Since, in his delight at having found the solution, Catarella uttered the whole sentence in a single breath, the inspector had trouble understanding, but grasped as much as he needed to.
“I think I remember you saying you needed three passwords… “
“Yessir, Chief, I do. Iss ongoing work.”
“Good, then go on working. And thanks again.”
Catarella staggered visibly.
“You dizzy?”
“A little, Chief.”
“You feel all right?”
“Yessir.”
“So why are you dizzy?”
” ‘Cause you just gave me tanks, Chief.”
He walked out of the room as if he were drunk. Montalbano cast another glance at the two sheets of paper. But since it was already time to go to Montelusa, he slipped them into the pocket holding the little songbook. Which he could have sworn contained the code for making some sense of all those numbers.
“My dear Inspector! How goes it? Everyone doing well at home?”
“Fine, fine, Dr. Lattes.”
“Make yourself comfortable.” “Thank you, Doctor.”
He sat down. Lattes looked at him, and he looked at Lattes. Lattes smiled, and so did he.
“To what do we owe the pleasure of your visit?” Montalbano’s jaw dropped.
“Actually, I…the commissioner told me …” “You’re here for the meeting?” Lattes asked in wonderment.
“Well, yes.”
“What? You mean the receptionist there, Cavarella—” “Catarella.”
“—didn’t tell you? I called late this morning to inform you that the commissioner had to leave for Palermo and will expect to see you here tomorrow at this same hour.”
“No, nobody told me anything.”
“But that’s very serious! You must take measures!”
“I will, Doctor, don’t you worry about that.”
What fucking measures could one possibly take against Catarella? It would be like trying to teach a crab to walk straight.
Since he was already in Montelusa, he decided to drop in on his friend Nicold Zito, the newsman. He pulled up in front of the Free Channel studios, and the moment he walked in, the secretary told him Zito had fifteen free minutes before going on the air.
“I haven’t heard from you for a while,” Nicold reproached him.
“Sorry, I’ve been busy.”
“Is there anything I can do for you?”
“No, Nicold. I just wanted to see you.”
“Listen, are you giving Giacovazzo a hand in the investigation into Angelo Pardo’s murder?”
It was nice of the Flying Squad captain not to have denied that the investigation had been turned over to him. This spared Montalbano from being besieged by journalists. But it was still hard for Montalbano to have to lie to his friend.
“No, no hand at all. You know what Giacovazzo’s like. Why do you ask?”
“Because nobody can drag a single word out of him.”
Naturally. The captain of the Flying Squad wasn’t talking to journalists because he had nothing to say.
“And yet,” Zito went on, “I think that, considering what’s happening now, he must have some idea.”
“Why, what’s happening now?”
“Don’t you read the papers?”
“Not always.”
“A nationwide investigation has led to the arraignment of over four thousand doctors and pharmacists.”
“Okay, but what’s that got to do with it?”
“Salvo, use your brain! “What did former doctor Angelo Pardo do for a living?”
“He was a representative for pharmaceutical concerns.”
“Exactly. And the charges being leveled at these doctors and pharmacists are collusion and kickbacks.”
“Meaning?”
