The Potter's Field

“I stopped, though my wife was crying—she was feeling very bad by this point—and I got out. The woman had got back up in the meantime. I asked her if she was hurt and she said no. So I told her to get in the car and I would take her into town, and she accepted. On the way, we all agreed that the person driving that car must have had a bit too much to drink, and that it must have been some sort of stupid prank. Then she told me where she wanted to be dropped off, and she got out of the car. Before she left, however, she begged me not to tell anyone about what I had seen. She gave me to understand that she was returning from an amorous encounter...”

“She didn’t explain how she happened to be out alone at that hour of the night?”

“She made some reference . . . she said her car had stalled and wouldn’t start up again. But then she realized she had run out of gas.”

“So, how did things work out?”

Fabio Giacchetti looked confused.

“With the lady?”

“No, with your wife.”

“I don’t . . . I don’t understand...”

“Did you become a father or not?”

Fabio Giacchetti lit up.

“Yes. A boy.”

“Congratulations. Tell me something: How old do you think the woman was?”

Fabio Giacchetti smiled.

“About thirty, Inspector. Tall, dark, and very attractive. Clearly upset, but very attractive.”

“Where did she get out?”

“At the corner of Via Serpotta and Via Guttuso.”

“So you’ve learned the names of all the streets in Vigàta after only three months?”

Fabio Giacchetti blushed.

“No . . . it’s just that . . . when the lady got out . . . I looked at the names of the streets.”

“Why?”

Fabio Giacchetti blazed red.

“Well, you know . . . instinctively...”

Instinctively indeed! Fabio Giacchetti had looked for the street names because the woman appealed to him and he would have liked to meet her again. A devoted husband, happy father, and potential adulterer.

“Listen, Mr. Giacchetti, you’ve just told me that at first you had thought it might be a hit-and-run incident, and then, after talking to the woman, you both agreed that it was some sort of dangerous, stupid prank. And now you’re here, talking to me. Why? Did you change your mind again?”

Fabio Giacchetti hesitated.

“Well, it’s not that I . . . but, there is something...”

“Something that doesn’t make sense to you?”

“Well, you see, when I was at the hospital, waiting for Elena to give birth, I thought again about what had happened . . . Not for any particular reason, but just to distract myself . . . When the car that had aimed at the woman stopped, I instinctively slowed down . . . and at that moment, it looked to me as if the man at the wheel leaned out the window on the passenger’s side and said something to the woman in the ditch . . . Whereas, logically speaking, he should have driven away in a hurry . . . He was taking a huge risk . . . I could read his license plate number, for example...”

“Did you?”

“Yes, but then I forgot it. It began with CE. Perhaps, if I ever saw the car again . . . And then I had the impression, but I don’t know whether...”

“Tell me.”

“I had the impression the woman talked to me about what had just happened only because I had witnessed it and started talking about it myself. I don’t know if I’ve made myself clear.”

“You’ve made yourself perfectly clear. The woman had no desire to go over the incident.”

“Precisely, Inspector.”

“One last question. You got the impression that the man at the wheel had said something to the woman . . . Could you better explain why you had this impression?”

“Because I saw the man’s head poke out of the passengerside window.”

“Couldn’t he perhaps have stopped only to see what sort of condition the woman was in?”

“I would rule that out. The more I think about it, the more convinced I am that he said something to her. You see, he made a gesture with his hand, as if to emphasize what he was saying.”

“What kind of gesture?”

“I didn’t get a good look; but I did see his hand outside the window, that much I know.”

“But the woman didn’t tell you he had said anything to her.”

“No.”

He repeated to Fazio, who turned up late that morning, the story Giacchetti had told him.

“Chief, what can we do about it if some drunk behind the wheel gets his jollies scaring a lady by pretending to run her over?”

“So you’re of the opinion that it was a bad joke? Mind you, that’s also the interpretation the beautiful stranger tried to convince the banker of.”

“You don’t agree?”

“Let me speculate a little. Couldn’t it have been attempted murder?”

Fazio looked doubtful.

“In the presence of witnesses, Chief? Giacchetti was right behind him.”

“Excuse me, Fazio, but if he’d killed her, what could Giacchetti have done?”

“Well, for starters, he could have taken down the license plate number.”

“And what if it was a stolen car?”

Fazio didn’t answer.

“No, this whole thing stinks to me,” Montalbano continued.

“But why?”

“Because he didn’t kill her, Fazio. Because he only wanted to scare her. And not as a joke. He stopped, said something to the woman, and then left. And the woman did everything possible to downplay the matter.”