room and then home.”
“Would you like to tell me, in case he asks, exactly what happened to you in the accident? Was it serious or minor?”
“Since I’ve already given him some other bullshit, just tell him I reinjured the same ankle I’d already sprained.”
“And how did you get this sprain?”
“The same way I got bumped into.”
“I see.”
“And now I’d better get on home fast, in case he phones me there.”
“All right,” said Fazio, turning to leave the room.
“Where are you going?”
“I’m going to my office to make the call.”
“Can’t you just do it here?”
“No, sir. I’m a better liar when I’m alone.”
Fazio returned less than five minutes later.
“Wha’d he say?”
“He said you’ve been having too many accidents lately and had better start taking better care of yourself.”
“Didn’t he believe it?”
“I don’t think so. Chief, I think you’d better go home right away. He’s definitely going to call.”
“Did he say anything else?”
“Yes. He said you’re going to have to resume the investigation because Inspector Mazzamore is too busy with another case.”
“And you’re telling me this now?”
“When was I supposed to tell you?”
“It should have been the first thing!”
They stood there for a moment in silence, staring at each other.
“I’m not convinced,” said Montalbano.
“Me neither. But it’s not the first time he’s given you back a case he’d taken away from you.”
“I’m still not convinced. At any rate, I wanted to tell you that the body in the dinghy’s been identified. His real name was Jean-Pierre David, and the French police had been keeping an eye on him.”
“Why was that?”
“Apparently he was involved in diamond trafficking.”
Fazio’s eyes narrowed to little slits.
“Ah, so the guys from the
“Are up to their necks in this. Cross my heart and hope to die. We have to figure out a way to set them up. And we’ve got to do it quickly, because they could leave at any moment. Oh, and one more thing.”
“Tell me.”
“I want you and Gallo to be ready. This afternoon, around five o’clock, there’s something we have to do.”
“What’s it involve?”
“We’ll probably have to arrest Mimi.”
Fazio opened his mouth and then closed it again. And he turned red in the face, and then pale as a ghost. He collapsed into a chair.
“Wh… Why?” he asked in a faint voice.
“I’ll explain later.”
At that moment Catarella came in with a few sheets of paper in his hand.
“I prinnit it all up, Chief.”
Montalbano folded them and put them in his jacket pocket.
“See you later,” he said.
And he headed back home.
But how was it that the telephone had now acquired the fine habit of starting to ring just as he was coming through the door? Since he’d given up hope that it was Laura trying to reach him, he took his time.
He went and opened the French door to the veranda, then went into the kitchen.
Since he would, of necessity, have to eat at home, he wanted to see what Adelina had made for him. He opened the oven.
And what a discovery it was.
The telephone, which in the meanwhile had stopped ringing, started again. This time he went and picked up.
It was the c’mishner.
“Montalbano, how are you feeling?”
Just as Fazio had predicted, the goddamn sonofabitch wanted to verify whether he had actually had an accident. And Montalbano was ready to oblige him. He began:
“Well, the crash wasn’t-”
“I wasn’t talking about that,” the commissioner cut him off sharply.
Oh no? Then what did he want to talk about? Maybe it was best to keep quiet and see where the guy was headed.
“I was referring to your mental health, which I’m very worried about.”
What was this? Was he telling him he thought he was going insane? How dare he?
“Listen, Mr. Commissioner, sir, I can put up with a lot, but I will not tolerate any comments about my mental-”
“I’ll do the talking here, Inspector. You just answer my questions.”
“Listen, this isn’t-”
“Goddammit, Montalbano, that’s enough!” Bonetti-Alderighi snapped.
He must really be angry. Better let him get it out of his system. But the question he asked was the last thing Montalbano expected.
“Is it true that you suffered a terrible loss a few days ago?”
The inspector felt annihilated. Dr. Lattes must have told the commissioner that he’d lost his son!
“In other words, that a son of yours died?” the commissioner continued in a frosty tone of voice.
How the hell was he going to get out of this one?
“And your wife is in despair?”
The commissioner’s voice was now well below zero.
“And can you explain to me how this can be when, as far as anyone knows, you have neither wife nor children?”
A polar ice floe.
What the hell to do now? A hundred possible replies raced through his mind at supersonic speed but he ruled them all out. None seemed convincing enough. He opened his mouth, but was unable to speak. The commissioner spoke instead.
“I understand,” he said.
The freeze attained by this point was only possible in laboratories.
“I do hope you’ll one day let me know your reasons for playing such a mean, vulgar trick on a perfect gentleman like Dr. Lattes.”
“It wasn’t a…,” he finally managed to utter.
“I don’t think one can talk about something so serious and base over the telephone. So let’s stop trying, for now. Have you been informed that I had to turn the investigation back to you?”
“Yes.”
“If it were up to me, you… but I was forced to do so, against my will… But let me be very clear about this. If
