took him all the way out there, it was to throw him into one of those dry wells. They want to make him disappear. It would have taken them too long to bring him all the way out here to the
chiarchiaro
.”
It was the very answer he’d feared.
Now there was no more time to waste.
“Good luck, Signor Nicotra, and thanks,” said the inspector.
“But . . . how did you know it was me?”
“For one thing, I first heard your story a long time ago from Zito himself, who’s been your friend since your schooldays together. And then, when you said Fazio had treated your son honorably . . . well, I just put two and two together. Thanks again.”
5
Once outside the cube, he removed the handkerchief covering his eyes and started running towards the car, with Zito following behind.
“Come on, hurry up!”
“Where are we going?” the newsman asked.
“To Monte Scibetta. We haven’t got a minute to lose!”
“Stop and think for a second, Salvo. Many hours have passed since he saw him there—”
“Oh, I’m thinking all right, don’t you worry about that.”
“By now whatever they were going to do to Fazio, they’ve already done.”
“Yes, but he may still be alive. Maybe gravely wounded, but still alive. Do you know where the dry wells are?”
“Yes.”
“How far is it from here?”
“About two hours.”
“Let’s go, and in the meantime give me your cell phone.”
He called Augello, who was still asleep. But as soon as Montalbano told him what he’d found out, he woke up in a hurry.
“And you, Nicolò, should tell your friend Nicotra to turn himself in,” the inspector said to Zito when he’d finished.
“Do you know how many times I’ve told him that? It’s hopeless. The idea of ending up in jail drives him crazy. If there’s such a thing as incompatibility with prison life, he’s got it. And double murder is still double murder.”
“Okay, but he would have every extenuating circumstance in the book. For us, a cheating wife is the best extenuating circumstance there is. If you’re being cheated on, you can even commit a massacre if you want, and still get off easy. What? You mean you caught your wife in bed with your brother and you didn’t shoot ’em down on the spot? What kind of a fucking man are you?
“Yes.”
“I was in a car and was passing by the drinking trough, which used to have water in it. There were three people there, and one of them was sitting on the edge of the trough. The other two were on his right. The seated man had a bandage over his forehead, and his shirt was all stained with blood. Then one of the two punched him in the face, and he fell into the trough. But I’d already recognized him. Or at least I think I did. He looked to me like Signor Fazio.”
“Are you sure about that?”
“Quite sure.”
“Then what?”
“I kept on driving, and in the mirror I saw them pulling him back out.”
“And what did you do after that?”
“I had to get away from Monte Scibetta, and fast, because I’d found out that the carabinieri were coming after me. So I figured the best place to hide was here. But before I got here, I called Signor Zito.”
“How do you know each other?”
“Never mind about that,” Nicolò’s voice said behind him.
“All right, go on.”
“First of all, I wanted confirmation that it was actually Fazio.”
“And when you knew for certain, why did you want Zito to tell me about your phone call?”
“Because once, with my son, Fazio showed he was an honorable man.”
“Why, in your opinion, did they take Fazio all the way out to Monte Scibetta?”
“I’m sorry, but I don’t know why or where they grabbed him.”
“They almost certainly wounded and captured him at the port of Vigàta.”
“Ah,” said the stranger.
But he didn’t speak.
“And so?” Montalbano asked, feeling agitated.
“Inspector, if they took him all the way out there, it was to throw him into one of those dry wells. They want to make him disappear. It would have taken them too long to bring him all the way out here to the
chiarchiaro
.”
It was the very answer he’d feared.
Now there was no more time to waste.
“Good luck, Signor Nicotra, and thanks,” said the inspector.
“But . . . how did you know it was me?”
“For one thing, I first heard your story a long time ago from Zito himself, who’s been your friend since your schooldays together. And then, when you said Fazio had treated your son honorably . . . well, I just put two and two together. Thanks again.”
5
Once outside the cube, he removed the handkerchief covering his eyes and started running towards the car, with Zito following behind.
“Come on, hurry up!”
“Where are we going?” the newsman asked.
“To Monte Scibetta. We haven’t got a minute to lose!”
“Stop and think for a second, Salvo. Many hours have passed since he saw him there—”
“Oh, I’m thinking all right, don’t you worry about that.”
“By now whatever they were going to do to Fazio, they’ve already done.”
“Yes, but he may still be alive. Maybe gravely wounded, but still alive. Do you know where the dry wells are?”
“Yes.”
“How far is it from here?”
“About two hours.”
“Let’s go, and in the meantime give me your cell phone.”
He called Augello, who was still asleep. But as soon as Montalbano told him what he’d found out, he woke up in a hurry.
“And you, Nicolò, should tell your friend Nicotra to turn himself in,” the inspector said to Zito when he’d finished.
“Do you know how many times I’ve told him that? It’s hopeless. The idea of ending up in jail drives him crazy. If there’s such a thing as incompatibility with prison life, he’s got it. And double murder is still double murder.”
“Okay, but he would have every extenuating circumstance in the book. For us, a cheating wife is the best extenuating circumstance there is. If you’re being cheated on, you can even commit a massacre if you want, and still get off easy. What? You mean you caught your wife in bed with your brother and you didn’t shoot ’em down on the spot? What kind of a fucking man are you?
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