shit.
*
He didn’t give Enzo the satisfaction his dishes deserved. He ate little, and listlessly at that.
He had no explanation for his malaise.
Was it perhaps because he couldn’t get the sight of that poor girl’s hacked-up body out of his mind? Or was it because Strangio’s whole attitude seemed fishy to him?
The customary stroll along the jetty was more a way to pass the time than a digestive necessity.
*
Back at the office, the first thing he did was to call the commissioner. Lattes answered the phone and told him the commissioner was still indisposed, but that Deputy
Commissioner Concialupo was replacing him in all respects for the time being. If the inspector had anything urgent to discuss, he should address the deputy commissioner.
But Montalbano didn’t feel like talking to Concialupo, who was perfectly nice but had to be told things three times before he understood them.
‘Dr Lattes, do you know when the commissioner—’
‘Surely tomorrow morning, with God’s help.’
What to do?
The best thing was not to have anything to do directly with Strangio until he’d spoken to the commissioner.
Questioning him before that would be a mistake.
*
The telephone rang.
‘Chief, onna phone I got the proxecutor onna phone.’
‘Tommaseo?’
‘Poissonally in poisson.’
‘Put him through.’
‘But did you see what a gorgeous girl she was?’ Tommaseo began.
What a surprise! He must be drooling at the other end. Whenever a beautiful young woman was murdered, a crime of passion committed, or amorous intrigues figured in the background of a case,
Tommaseo was in his element.
The inspector’s own theory was that it was a sort of compensation for the fact that the prosecutor was not known to have ever had any kind of relations with a woman.
‘I have her photos here in front of me, and I’m telling you, when she was alive she was a rare beauty,’ Tommaseo continued.
Montalbano was horrified.
But what photos was he looking at? The hair-raising photos of the corpse?
‘Did you get them from Forensics?’
‘No! I asked Strangio for them. By the way, I’ve formed a pretty clear idea of things, you know.’
Montalbano was stunned.
Never mind Sherlock Holmes! Tommaseo was a combination of Poirot, Maigret, Marlowe, Carvalho, Derrick, Columbo, and Perry Mason all thrown together in a blender.
‘You don’t say!’
‘I certainly do, my friend! Listen, I’ll tell you how the whole thing went. I’m absolutely sure of it, cross my heart.’
As Catarella had said. With the result that somebody’s heart was going to give out sooner or later.
‘Please enlighten me.’
‘It’s really quite simple. I’m convinced that when Strangio went back home unexpectedly, he found his girlfriend in the midst of sexual congress with another man. And so,
insane with jealousy, he killed her.’
But how could Tommaseo not have noticed that the girl’s blood was already dry? That she’d been murdered the previous day, at the very least? Montalbano decided to toy with him a
little.
‘But how did you manage, in such a short time . . .?’ he asked, feigning amazement and admiration.
‘Just talking to him was enough. Anyway, you were there yourself, weren’t you? Did you see what self-control? What pitiless lucidity, I might add?’
‘What self-will!’ said Montalbano.
‘Exactly. What? The girl you live with gets murdered and you don’t bat an eyelid?’
‘Don’t even wince?’ said Montalbano.
‘Exactly. You don’t even twitch?’
‘Don’t shed a tear?’ Montalbano suggested.
‘Exactly. So you agree, Montalbano, that such coldness is typical of a murderer?’
‘Absolutely.’
‘So I want you to put the screws on him, I mean it!’
‘But is he under arrest?’
‘No. You tell me: how could I? For the moment he’s simply a witness.’
And therefore should be treated like one. So much for the screws.
NINE
An hour later Fazio came in.
‘You know what? Tommaseo phoned
*
He didn’t give Enzo the satisfaction his dishes deserved. He ate little, and listlessly at that.
He had no explanation for his malaise.
Was it perhaps because he couldn’t get the sight of that poor girl’s hacked-up body out of his mind? Or was it because Strangio’s whole attitude seemed fishy to him?
The customary stroll along the jetty was more a way to pass the time than a digestive necessity.
*
Back at the office, the first thing he did was to call the commissioner. Lattes answered the phone and told him the commissioner was still indisposed, but that Deputy
Commissioner Concialupo was replacing him in all respects for the time being. If the inspector had anything urgent to discuss, he should address the deputy commissioner.
But Montalbano didn’t feel like talking to Concialupo, who was perfectly nice but had to be told things three times before he understood them.
‘Dr Lattes, do you know when the commissioner—’
‘Surely tomorrow morning, with God’s help.’
What to do?
The best thing was not to have anything to do directly with Strangio until he’d spoken to the commissioner.
Questioning him before that would be a mistake.
*
The telephone rang.
‘Chief, onna phone I got the proxecutor onna phone.’
‘Tommaseo?’
‘Poissonally in poisson.’
‘Put him through.’
‘But did you see what a gorgeous girl she was?’ Tommaseo began.
What a surprise! He must be drooling at the other end. Whenever a beautiful young woman was murdered, a crime of passion committed, or amorous intrigues figured in the background of a case,
Tommaseo was in his element.
The inspector’s own theory was that it was a sort of compensation for the fact that the prosecutor was not known to have ever had any kind of relations with a woman.
‘I have her photos here in front of me, and I’m telling you, when she was alive she was a rare beauty,’ Tommaseo continued.
Montalbano was horrified.
But what photos was he looking at? The hair-raising photos of the corpse?
‘Did you get them from Forensics?’
‘No! I asked Strangio for them. By the way, I’ve formed a pretty clear idea of things, you know.’
Montalbano was stunned.
Never mind Sherlock Holmes! Tommaseo was a combination of Poirot, Maigret, Marlowe, Carvalho, Derrick, Columbo, and Perry Mason all thrown together in a blender.
‘You don’t say!’
‘I certainly do, my friend! Listen, I’ll tell you how the whole thing went. I’m absolutely sure of it, cross my heart.’
As Catarella had said. With the result that somebody’s heart was going to give out sooner or later.
‘Please enlighten me.’
‘It’s really quite simple. I’m convinced that when Strangio went back home unexpectedly, he found his girlfriend in the midst of sexual congress with another man. And so,
insane with jealousy, he killed her.’
But how could Tommaseo not have noticed that the girl’s blood was already dry? That she’d been murdered the previous day, at the very least? Montalbano decided to toy with him a
little.
‘But how did you manage, in such a short time . . .?’ he asked, feigning amazement and admiration.
‘Just talking to him was enough. Anyway, you were there yourself, weren’t you? Did you see what self-control? What pitiless lucidity, I might add?’
‘What self-will!’ said Montalbano.
‘Exactly. What? The girl you live with gets murdered and you don’t bat an eyelid?’
‘Don’t even wince?’ said Montalbano.
‘Exactly. You don’t even twitch?’
‘Don’t shed a tear?’ Montalbano suggested.
‘Exactly. So you agree, Montalbano, that such coldness is typical of a murderer?’
‘Absolutely.’
‘So I want you to put the screws on him, I mean it!’
‘But is he under arrest?’
‘No. You tell me: how could I? For the moment he’s simply a witness.’
And therefore should be treated like one. So much for the screws.
NINE
An hour later Fazio came in.
‘You know what? Tommaseo phoned
Similar Books
