Montalbano stepped out of the building’s main door. It was windy, the sky still overcast. The street was a very short one, with only two shops, one opposite the other. On the left-hand side of the street was a greengrocer, behind whose counter sat a very thin man with thick glasses. One of the lenses was cracked.
“Hello, I’m Inspector Montalbano. This morning, did you by any chance see Mr. Lapecora come in or go out the front door of his building?”
The thin man chuckled and said nothing.
“Did you hear my question?” asked the inspector, slightly miffed.
“Oh, I heard you all right,” the grocer said. “But as for seeing, I can’t help you much there. I couldn’t even see a tank if one came through that door.”
On the right-hand side of the street was a fishmonger’s shop, with two customers inside. The inspector waited for them to come out, then entered.
“Hello, Lollo.”
“Hello, Inspector. I’ve got some really fresh striped bream today.”
“I’m not here to buy fish, Lollo.”
“You’re here about the death.”
“Yeah.”
“How’d Lapecora die?”
“A knife in the back.”
Lollo looked at him openmouthed.
“Lapecora was murdered?!”
“Why so surprised?”
“Who would have wished Mr. Lapecora any harm? He was a good man, Mr. Lapecora. Unbelievable!”
“Did you see him this morning?”
“No.”
“What time did you open up?”
“Six-thirty. Ah, but I did run into his wife, Antonietta, on the corner. She was in a rush.”
“She was running to catch the bus for Fiacca.” In all likelihood, Montalbano concluded, Lapecora was killed in the elevator, as he was about to go out. He lived on the fourth floor.
o o o
Dr. Pasquano took the body to Montelusa for the autopsy.
Meanwhile, Jacomuzzi wasted a little more time filling three small plastic bags with a cigarette butt, a bit of dust, and a tiny piece of wood.
“I’ll keep you posted.”
Montalbano went into the elevator and signaled to the security guard, who had not moved an inch all the while, to come along with him. Cosentino seemed hesitant.
“What’s wrong?”
“There’s still blood on the floor.”
“So what? Just be careful not to get it on your shoes.
Would you rather climb six flights of stairs?”
1 4
Montalbano entered a living room with the dining room attached. The housewife turned to her husband with a look of concern.
“You weren’t able to rest, Pepe.”
“Duty. And when duty calls, duty calls.”
“Did you go out this morning, signora?”
“I never go out before Pepe comes home.”
“Do you know Mrs. Lapecora?”
“Yes. We chat a little, now and then, when we’re waiting for the elevator together.”
“Did you also chat with the husband?”
“No, I didn’t care much for him. A good man, no doubt about that, but I just didn’t like him. If you’ll excuse me a minute . . .”
She left the room. Montalbano turned to the security guard.
