The Potter's Field

At this point in the discussion, for who knows what reason, Catarella took a step forward, and so began his second slide of the morning. He had only to set one foot half down on the clay to execute a figure-skating sort of split, one foot on the path, the other on the edge of a clay slab. Fazio, who was standing beside him, tried to grab him on the fly, to no avail. In fact, in so doing he only managed to give Catarella a strong if involuntary push. Thus in a split second Catarella spread his arms, then spun around, turning his back as his legs flew out from under him.

“I loss my balaaaa . . .” he announced loudly to one and all as he fell hard on his can and, in that position, as though sitting on an invisible sled, began to gain momentum (reminding Montalbano of a law of physics he had learned at school: Motus in fine velocior), whereupon he fell head backwards, shoulders to the mud, and careered downwards with the speed of a bobsledder. His race ended some twenty yards below, at the bottom of the slope, in a large bush that Catarella’s body entered like a bullet and then disappeared.

None of the spectators uttered a word; none made any move. They just stood there, spellbound.

“Get that man some help,” Montalbano ordered after a moment.

His balls were so severely busted by this whole affair that he didn’t even feel like laughing.

“How do we get down there to pull him out?” Augello asked Ajena.

“If we go down this same footpath we’ll come to a spot not far from where the p’liceman ended up.”

“Then let’s get moving.”

But at that moment Catarella emerged from the bush. He’d lost his trousers and underpants in the slide and was prudishly holding his hands over his private parts.

“Did you hurt yourself ?” Fazio shouted.

“Nah. But I found the body bag. Iss here.”

“Should we go down there?” Mimì Augello asked Montalbano.

“No. Now we know where it is. Fazio, you go down and get Catarella. You, Mimì, go and wait for them in the cave.”

“And what about you?” asked Augello.

“I’m going to get in the Jeep and go home. I’ve had enough of this.”

“I beg your pardon? What about the investigation?”

“What investigation, Mimì? If the body was fresh, then our presence here might serve some purpose. But who knows when and where this person was murdered? You need to call the prosecutor, coroner, and the Forensics lab. Do it now, Mimì.”

“But to get here from Montelusa, it’ll take those guys a good two hours at the very least!”

“In two hours it’ll be raining hard again,” Ajena chimed in.

“So much the better,” said Montalbano. “Why should we be the only ones to get soaked to the bone?”

“And what am I supposed to do for these two hours?” Mimì asked sullenly.

“You can play cards,” said the inspector. Then, seeing Ajena walking away, he added: “Why did you call Catarella and tell him my presence was indispensable here?”

“Because I thought that—”

“Mimì, you didn’t think anything. You wanted to make me come here for the sole purpose of busting my balls, so I could get drenched like everybody else.”

“Salvo, you just said it yourself: Why should only Fazio and I get soaked while you’re still lying in bed?”

Montalbano couldn’t help but notice how much anger there was in Augello’s words. He hadn’t done it as a joke. What on earth was happening to the guy?

When he got back to Marinella it had started pouring again. It was well past lunchtime by then, and spending the morning in the open air had, moreover, whetted his appetite. He went into the bathroom, changed out of his rain-soaked suit, and hurried into the kitchen. Adelina had made him pasta’ncasciata and, as second course, rabbit cacciatore. She very rarely made this, but whenever she did, it brought tears of happiness to his eyes.

By the time Fazio straggled back into the station, night was falling. He must have gone home first, showered, and changed. But he was visibly tired. It hadn’t been an easy day at ’u critaru.

“Where’s Mimì?”

“Gone home to rest, Chief. He felt a bit of fever coming on.”

“And Catarella?”

“Him too. Over a hundred, I’d say. He wanted to come in anyway, but I told him to go home and lie down.”

“Did you recover the bag with the body?”

“You know what, Chief? When we went back to ’u critaru in the pouring rain with the Forensics team, the prosecutor, Dr. Pasquano, and the stretcher-bearers, and we looked inside the bushes where Catarella said he saw the bag, the bag was gone!”

“Jesus Christ, what a pain in the ass! The corpse that wouldn’t stay put! So where was it?”

“The water and sludge had carried it about ten yards farther down. But part of the bag got torn, so a few of the pieces—”

“Pieces? What pieces?”

“Before the body was put in the bag, it had been cut up into small pieces.”

So Ajena was right about what he’d seen: The toes had been cut off the feet.

“So what did you do?”

“We had to wait till Cocò arrived from Montelusa.”

“And who’s Cocò? Never heard of him.”