A Voice in the Night (23 page)

‘Did you ask why?’

‘I certainly did. He said it was better if everyone forgot about the whole affair. He said Borsellino’s suicide had prevented a certain thing from reaching its conclusion, and so the
less it was talked about, the better.’

‘Let me get this straight. So Sponses believes that Borsellino killed himself?’

‘He seemed pretty convinced of it to me.’

‘That means Sponses hasn’t spoken to the commissioner. And that the order to stop investigating is an independent decision of Anti-terrorism.’

‘That’s the impression I had too. But now you have to explain to me why you were smiling.’

‘Because I was convinced that Borsellino was kidnapped by the Anti-Mafia people, when it turns out it was Anti-terrorism. There’s a considerable difference.’

Fazio looked completely bewildered.

‘I haven’t understood a thing.’

‘It’s like this, Fazio. I was convinced that the only ones who could have had any interest in kidnapping Borsellino were the Anti-Mafia people, to get their hands on his account
books. But I wondered how they happened to know that Borsellino would be attending that board of directors’ meeting that evening, and I had no answer.’

‘But the question remains even if it was Anti-terrorism that kidnapped him!’

‘No, it doesn’t. That changes things. Say Borsellino finds out that one of the Cuffaros is in contact with terrorists. You can do good business with those people. Like, for example,
offering them a safe base of operations. But the risk is much greater than with drug dealing or protection money or corruption. And Borsellino, in fact, gets scared about this initiative.
It’s one thing to do the accounts for the Mafia, and something else to be accused of complicity with terrorists. One way or another, Anti-terrorism get wind of the matter. And they start
putting pressure – it’s anybody’s guess how – on Borsellino. Who gives in and decides to talk. But if he’s going to talk, he wants his back covered. So they have to
put on some kind of act. Anti-terrorism suggest they fake a kidnapping at the right moment, and Borsellino himself will tell them when it’s the right moment. And as soon as he’s
summoned to the meeting, he informs Sponses. During those four days they talk and perhaps come to an agreement, but Borsellino asks for time so he can work out a way to let them see the
compromising documents. And so they grant him time.

The best part of the whole thing is that to make the kidnapping seem real, they demand a fortune from the Cuffaros – who at some point, however, start to suspect Borsellino. So they kill
him, making it look like a suicide so that Anti-terrorism don’t get suspicious. Sponses, without knowing it, has done us a favour. He’s confirmed what I’d been
thinking.’

*

He didn’t feel like eating; he was too agitated. But he still took his customary stroll along the jetty, if only to distract himself. At five minutes to three he went back
to the office.

‘Did you get everything?’ he asked Catarella.

‘Yeah, Chief, I wenn inna shop in Montelusa jess like you ast, an’ ’enn I took the stuff I boughted to yer ’ouse in Marinella. Lemme go ’n’ get ya the
change.’

After Catarella went out, the inspector got up and locked the door. Then he sat back down and called Montelusa Central on the outside line.

‘Commissioner Sponses, please. This is Montalbano.’ To make the time go by, he reviewed the times table for seven. When he got to seven times nine, Sponses answered but didn’t
give him time to say anything.

‘Listen, Montalbano, we haven’t had the pleasure of meeting, but if you’re calling about that kidnapping business, I can tell you right away that—’

He was tempted to tell him to stick it you-know-where, but he needed Sponses as much as he needed air.

‘I’m calling for another reason. Think you could give me half an hour of your time?’

‘Wait just a second while I check. I’m a little busy. Tomorrow morning at ten OK with you?’

‘Perfect, thank you.’

He hung up and dialled another number.

‘Nicolò? Montalbano here. I need a favour from you.’

‘Jesus, Salvo! Have you become a professional pain in the arse or something? What do you want?’

‘If I come to your office would you interview me?’

‘And you’ll also write down the questions I’m supposed to ask you?’

‘Good guess.’

‘And you probably want it broadcast on the eight-thirty report?’

‘Good guess again.’

