“About whether Pardo had had sexual relations before he was killed. I’m sorry to disappoint Judge Tommaseo, who was off to such a flying start.”
“So you did examine him!”
“Just superficially, and only the part I was curious about.”
“But then why…?”
“Why was it out, you mean?”
“Exactly.”
“Well, maybe he’d gone and taken a piss in a corner of the terrace and wasn’t allowed the time to put it back in. Or maybe he was planning a moment of solitary pleasure but they beat him to it and shot him. But that sort of thing’s not my province. It’s you, Mr. Inspector, who’s conducting the investigation, isn’t it?”
He hung up without saying good-bye.
So, come to think of it, Elena was right when she refused to believe that Angelo had met with another woman while he was waiting for her. But the doctor’s hypothesis didn’t hold water either.
There was no bathroom in the former laundry room, only a sink. If Angelo needed to go and didn’t feel like going downstairs to his flat, there was no need to do it in some dark corner of the terrace; he could have used the sink as a toilet bowl.
Nor was the masturbation hypothesis very convincing.
Yet in both cases it was very odd that Pardo hadn’t had time to put himself back in order. No, there must be some other explanation. Something not so simple as Pasquano’s theories.
Mimi Augello appeared in the doorway. “What do you want?”
He had dark circles under his eyes, worse than when he used to spend his nights womanizing. “Seven,” said Mimi.
Montalbano looked like he’d suddenly gone mad. He sprang out of his chair, red in the face, and screamed so loudly they must have heard him all the way to the port: “Eighteen, twenty-four, thirty-six! Fuck! And seventy, too!”
Augello got scared, and chaos erupted all over the station, doors slamming, footsteps racing. In an instant, Galluzzo, Gallo, and Catarella were in the doorway.
“What’s going on?”
“What happened?”
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing, nothing,” said Montalbano, sitting back down. “Go back to your posts. I had a little attack of nerves, that’s all. It’s over.”
The three men left. Mimi was still staring at him
“What got into you? What were those mysterious numbers you said?”
“Ah, so it’s me who’s being mysterious with numbers? Me? Didn’t you come in here and say ‘seven’?”
“What, is that a mortal sin or something?”
“Never mind. What did you want to tell me?”
“That since Liguori’s coming tomorrow, I did some research. You know how many drug deaths we’ve had in the province in the last ten days?”
“Seven,” said Montalbano.
“Exactly. How did you know?”
“Mimi, you told me yourself. Let’s drop the Campanile dialogue.”
“What campanile?”
“Forget it, Mimi, or I’ll have another attack of nerves.” “Do you know what people are saying about Senator Nicotra?”
“That he died of the same illness as the other six.” “And that explains why Montelusa Narcotics has decided to get a move on. Don’t you have any ideas about it?” “No, and I don’t want to.” Mimi left, and the phone rang.
“Inspector Montalbano? Lattes here. Everything all right?”
“Just fine, Doctor, with the Virgin’s good grace.” “The pups?”
What the fuck was he talking about? The children? How many did he think he had? What do puppies do, anyway?
“They’re growing, Doctor.”
“Good, good. I wanted to let you know that the commissioner will expect you tomorrow afternoon between five and six.”
“I’ll definitely be there.”
It was time to go see Michela.
Walking past Catarella’s closet, he saw him with his head buried in Angelo Pardo’s computer.
“Getting anywhere, Cat?”
