Angelica's Smile by Andrea Camilleri

our town, and which Inspector Salvo Montalbano, into whose hands the case has unfortunately fallen, has been unable to put an end to. The thieves apparently always use the same modus operandi.
    “They break into a vacation home while the owners are asleep inside, take the keys to these people’s apartment in town, and then proceed to rob it unmolested. This is exactly what happened again in the latest robbery, suffered by Miss Angelica Cosulich, but in his report on the incident, Inspector Montalbano altered the facts, writing that the only place that was robbed was Miss Cosulich’s apartment in town. Whereas the procedure was in fact the same on this occasion: the burglars first broke into the villa belonging to Miss Cosulich’s cousin, while she was asleep inside, and took the keys to her urban apartment.
    “This raises two questions. Was it Miss Cosulich who failed to tell Inspector Montalbano of the true sequence of events? And, if so, for what purpose? Or was it the inspector himself who filed a partial report of these events? And, if so, why? We shall keep our viewers informed of the latest developments in this situation, which we find gravely disturbing.”
    “You wanted a reaction?” said Zito. “Well, there you have it!”

    Now Montalbano understood what had made Mr. C’mishner so angry.
    It was four-thirty, so he made his way slowly to Montelusa Central Police.
    The usher showed him into the commissioner’s office at five-twenty.
    Montalbano felt calm. He’d had all the time he needed to prepare a dramatic defense, to be delivered in the old-fashioned Italian style, à laGustavo Salvini or Ermete Zacconi.
    The commissioner did not look up from a sheet of paper he was reading. He did not greet the inspector or even tell him to sit down.
    Travelers’ warning: high-intensity storm on the horizon.
    Then, still without saying a word, the commissioner extended his arm and handed Montalbano the sheet he’d been reading.
    It was an anonymous letter, written in block letters.
    IT ISN’T TRUE THAT THE BURGLARS ONLY BROKE INTO THE APARTMENT WHERE ANGELICA COSULICH LIVES. THEY TOOK THE KEYS FROM HER COUSIN’S VILLA, WHERE SHE HAD GONE TO TAKE THE DAY OFF. WHY DID INSPECTOR MONTALBANO OMIT THIS FACT FROM HIS REPORT?
    Montalbano threw the paper disdainfully back on the commissioner’s desk.
    “I demand an explanation!” Bonetti-Alderighi said.
    Montalbano brought his hand to his forehead, as if in pain.
    “Alas!” he said operatically. “What grave offense is this?”
    Removing his hand from his brow, he opened his eyes wide, then pointed at the commissioner with a trembling finger.
    “You insult me with such ignoble slander!”
    “Come now, Montalbano, nobody is slandering you!” said the commissioner, slightly bewildered.
    “You lend credence to the words of an anonymous coward! You—yes, you—who should protect your faithful attendants, you abandon me to the whims of vile falsehoods!”
    “Why are you talking that way? Come on, calm down!”
    Montalbano didn’t sit down so much as collapse into a chair.
    “My report is honest and veracious! And none shall cast doubt upon it!”
    “But why are you talking that way?” the commissioner repeated, seeming troubled.
    “Could I have some water?”
    “Help yourself.”
    Montalbano stood up, took two steps, staggering as though drunk, opened the minibar, poured himself a glass of water, and sat back down.
    “Now I feel a little better. Forgive me, Mr. Commissioner, but when I am unjustly accused of something, I temporarily lose control of my language skills. It’s called Scotti Turow Syndrome; do you know it?”
    “Vaguely,” said the commissioner, not wanting to appear completely ignorant. “Now tell me what really happened.”
    “Mr. Commissioner, that letter is a pack of lies. While it’s true that Miss Cosulich was sleeping in her cousin’s villa—”
    “But then—”
    “Please let me finish. The burglars did not go inside the villa;