Excursion to Tindari

“Yes.”

“A single shot to the nape of the neck, execution-style?”

“Yes.”

“Were they tortured before they were killed?”

“No.”

“Thank you, Doctor. See how much breath I saved you? That way you’ll still have plenty left, when you’re on death’s doorstep.”

“How I’d love to perform your autopsy!” said Pasquano.

For once Mimi Augello was punctual, showing up at five o‘clock on the dot. But he was wearing a long face. It was clear he was stewing about something.

“Did you find time to rest a little, Mimi?”

“When would I have done that? We had to wait for Judge Tommaseo, who in the meantime had driven his car into a ditch.”

“Have you eaten?”

“Beba made me a sandwich.”

“And who’s Beba?”

“You introduced her to me yourself. Beatrice.”

So he was already calling her Beba! Things must be proceeding very nicely. But then why was Mimi wearing that funereal face? He didn’t have time to probe any further, however, because Mimi asked him a question he hardly expected.

“Are you still in touch with that Swedish woman, what’s her name, Ingrid?”

“I haven’t seen her in a while. But she did call me last week. Why do you ask?”

“Can we trust her?”

Montalbano hated it when somebody answered a question with another question. He did it himself at times, but always with a specific purpose in mind. He played along.

“What do you think?”

“Don’t you know her better than I do?”

“What do you need her for?”

“If I tell you, do you promise not to think I’m crazy?”

“Do you think I’m capable of that?”

“Even if it’s a really big deal?”

The inspector got bored with the game. Mimi hadn’t even noticed how absurd the dialogue had become.

“Listen, Mimi, Ingrid’s discretion I can vouch for. As for thinking you’re crazy, I’ve done that so many times already that it won’t make much difference if it happens one more time.”

“Well, I didn’t sleep a wink last night.”

Beba was coming on strong!

“Why not?”

“There was this letter, one of the ones Nene Sanfilippo wrote to his lover. You have no idea, Salvo, how hard I’ve been studying them! I practically know them by heart.”

You’re such an asshole, Salvo! Montalbano reproached himself. All you ever do is think ill of Mimi, and here the poor guy’s working through the night!

Having duly rebuked himself, the inspector deftly overcame that brief moment of self-criticism.

“Okay, okay. What was in the letter?”

Mimi waited a moment before deciding to answer.

“Well, he gets very angry, at first, because she shaves off her body hair.”

“What’s there to get angry about? All women shave their armpits nowadays.”

“It wasn’t her armpits.”

“Ah,” said Montalbano.

“All her hair, understand?”

“Yes.”

“Then, in the letters that follow, he starts to get into the novelty of it.”

“Okay, but how’s this of any importance to us?”

“It’s important, believe me! Because I think, after losing sleep and my eyesight to boot, I’ve figured out who Nene Sanfilippo’s lover is. Some of the descriptions he gives, the little details, are better than a photograph. As you