‘Come at seven-fifteen sharp.’

‘Inspector Montalbano, we’ve invited you here to our studios in the hope that you might apply your investigative acumen to a case in which we at the Free
Channel have become involved. As you and our listeners know, a few days ago we were anonymously sent a digital recorder that used to belong to Guido Borsellino, a former supermarket manager in
Vigàta, which contained, among other things, recordings of conversations between Borsellino and Inspector Augello, your second-in-command, and then between Borsellino and yourself. We then
broadcast these recordings. That same night, however, unknown burglars broke into our offices and stole the digital recorder – exclusively, taking nothing else. So, Inspector Montalbano, my
first question is this: who would have an interest in exculpating you of the accusation that some have levelled at you, namely, that you drove the late Guido Borsellino to suicide?
’

‘I think the question should be put differently. Who would have an interest in giving the lie to those people who have been levelling those accusations at me and my
second-in-command?’

‘
Does that make any difference?
’

‘It makes a lot of difference. Sending that recorder was not a gesture in my favour, but a hostile act towards those claiming that Borsellino was driven to suicide.’

‘
And who might it have been that sent us the recorder?
’

‘Well, let me preface that by saying that these are only my personal opinions. first and foremost, I think we are dealing with people close to Borsellino who knew that he occasionally used
that recorder. I believe, however, that there is, in this affair, a sort of “fifth column” that is trying to exploit Borsellino’s supposed suicide to their greatest
advantage.’

‘
Why do you say “supposed” suicide?
’

‘Because we have strong doubts that it was really a suicide.’

‘Can you give us some indication of why?
’

‘I’m sorry, but the investigation is still ongoing.’

‘Let’s move on to another question: why do you think the recorder was stolen from us?’

‘Most probably because that recorder contained other recordings as well. And maybe one of them has proof that the presumed suicide involved persons considered above suspicion. In short,
whoever sent you the recorder was not the same person who stole it from you. But, whatever the case, it was a useless, stupid move, in my opinion.’

‘Why do you say that?
’

‘Because I am firmly convinced that whoever sent you Borsellino’s recorder had copies made of all the recordings on it first; that they didn’t leave themselves empty-handed.
That would be typical behaviour for an extortionist.’

‘Do you think that, because of the fake suicide, someone may try to blackmail those behind it?
’

‘I’d say it’s quite likely.’

‘Thank you, Inspector Montalbano, for having accepted our invitation and answered our questions.’

‘Thank you.’

*

As he was heading back down towards Vigàta he started singing out loud in the car. The interview, with all its ins and outs, the things said and not said, was certain to
give the Cuffaros a few headaches. But the one it was certain to scare the most was the Honourable Mongibello, because he would realize that among the persons considered above suspicion the
inspector was including him too. And so he would find himself between a rock and a hard place: on one side, there was the person who had called him on the phone and played him the recording, and on
the other side, there were the police. At this very moment, he was in a cold sweat just waiting for the blackmailer’s next call.

He went back to the station and locked himself in his office with Catarella.

‘Explain to me again what I have to do to make the thing work.’

After the second explanation, he said:

‘Maybe it’s better if I write it down.’

He wrote it down on a half-sheet of paper, which he put in his jacket pocket.

Then he sped home to watch the interview.

*

Zito performed well. He broadcast the interview at the end of the news report, after having solemnly announced it at the beginning. Montalbano was more than certain that
Mongibello was watching, and that his heart must be pounding hard at that moment.

He laid the table on the veranda and treated himself to pasta
’ncasciata
and swordfish, then went back inside and started looking for a good movie on TV.

He found a broadcast of
Bad Lieutenant
and watched the whole thing. At eleven-thirty he got up, took out of his pocket the instructions he’d written down at the office, read them
over twice, then found the cassette player he’d got Catarella to buy for him and plugged it in.

Then he opened a little box, also bought for him by Catarella, and took out its contents, which consisted of a cord with a sort of sucker at one end and a small jack at the other. Following the
instructions, he stuck the sucker onto his mobile and slipped the jack into the cassette player.

