International repercussions?
“Anyway, I’ve arranged for Augello to confer with the prefect. The matter is, how shall I say, beyond my competence.”
“Yes, yes.”
“Are you feeling all right, Montalbano?”
“Yes, fine. Why?”
“Nothing, it just seemed . . .”
“Just a slight headache, that’s all.”
“What day is today?”
“Thursday, sir.”
“Listen, why don’t you come to dinner at our house on Saturday? My wife’ll make you her black spaghetti in squid ink. It’s delicious.”
Pasta with squid ink. His mood was black enough to dress a hundred pounds of spaghetti. International repercussions?
o o o
Fazio came in and Montalbano immediately laid into him.
“Would somebody please be so kind as to tell me what the fuck is going on?”
“C’mon, Chief, don’t take it out on me just because it’s windy outside. For my part, early this morning, before contacting Inspector Augello, I had somebody call you.”
“You mean Catarella? If you have Catarella calling me about something important, then you really must be a shit-head, since you know damn well that nobody can ever understand a fucking thing the guy says. What happened, anyway?” “A motor trawler from Mazara, which according to the ship’s captain was fishing in international waters, was attacked by a Tunisian patrol boat. Sprayed with machine-gun fire. The fishing boat signaled its position to one of our patrols, the
“On whose part?” asked Fazio.
“On the part of the captain of the fishing boat, who instead of surrendering had the courage to run away. What else?”
“The shots killed one of the crew.”
“Somebody from Mazara?”
“Sort of.”
“Would you please explain?”
“He was Tunisian. They say his working papers were in order. Down around Mazara all the crews are mixed. First of all because they’re good workers, and secondly because, if they’re ever stopped, they can talk to the patrols from the other side.” “Do you believe the trawler was fishing in international waters?”
“Me? Do I look like a moron or something?”
o o o
“Hello, Inspector Montalbano? This is Major Marniti of the Harbor Office.”
“What can I do for you, Major?”
“I’m calling about that unfortunate incident on the Mazarese fishing boat, where the Tunisian was killed. I’m questioning the captain, trying to determine exactly where they were at the moment they were attacked, and to establish the sequence of events. Afterwards, he’s going to drop by your office.” “Why? Hasn’t my assistant already questioned him?”
“Yes.”
“Then there’s really no need for him to come here.
Thanks for calling.”
They were trying to drag him into this mess by the ear.
o o o
The door flew open with such force that the inspector jumped out of his chair. Catarella appeared, looking very agitated.
“Sorry ’bout that, Chief. Door slipped outa my hand.”
“If you ever come in like that again, I’ll shoot you. What is it?”
“Somebody just now phoned that somebody’s inside an elevator.”
The inkwell, made of finely wrought bronze, missed Catarella’s forehead but made such a noise when it struck the wooden door that it could have been a cannon shot.
Catarella cringed, covering his head with his arms. Montalbano started kicking his desk. In rushed Fazio, hand on his open holster.
“What was that? What happened?”
