The Age of Doubt by Andrea Camilleri Page A

“Then you released him almost at once.”
    The lieutenant seemed a little uneasy.
    “That’s just it. When he was inside, we received a phone call from the Regional Command, specifically about Shaikiri.”
    “What did they want?”
    “They wanted to know if we’d arrested him.”
    Montalbano balked.
    “How did they find out about it in Palermo?”
    “Dunno.”
    “It really doesn’t seem to me like the kind of thing that would interest the Regional Command.”
    “Exactly.”
    “Go on.”
    “Well, I confirmed the arrest and they told me to hold him at headquarters, saying someone would be coming from Palermo the following morning to interrogate him.”
    “For pissing on a squad car?”
    “I was a little surprised myself. But I did as they said.”
    “And did this person come?”
    “Actually, no. They called me back and said the person who was supposed to question him had a problem and couldn’t come. And they said I should act in accordance with the law as far as Shaikiri was concerned. So I filed a report on him and then let him go.”
    “And why did you come to see us today?”
    “Because that person finally came. He’s at our station now and wants to talk with Shaikiri.”
    “Let me get this straight. You’re asking me to turn the Arab over to you?”
    “That’s right.”
    “Out of the question.”
    The lieutenant grew even more uneasy.
    “The person who came—”
    “What’s his name?”
    “I don’t know. Apparently he’s from the antiterrorism unit. Anyway, as I was saying, that person, as soon as he found out you’d arrested Shaikiri, had also expected . . . well, that you would refuse to turn him over to us.”
    “It was pretty easy to figure that out. So what’s he plan to do?”
    “If you refuse, he’s going to call the commissioner.”
    “And you think the commissioner will—”
    “I don’t think he’ll be able to say no to this person.”
    At this point Montalbano had an idea.
    “We could make an agreement.”
    “Let’s hear it.”
    “I’ll lend him to you for tonight. And you’ll bring him back to me in the morning.”
    “All right,” said Lieutenant Sferlazza.
    Montalbano picked up the receiver and told Fazio to come to his office.
    When Fazio entered, he greeted the lieutenant but showed no surprise at seeing him there.
    Surely Catarella, seeing an enemy enter the camp of Agramante, had told everyone about it.
    “Turn Shaikiri over to the lieutenant at once,” the inspector said.
    Fazio turned pale.
    “Yessir!” he said, military style.
    Five minutes later, however, he came back to the inspector, looking rather agitated.
    “Could you tell me why you—”
    “No,” Montalbano snapped.
    Fazio turned around and left.

    “Catarella, is Augello back?” he said into the phone.
    “He in’t onna premisses yet.”
    “But did he come to the office this morning?”
    “Yessir, Chief.”
    “When?”
    “When you was in conf’rince wit’ Signor Fiorentino.”
    “Then what?”
    “I put a call fer ’im true to ’im, and then, a li’l while later, ’e, meanin’ Isspector Augello, I mean, ’e went out.”
    “Do you remember who it was that called?”
    “I fergit the name, but it was a girl liutinnint from the Harbor’s Office.”
    The inspector dropped the receiver.
    Laura! She’d gotten in touch with Mimì Augello without telling him anything!
    She’d stepped right over him as if he didn’t exist. As if he’d never existed! He felt enraged, embittered, displeased, pained. Why had she behaved so badly? Did she want nothing more to do with him? All at once the door seemed to explode, crashing against the wall and breaking off half the plaster.
    “’Scuse me, Chief, iss so urgint my ’and slipped.”
    “What do you want?” asked Montalbano, recovering his breath after the scare.
    “Y’oughter know yer tiliphone’s off the hook an’ Isspector Augello called but I coun’t put ’im true seein’ as how as yer tiliphone in’t hung up an’