any paperwork home with him and, anyway, he always brought it back to the station the following day.
Whatever the case, the conclusion was that, if they hadn’t found it, then surely they would be back again for another go-round even more devastating than the last one.
His little repair job on the French door seemed to him to have come out well. He opened and closed it twice, and the spring-lock seemed to work.
He pretended not to have heard. The night air had brought with it the scent of the sea and, as a result, whetted his appetite. During the preceding day he’d eaten hardly anything at lunchtime, and in the evening only two spoonfuls of the hydrochloric acid soup. He opened the refrigerator: green olives, black passuluna olives, caciocavallo cheese, anchovies. The bread was a bit hard but still edible. There was no lack of wine. He put together a nice platter of what he had and took it out onto the veranda.
Clearly the burglars—
The simplest explanation was that they were keeping an eye on him. And the moment they saw him leave, they had forced open the French door in broad daylight. Besides, who would have been on the beach at that hour? Then they went inside and had the rest of the afternoon to work in peace.
Hadn’t they done the same thing the first time? They had waited for him to go out to buy whisky, and then gone inside.Yes, they were keeping an eye on him. Spying on him.
And it was possible that even now, as he was eating his olives and bread, they were watching him. Shit, what a pain in the ass!
He felt deeply disturbed to know that his every movement was being observed by people unknown. He hoped they had found what they were looking for, so they could stop breaking his balls.
Having finished eating, he got up, took the plate, cutlery, bottle, and glass into the kitchen, locked the French door, congratulating himself on his repair job, and went to take a shower.As he was washing himself, a few blades of straw fell from his head to his feet, before they were swallowed up by the small whirlpool around the drain.
He woke up to the screams of Adelina, who came running into his bedroom, scared out of her wits.
“
“Burglars, Adelì.”
“Burglars in you’ house, sir?”
“So it seems.”
“Wha’d they steal?”
“Nothing. Actually, do me a favor. As you’re putting things back in order, check and see if anything’s missing.”
“Okay.You wanna some coffee?”
“Of course.”
He drank it in bed. And, still in bed, he smoked his first cigarette.
Then he went into the bathroom, got dressed, and returned to the kitchen for a second cup.
“Know what, Adelì? Yesterday evening, in Fiacca, I had some soup and, I’m sorry to say, I’ve never tasted anything quite like it.”
“Really, signore?” said Adelina, displeased.
“Really. I had them give me the recipe. Soon as I can find it, I’ll read it for you.”
“Signore, I dunno if I gotta nuffa time a tidy uppa you’ whole house.”
“That’s okay. Do as much as you can. You can finish tomorrow.”
“Ah Chief, Chief! How’d ye spenn your Sunday?”
“I went to see some friends in Fiacca.Who’s here?”
“Fazio’s onna premisses. Should I oughta call ’im?”
“No, I’ll go get him.”
Fazio’s office was a room with two desks in it.The second desk was supposed to be for an officer of the same rank who had left five years ago and had never been replaced. “Shortage of personnel,” the commissioner always replied whenever anyone submitted a written request for a replacement.
Fazio stood up, perplexed to see the inspector come in. It was rather rare for Montalbano to enter his room.
“Good morning, Chief. What’s up? Want me to come to your office?”
“No. Since I want to report a crime, it’s up to me to come to you.”
“Report a crime?” Fazio grew even more perplexed.
“Yes. I want to report a breaking and entering and burglary. Or rather, a breaking and entering and attempted burglary. What’s certain is the breaking. Of my balls, that is.”
“I haven’t understood a word, Chief.”
“Burglars broke into my house, in Marinella.”
“Burglars?”
“But they clearly weren’t burglars.”
“They weren’t burglars?”
“Listen, Fazio, either you stop repeating what I say, or my mood is gonna go quickly south. Close your mouth, which is still hanging open, and sit down.That way I can sit down, too, and tell you the whole story.”
Fazio sat down stiff as a broomstick.
“So, one evening, Signora Ingrid comes to my house and . . . ,” the inspector began, and he told him about the burglars’ first entry and the disappearence of the watch.
“Well,” said Fazio, “it sounds to me like a robbery by young punks needing to buy the next dose.”
“Wait, there’s a second part.This story comes in installments. Yesterday afternoon, Signora Ingrid came by at three in her car ...”
This time, when the inspector had finished, Fazio remained silent.
“Aren’t you going to say anything?”
“I was thinking. It’s clear that the first time, they took the watch to make it look like they were burglars, but they didn’t find what they were looking for. Since they had to come back a second time, they decided to lay their cards on the table and returned the watch. Maybe by giving back the watch they meant to say that they’d found what they were looking for and won’t be back.”
“But we don’t know that with any certainty. One thing is certain, though: They’re in a hurry to find what they’re looking for. And if they haven’t found it, they might try again, even today, or to night,or to morrow,at the latest.”
“I just thought of something,” said Fazio.
“Out with it.”
“Are you pretty sure they’re spying on you?”
“Ninety percent.”
“What time does your housekeeper leave?”
“Around twelve-thirty, quarter to one.”
“Could you call her and tell her you’re going to come home for lunch today?”
“Yeah, sure.Why?”
“That way, you go home and eat lunch so that nobody can break in because you’re there.At three o’clock, I’ll come by with the squad car. I’ll have the siren going and make a big racket.You come running out, get in the car, and we’ll leave.”
“Where to?”
“We’ll go visit the temples[10]. If those guys are keeping an eye on you,
