The Potter's Field

Catarella, who was the last in line, and not only in a hierarchical sense, didn’t have the courage to lean on the shoulder of the person in front of him, and thus slid from time to time in the mud, knocking into Fazio, who knocked into Augello, who knocked into Montalbano, who knocked into Ajena, threatening to bring them all down like bowling pins.

“Listen, Ajena,” Montalbano said irritably, “are you sure this is the right place?”

“Inspector, this land is all mine and I come here every day, rain or shine.”

“Can we talk?”

“If you wanna talk, sir, let’s talk,” said Ajena, lighting his pipe.

“So, according to you, the body was here?”

“Wha’, you deaf, sir? An’ whattya mean, ‘according to me’? It was right here, I tell you,” said Ajena, gesturing with his pipe at the spot where the slabs of clay began, a short distance from his feet.

“So it was out in the open.”

“Well, yes and no.”

“Explain.”

“Mr. Inspector, it’s all clay around here. In fact, this place has always been called ’u critaru, ’n’ that’s—”

“Why have a place like this?”

“I sell the clay to people who make vases, jugs, pots, that kind of thing . . .”

“All right, go on.”

“Well, when it’s not raining, an’ it don’t rain much around here, today’s an exception, but when it don’t rain, the clay’s all covered up by the dirt that slides down the hillside. So you gotta dig down at least a foot to get at it. You follow?”

“Yes.”

“But when it rains, and rains hard, the water washes away the dirt on top, an’ so the clay comes out. An’ that’s wha’ happened this morning: The rain carried the soil further down an’ uncovered the dead body.”

“So you’re telling me the body was buried under the earth, and the rain unearthed it?”

“Yessir, that’s azackly what I’m saying. I was passing by here on my way up to the cave an’ that’s when I saw the bag.”

“What bag?”

“A great big plastic bag, black, the kind you use for garbage.”

“How did you manage to see what was inside? Did you open it?”

“Nah, I didn’t need to. The bag had a small hole an’ a foot was sticking out, except that all its toes was cut off an’ so I couldn’t really tell at first if it was a foot.”

“Cut off, you say?”

“Cut off, or maybe et off by some dog.”

“I see. What did you do then?”

“I kept on walking up to the cave.”

“And how did you call the police station?” asked Fazio.

“Wit’ my cell phone, which I keep in my pocket.”

“What time was it when you spotted the bag?” Augello cut in.

“Maybe six in the morning.”

“And it took you over an hour to get from here to the cave and call us?” Augello pressed him.

“And what’s it to you, may I ask, how long it took me to call?”

“I’ll show you what it is to me!” said Mimì, enraged.

“We got your call at seven-twenty,” Fazio said to the man, trying to explain. “One hour and twenty minutes after you discovered the bag with the body.”

“What did you do? Make sure to tell someone to come and pick up the body?” Augello asked, suddenly seeming like a dastardly detective in an American movie.

Worried, Montalbano realized Mimì wasn’t pretending.

“Who ever said that? What are you thinking? I didn’t tell nobody!”

“Then tell us what you did for that hour and twenty minutes.”

Mimì had fastened on to him like a rabid dog and wouldn’t let go.

“I was thinking things over.”

“And it took you almost an hour and a half to think things over?”

“Yessirree.”

“To think what over?”

“Whether it was best to phone or not.”

“Why?”

“ ’Cause anytime anybody’s got to deal with you cops, they end up wishin’ they hadn’t.”

“Oh, yeah?” said Mimì, turning red in the face and raising his hand to deliver a punch.

“Cool it, Mimì!” said Montalbano.

“Listen,” Augello continued, looking for an excuse to have it out with the man, “there are two ways to reach the cave, one from above, the other from below. Right?”

“That’s right.”

“Why did you take us on the downhill path? So we could break our necks?”

“Because you guys woulda never made it uphill. With all this rain the path’s slippery as hell.”

They heard a dull rumble, and all looked up at the sky. The break in the clouds, instead of opening, was beginning to close. They all were thinking the same thing: If they didn’t find that body soon, they were going to get even more soaked.

“How do you explain the fact that the body is gone?” Montalbano intervened.

“Well,” said Ajena, “either the body got flushed down to the bottom by the water and soil, or somebody came and took it.”

“Go on!” said Mimì. “If somebody came and took the bag, they would’ve left a trail in the mud! Whereas there’s nothing!”

“Whattya mean, sir?” Ajena retorted. “Do you really think after all this rain you’re still gonna see tracks?”