The Snack Thief

“Are you sorry because you won’t be able to see us, or because you’ll miss the pasta in squid ink?”

“Both.”

“Well, if it’s something to do with work, I can’t really—”

“No, it’s got nothing to do with work . . . It’s that I’m about to receive an impromptu twenty-four-hour visit from my . . .” Fiancee? That sounded downright nineteenth-century to the inspector’s ear. Girlfriend? At their age?

“Companion?” the commissioner suggested.

“Right.”

“Miss Livia Burlando must be very fond of you to un-dertake such a long and tedious journey to see you for just twenty-four hours.”

Never had he so much as mentioned Livia to his superior, who—officially, at least—should have been unaware of her existence. Not even when he was in the hospital, that time he’d been shot, had the two ever met.

“Listen,” said the commissioner, “why don’t you introduce her to us? My wife would love that. Bring her along with you tomorrow evening.”

Saturday’s feast was safe.

o o o

“Is this the inspector I’m speaking to? In person?”

“Yes, ma’am, this is he.”

“I wanted to tell you something about the gentleman who was murdered yesterday morning.”

“Did you know him?”

“Yes and no. I never spoke to him. Actually, I only found out his name yesterday, on the TV news.”

“Tell me, ma’am, do you consider what you have to tell me truly important?”

“I think so.”

“All right. Come by my office this afternoon, around five.”

“I can’t.”

“Well, tomorrow, then.”

“I can’t tomorrow, either. I’m paralyzed.”

“I see. Then I’ll come to you, right away, if you wish.”

“I’m always at home.”

“Where do you live, signora?”

“Salita Granet 23. My name is ClementinaVasile Cozzo.”

o o o

Walking down the Corso on his way to the appointment, he heard someone call him. It was Major Marniti, sitting at the Caffe Albanese with a younger officer.

“Let me introduce to you Lieutenant Piovesan, commander of the Fulmine, the patrol boat that—”

“Montalbano’s the name, pleased to meet you,” said the inspector. But he wasn’t pleased at all. He had managed to dump that case. Why did they keep dragging him back in?

“Have a coffee with us.”

“Actually, I’m busy.”

“Just five minutes.”

“All right, but no coffee.”

He sat down.

“You tell him,” Marniti said to Piovesan.

“In my opinion, none of it’s true.”

“What’s not true?”

“I find the whole story of the fishing boat hard to swallow. We received the Santopadre’s Mayday signal at one in the morning; they gave us their position and said they were being pursued by the patrol boat Rameh.” “What was their position?” the inspector inquired in spite of himself.

“Just outside our territorial waters.”

“And you raced to the scene.”

“Actually it should have been up to the Lampo patrol boat, which was closer.”

“So why didn’t the Lampo go?”

“Because an hour earlier, an SOS was sent out by a fishing boat that was taking in water from a leak. The Lampo radioed the Tuono for backup, and so a big stretch of