The equipment was ready now, but he had to test it to see whether it worked, and whether he’d done the right things.

He called Livia on his mobile and immediately pressed the red button with the abbreviation ‘Rec’ under it. ‘Hi, Livia. I’m calling you now because I have a bit of a
headache and am going straight to bed.’

They spoke for five minutes, then wished each other a good night.

After he hung up, he pressed the rewind button, then pushed the green button. And he immediately heard his own voice. Wow! It worked! A miracle!

He went to wash his face, then came back and sat down at the table. He closed his eyes for a moment as he reviewed in his head what he had to do – all these complicated things involving
recorders, video cameras, and computers were really not his forte. He got up, put the clothes peg over his nose, sat down again, and dialled Mongibello’s number as he turned on the
recorder.

‘Hello?’ said the politician, who sounded like he had his hand over the receiver.

Montalbano turned on the taped copy of the digital recording.

‘Hello? This is Guido.’

He let it play for a few moments, then stopped it.

‘Figgered out who I am?’

‘Yes.’

‘Wanna make a deal?’

‘Yes.’

‘I’ll make you a reasonable offer. Two million.’

‘But—’

‘No buts. Two million. Tomorrow at midnight, at the old signal box in Montereale. Come alone. If I see any of your little Cuffaro friends with you, I won’t come out in the open,
an’ I’ll send the tape to the Free Channel. Leave the money outside the cabin door an’ then get the hell out of there.’

‘What about the tape?’

‘I’ll send it to you.’

‘But how can I be sure that—’

‘You’ll just have to trust me. An’ be careful. If you give me marked notes, you can consider yisself a marked man. Unnastan’?’

‘Yes.’

He put down the phone, rewound the tape, and pushed the green button.

‘Hello?’ said Mongibello at the other end.

‘Hello? This is Guido.’

Just to be sure, he listened to the whole recording. Not until he went to bed did he realize that he still had the clothes peg over his nose.

*

He got to the station at eight-thirty the next morning and immediately locked himself in his office with Catarella.

‘I want you to make me a copy of everything.’

‘But, Chief, t’make a copy from bote tings ya need a toid recorder!’

‘Do you know if there’s anyone here . . . ?’

‘Isspecter Augello’s prolly got one.’

‘Go and see.’

Catarella returned in triumph with a recorder and a new cassette. When they’d finished and Catarella was returning the recorder to Augello, Montalbano put the cassette in a drawer and
locked it.

Then he headed for Montelusa at a leisurely pace.

At five minutes to ten he entered Montelusa Central through the back door to avoid running into Dr Lattes, who would certainly have mentioned the encounter to the commissioner.

He asked a guard to explain to him where Sponses’s office was, then knocked on the closed door.

‘Come in.’

He went in. Sponses stood up and came forward to greet him, hand extended. He was a physically fit man of about forty, with blue eyes and a decisive manner. He seemed likeable enough to the
inspector.

‘Please sit down. Let’s get straight to the point. Why did you want to see me?’

The inspector reached into his left jacket pocket and took out the cassette recorder with the copy of the recording of Borsellino’s call to Mongibello.

‘There’s a very brief telephone call here that I would like you to listen to carefully.’

He turned on the tape. When it was over, Sponses asked:

‘Who’s at the other end?’

He’d recognized Borsellino’s voice perfectly well and hadn’t hidden that fact. They were off to a good start.

‘The man at the other end is the Honourable Mongibello, who as you must know is the president of the company—’

‘That owns the supermarket, a company made up of front men for the Cuffaro family. Well, this phone call certainly presents an interesting new element. Which is that Mongibello knew about
the burglary before Borsellino told him. But, even leaving aside this detail, the phone call, if anything, shows that it wasn’t you or your second-in-command that drove Borsellino to suicide,
but Mongibello himself, who cut him loose in brutal fashion.’

‘Except that Borsellino did not commit suicide; he was hanged.’

Sponses frowned darkly.