“Oh, yes.”
“Something troubled about her, I’d say, don’t you think?” “Oh, yes.”
And you had a ball in those troubled waters, like a little pig under your august magistrate’s robes. “And what unfathomable eyes she has.” “Oh, yes.”
“This morning she exploded.” “In what sense?”
“In the sense that at a certain point she stood up, summoned a very strange voice, and her hair came undone. Chilling.”
So Tommaseo, too, had witnessed a bit of Greek tragedy. “What did she say?”
“She started inveighing against another woman, Elena Sclafani, her brother’s girlfriend. She claims she’s the killer. Have you interrogated her?”
“Sclafani? Of course.”
“Why didn’t you inform me?”
“Well, it’s just that …”
“What’s she like?”
“Beautiful.”
“I’m going to summon her immediately.” How could you go wrong? Tommaseo was going to dive into Elena like a fish. “Look, Judge, I—”
“No, no, my dear Montalbano, no excuses. Among other things, I must tell you that Michela accused you of protecting Mrs. Sclafani.”
“Did she tell you why Mrs. Sclafani would—”
“Yes, jealousy. She also told me that you, Montalbano, have in your possession some letters Sclafani wrote in which she threatens to kill her lover. Is that true?” “Yes.”
“I want to see them at once.” “Okay, but—”
“I repeat, no excuses. Don’t you realize how you’re acting? You hid from me—”
“Don’t piss outside the urinal, Tommaseo.” “I don’t understand.”
“I’ll explain. I said don’t piss outside the urinal. I’m not hiding anything from you. It’s just that Elena Sclafani has an alibi for the evening Pardo was killed, and it’s one you’re really going to like.”
“What does that mean, that I’ll really like Sclafani’s alibi?”
“You’ll see. Make sure she goes into great detail. Have a good evening.”
“Inspector Montalbano? It’s Lagana.”
“Good evening, Marshal. What can you tell me?” “That I’ve had a stroke of luck.” “In what sense?”
“Last night, entirely by chance, I got wind of a huge operation that’s going to be revealed to the press tomorrow. We’re going to make a big sweep of over four thousand people, including doctors, pharmacists, and representatives, all accused of corruption and graft. So today I called a friend of mine in Rome. Well, it turns out the pharmaceutical firms represented by Angelo Pardo haven’t been implicated.”
“That means Pardo couldn’t have been killed by some rival, or for not making payoffs.” “Exactly.”
“And what do you make of those four pages covered with numbers I gave you?”
“I turned them over to Melluso.” “Who’s he?”
“A colleague of mine who knows all about that sort of thing. I’m hoping I’ll have something to tell you tomorrow.”
“Aaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhh!”
A high-pitched, piercing, prolonged yell terrorized everyone who was still at the station. It came from the entrance. With a chill running down his spine, Montalbano rushed into the corridor, crashing into Fazio, Mimi, Gallo, and a couple of uniformed policemen.
Inside his closet stood Catarella, back glued to the wall, no longer screaming but rather whimpering like a wounded animal, eyes popping out of his head, pointing with a trembling finger at Angelo Pardo’s open laptop on the little table.
Matre santa!What could have appeared on the screen to frighten him that way? The devil? Osama bin Laden?
“Everybody stay outside!” Montalbano ordered, going into the closet.
He looked at the monitor. It was blank. There was nothing.
Maybe Catarella’s brain, having so strained itself in the struggle with the passwords, had completely melted. Which, in any case, wouldn’t have taken much.
“Go away!” the inspector yelled to his men.
When he was alone with Catarella, he embraced him. Feeling him trembling, he told him to sit down.
“There’s a good boy,” he murmured, stroking his head.
And, just like a dog, Catarella started to calm down. When he saw him no longer trembling, Montalbano asked him:
“Can you tell me what happened?”
