One could not say Carlo Di Nardo was secretive about his work.
He welcomed Montalbano into his office at Montelusa Central with open arms. After all, theyd been fellow travelers and had always been fond of each other.
To what do I owe the pleasure?
Montalbano explained what he wanted.
Here in Montelusa you have only to look in three places: the Arena Color Works, which supplies half of Sicily, the Disberna sisters shop, and Costantino Morabitos store, or what remains of it. Now, I think Ive understood that you believe the girl fell when she was shot and got purpurin all over herself. Is that right?
Thats right.
Then I would rule out that either of the Disberna sisters could have shot any living thing, even an ant. And theres only the two of them, who are both around seventy, looking after the store, with the help of a niece whos about fifty. They didnt do it, I assure you. The color factory, on the other hand, is big, and you probably ought to have a look there.
Cant you tell me anything about Morabitos store?
Ive saved that for last. First of all, it was clearly a case of arson, theres no doubt about that. Except that a different method was used in this case.
Namely?
You know how the shops of people who dont pay the protection racket usually get torched? Very rarely do the arsonists ever enter the shop. They normally limit themselves to throwing gasoline through an open window or pouring it under the front shutter or door. In ninety percent of the cases where the arsonist actually goes inside, he ends up getting more or less severely burnt.
So here the fire was started from the inside?
Exactly. And none of the metal shutters, doors, or windows had been forced. Mind you, this is also the opinion of Engineer Ragusano of the Fire Brigade.
So, all things considered, you would lean towards a hypothesis implicating Morabito himself in the deed?
My, how diplomatic youve become in your old age, Montalb! Even Locascio, the insurance man, thinks Morabito did it.
For the insurance money?
Thats what he thinks.
And you dont?
Morabitos financial position is pretty solid. If he set fire to his own store, there must be another reason. I had promised myself I would try to find out tomorrow, but then you arrived. What are you going to do now?
I want to go have a look at Morabitos store.
No problem. Ill go with you. You coming, too, Fazio?
The store that sold paints wasnt really, strictly speaking, a paints store. It was rather unimaginatively called Immaginazione and was a kind of supermarket where one could buy a great variety of things for the home, from bathroom tiles and rugs to ashtrays and light fixtures. The very large paints department was the part of the store that had been destroyed by fire, and very little of it remained. Anyone wishing to paint their bedroom straw-yellow with little green checks and their dining room fire-engine red could find everything they needed here; just as anyone devoted to painting pictures could choose from thousands of tubes of oil paint, tempera, and acrylics.
In this section of the store was a staircase that led to the apartment in which Costantino Morabito, the proprietor, lived. Naturally one could also enter the flat from a front door that gave onto the street; the internal staircase was merely a convenience that allowed Morabito to open and close the store from the inside.
Di Nardo answered all the questions the inspector asked him, which were many.
I want to talk to Morabito, Montalbano said as they returned to Montelusa Central.
No problem, Di Nardo said again. Hes moved in with his sister, since his place may be unsafe. The firemen need to do a safety check.
Speaking of firemen, who controls this neighborhood? Who runs the protection racket?
The Stellino brothers. Who, in my opinion, are pissed off about this fire, which will be blamed on them even though they probably had nothing to do with it.
That might be a good starting point for making Morabito nervous. Where can I talk to him?
In my office. I have to go do something else. Ill put Detective Sanfilippo at your disposal; he knows everything.
If Morabito wasnt hard up for cash, why would he set fire to his store? asked Fazio, as soon as they were alone. Inspector Di Nardo, he continued, told us he wasnt married, doesnt gamble, hasnt got any girlfriends, hes not a big spender but just the opposite, a tightwad, and he hasnt got any debts... Why rule out arson by the protection racket?
I once saw an American movie, a comedy, Montalbano said distractedly, about a guy who brings a whore home with him, taking advantage of the fact that his wife has gone to spend the night at her mothers place. When she starts getting ready to leave, three hours before the wife is supposed to be back, the whore cant find her panties. They look and look, to no avail. The whore leaves. And the man, realizing that sooner or later his wife is gonna find those goddamn panties, goes and sets fire to the house. Doesnt that seem like a good reason to you?
But Morabito isnt married! said Fazio.
Its not the same thing, of course. But I was wondering: What if the fire was set to hide something else that couldnt be found?
Like what?
Like an empty shell.
What are we gonna do?
Tell Sanfilippo to bring in Morabito. And Im warning you now: Give me a lot of rope, cause Im really gonna ham it up.
Costantino Morabito was a man of about fifty who was sloppily dressed, carelessly shaven, with wild hair and dark bags under his eyes. He was extremely nervous and moved in fits and starts. He sat down on the edge of the chair, pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket, and held it in his hands.
It was a nasty blow, eh? Montalbano asked after introducing himself.
Everything ruined! Everything! The smoke got soot all over everything, even the stuff in the other departments, and ruined it all! The damage is incalculable! Im finished!
But in your misfortune you were lucky.
What do you mean, lucky?
Lucky to be still alive.
Oh, yes! With the help of San Gerlando! It was a real miracle, Mr. Inspector! The flames very nearly engulfed the upstairs where I was and roasted me alive!
Listen, who first realized there was a fire?
I did. I noticed a strong burning smell, and
I smell it, too, Montalbano interrupted him.
Right now? asked Morabito, confused.
Right now.
Where?
Its coming from you. How odd!
He got up, walked around the desk, went up to Morabito, bent down, bringing his nose to about a couple of inches away, and began sniffing him from the hair to the chest.
Come and smell for yourself.
Fazio got up, stood on the other side of Morabito, and started doing the same as the inspector.
Flummoxed, Morabito froze.
You can smell it a little, cant you?
Yeah, said Fazio.
But I washed! Morabito protested.
It takes a while for it to go away, you know.
They returned to their places.
You can continue, Mr. Morabito.
I smelled something burning, so I opened the door to the stairs and the smoke poured in and I started choking. So I called the firemen and they came right away. Do you know how easily paints can catch fire?
