me,’ said the inspector.
‘What did he want?’
‘He wants us to put the screws on Strangio.’
‘Ha ha ha!’
‘Why do you laugh?’
‘Because he himself was very careful not to put the screws on him! Didn’t you see how his expression changed when Strangio told him whose son he was? Mr Prosecutor wants us to be his
lightning rod!’
‘But,’ said Montalbano, ‘that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t carry on just the same. Taking care that none of it reaches Strangio’s ears or his father’s.
Otherwise things could get dangerous.’
‘Like touching the third rail,’ said Fazio.
‘The girl – what’s her name? – ah, yes, Mariangela Colosimo . . .’ the inspector began.
‘Carlesimo,’ Fazio corrected him.
How was it that he never used to get people’s names wrong but now was becoming more and more like Catarella?
‘This girl,’ he resumed with a note of pique in his voice, ‘based on what her boyfriend said, did not seem like the housekeeping type. She must certainly have had a cleaning
lady she paid by the hour. We should find out who she is, what her name is—’
‘Already taken care of,’ said Fazio.
The inspector saw red.
Overcome by a rage as unreasonable as it was irresistible, he slammed his hand on the desk.
Surprised, Fazio gave a start.
‘What was that?’
‘Nothing,’ said Montalbano, ashamed of his nervous outburst. ‘I killed a fly that was bothering me. So tell me.’
‘Can I look at a piece of paper I have in my pocket?’ Fazio asked in a tone that was at once prefatory and slightly combative.
‘Provided there’s nothing from the records office.’
‘Fine. After everything had been done at Strangio’s house and everyone had just left, I was getting into the car to come back here when a woman of about fifty came up to me, wanting
to know what had happened. I told her she would find out on the TV news. But then she said she was Strangio’s housekeeper, and that she normally came in to work at one. And so I told her what
happened, and since she could hardly walk after hearing the news, Gallo and I gave her a ride home. That way I was able to question her eye to eye.’
‘Well done, Fazio.’
‘Thanks.’
Only now did he pull the piece of paper out of his pocket. He gave it a quick glance and then put it back in his pocket.
‘The housekeeper’s name is Concettina Vullo. She used to work every day except Sunday. She would come in at one and stay until four. She cooked, ironed, and cleaned.’
‘What did she tell you about Strangio?’
‘She said she didn’t know him well because he almost always ate out during the day. She said he was flighty.’
‘Flighty? Meaning?’
‘He’d be cheerful one minute and then totally pissed off the next.’
‘Did she ever witness any quarrels between him and his girlfriend?’
‘No.’
‘And what was the girl like?’
‘Basically a nice girl. She would spend hours on her phone.’
‘So, to cut a long story short, she didn’t tell you anything substantial.’
‘No, but there was one thing of interest.’
‘And what was that?’
‘She said that sometimes the girl would make her own bed.’
Montalbano gave him a puzzled look.
‘That doesn’t seem like such big news to me.’
‘Mrs Vullo said that most of the time she herself would make the bed, but on certain mornings she would find it already made.’
‘I got that already. So what? Maybe every so often the girl felt like doing some housework.’
Fazio continued, unruffled.
‘And this always happened whenever Strangio was away on business and spent the night out. See my point?’
That changed the whole picture.
‘I certainly do. Now the whole thing is clear. On the nights when Strangio didn’t sleep at home, she would “entertain”, let’s say, without any fear of unpleasant
surprises from her boyfriend. And to prevent the housekeeper from noticing that the bed had been slept in by two people instead of one, she would have
‘What did he want?’
‘He wants us to put the screws on Strangio.’
‘Ha ha ha!’
‘Why do you laugh?’
‘Because he himself was very careful not to put the screws on him! Didn’t you see how his expression changed when Strangio told him whose son he was? Mr Prosecutor wants us to be his
lightning rod!’
‘But,’ said Montalbano, ‘that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t carry on just the same. Taking care that none of it reaches Strangio’s ears or his father’s.
Otherwise things could get dangerous.’
‘Like touching the third rail,’ said Fazio.
‘The girl – what’s her name? – ah, yes, Mariangela Colosimo . . .’ the inspector began.
‘Carlesimo,’ Fazio corrected him.
How was it that he never used to get people’s names wrong but now was becoming more and more like Catarella?
‘This girl,’ he resumed with a note of pique in his voice, ‘based on what her boyfriend said, did not seem like the housekeeping type. She must certainly have had a cleaning
lady she paid by the hour. We should find out who she is, what her name is—’
‘Already taken care of,’ said Fazio.
The inspector saw red.
Overcome by a rage as unreasonable as it was irresistible, he slammed his hand on the desk.
Surprised, Fazio gave a start.
‘What was that?’
‘Nothing,’ said Montalbano, ashamed of his nervous outburst. ‘I killed a fly that was bothering me. So tell me.’
‘Can I look at a piece of paper I have in my pocket?’ Fazio asked in a tone that was at once prefatory and slightly combative.
‘Provided there’s nothing from the records office.’
‘Fine. After everything had been done at Strangio’s house and everyone had just left, I was getting into the car to come back here when a woman of about fifty came up to me, wanting
to know what had happened. I told her she would find out on the TV news. But then she said she was Strangio’s housekeeper, and that she normally came in to work at one. And so I told her what
happened, and since she could hardly walk after hearing the news, Gallo and I gave her a ride home. That way I was able to question her eye to eye.’
‘Well done, Fazio.’
‘Thanks.’
Only now did he pull the piece of paper out of his pocket. He gave it a quick glance and then put it back in his pocket.
‘The housekeeper’s name is Concettina Vullo. She used to work every day except Sunday. She would come in at one and stay until four. She cooked, ironed, and cleaned.’
‘What did she tell you about Strangio?’
‘She said she didn’t know him well because he almost always ate out during the day. She said he was flighty.’
‘Flighty? Meaning?’
‘He’d be cheerful one minute and then totally pissed off the next.’
‘Did she ever witness any quarrels between him and his girlfriend?’
‘No.’
‘And what was the girl like?’
‘Basically a nice girl. She would spend hours on her phone.’
‘So, to cut a long story short, she didn’t tell you anything substantial.’
‘No, but there was one thing of interest.’
‘And what was that?’
‘She said that sometimes the girl would make her own bed.’
Montalbano gave him a puzzled look.
‘That doesn’t seem like such big news to me.’
‘Mrs Vullo said that most of the time she herself would make the bed, but on certain mornings she would find it already made.’
‘I got that already. So what? Maybe every so often the girl felt like doing some housework.’
Fazio continued, unruffled.
‘And this always happened whenever Strangio was away on business and spent the night out. See my point?’
That changed the whole picture.
‘I certainly do. Now the whole thing is clear. On the nights when Strangio didn’t sleep at home, she would “entertain”, let’s say, without any fear of unpleasant
surprises from her boyfriend. And to prevent the housekeeper from noticing that the bed had been slept in by two people instead of one, she would have
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