The poison’s effect is irreversible, and it will inexorably lead to her death.” “Someone poisoned her?!”

A blow to the head, a stone from the sky, a punch in the face. The sudden, violent shock of this revelation, uttered so placidly, almost without emotion, struck the inspector physically, to the point that his ears made a ringing sound. Or was that short ring actually real? Perhaps the bell of the gate had rung?

Or else the telephone on the side table had made a brief ting?

The doctor, however, gave no sign of having heard anything.

“No need to be so vague,” the doctor said without changing expression, like a teacher pointing out a minor mistake in a student’s theme paper. “She wasn’t poisoned by just ‘someone,’ but by one man in particular.” “And do you know his name?”

“Of course,” he said with a smile.

No, on further inspection it was not a smile that played on Carlo Mistretta’s lips, but rather a smirk. Or more precisely, a sneer.

“Why haven’t you reported this?”

“Because there are no legal grounds for prosecution. One can only report it to God in heaven, if one believes in Him.

But He, I’m sure, is well aware of the situation.” Montalbano began to understand.

“So, when you say Mrs. Mistretta has been poisoned, you’re speaking somewhat metaphorically, I gather?”

“Let’s say I’m not sticking to a strictly scientific vocabulary.

I’m using words and expressions that, as a doctor, I ought not to use. But you didn’t come here for medical advice.”

“And with what has Mrs. Mistretta been poisoned?”

“With life. As you see, I keep using words that would be unacceptable in any diagnosis. She’s been poisoned by life. Or, better yet: Someone has cruelly forced her to enter an obscene realm of existence. And at a certain point, Giulia refused to go any further. She dropped all her defenses, all resistance, and gave up the will to live.” He was well-spoken, this Carlo Mistretta. But the inspector needed to hear facts, not well-turned sentences.

“Excuse me, Doctor, but I’m required to ask you more.

Was it the husband, perhaps unwittingly, who . . . ?” Carlo Mistretta’s lips parted, uncovering just the edge of his teeth. This, on the other hand, was his manner of smiling.

“My brother? Are you kidding? He would give his own life for his wife. And when you know the whole story, you’ll see that your suspicion was absurd.”

“A lover?”

The doctor looked dazed.

“Eh?”

“I was saying, perhaps another man, some amorous disappointment, if you don’t mind my—”

“I believe the only man in Giulia’s life has always been my brother.”

At this point Montalbano lost patience. He’d grown fed up with playing charades. On top of this, he wasn’t too keen on this Dr. Mistretta. He was about to open his mouth to ask more questions when the doctor, as though sensing the inspector’s change of mood, raised his hand to stop him.

“A brother,” he said.

Jesus Christ! Now where’d this brother come from? Whose brother?

He’d known from the start that between all the brothers, uncles, in-laws, nephews, and nieces, this case was going to drive him crazy.

“Giulia’s brother,” the doctor continued.

“Mrs. Mistretta has a brother?”

“Yes. Antonio.”

“And why hasn’t he—”

“He hasn’t been heard from in the current crisis because he and Giulia haven’t spoken for some time. A long time.” At this point something happened that often happened to Montalbano during the course of an investigation. That is, a variety of apparently unrelated facts all came together at once in his brain, each piece assuming its proper place in the puzzle.

And this occurred even before he had full knowledge of them. Thus it was the inspector’s own lips, almost entirely of their own will, that said:

“Shall we say six years?”

The doctor looked at him in surprise.

“Do you already know the whole story?”

Montalbano made a gesture that meant nothing.

“No, not six years,” the doctor corrected him, “but it’s true that it all began six years ago. You see, my sister- in-law, Giulia, and her brother,Antonio, who is three years her junior, were orphaned in early childhood. A terrible misfortune.

Their parents died in a railway accident. They owned a bit of property. The orphans were taken in by an uncle

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