The Snack Thief by Andrea Camilleri Page A

silence, he drew a rough but sufficiently precise
street map of Villaseta, which he then showed to all present.
    This is a little house on Via Garibaldi in Villaseta. No
one is living there at the moment. Here behind it is a
garden...
    He went on to illustrate every detail, the neighboring
houses, the street intersections, the smaller cross streets. He
had committed everything to memory the previous afternoon,
when alone in Karimas room. With the exception of
Catarella, who would remain on duty at headquarters, they
were all to have a part in the operation. Using the map, the
inspector pointed out the position that each was to take up.
He ordered them to arrive at the scene one by one: no
sirens, no uniformsin fact, no police cars at all. They were
to remain absolutely inconspicuous. If anybody wanted to
bring his own car, he must leave it at least half a kilometer
away from the house. They could bring along whatever they
wanted, sandwiches, coffee, beer, because it was probably
    going to take a long time. They might have to lie in wait all
night, and there wasnt even any guarantee of success. Most
likely the person they were looking for wouldnt show up.
When the streetlights came on, that would signal the start of
the operation.
    Weapons? asked Augello.
    Weapons? What weapons? Montalbano muttered, momentarily
bewildered.
    I dont know, but since it seemed like something serious,
I thought
    Who is it were looking to capture? Fazio cut in.
    A snack thief.
    Everyone in the room seemed to stop breathing. Beads
of sweat appeared on Augellos forehead.
    Ive been telling him for the last year he should have his head
examined, he thought.
    It was a clear, moonlit night, windless and still. It had only
one flaw, in Montalbanos eyes. It seemed as if time didnt
want to pass. Every minute was mysteriously expanding, dilating
into five more.
    By the light of a cigarette lighter, Livia had put the gutted
mattress back on the bedspring, lain down, and gradually
fallen asleep. She was now sleeping in earnest.
    The inspector, seated in a chair beside the window that
looked out the back, had a clear view of the garden and the
surrounding countryside. Fazio and Grasso were supposed to
    be in that area, but no matter how hard he squinted, he could
see no trace of them. They were probably hidden among the
almond trees. He felt pleased with his mens professionalism;
theyd embraced the assignment wholeheartedly after he told
them the little boy was probably Frans, Karimas son. He
took a pull on his fortieth cigarette and glanced at his watch
by the faint glow. He decided to wait another half hour, after
which he would tell his men to go back home. At this exact
moment he noticed a very slight movement at the point
where the garden ended and the countryside began; but,
more than a movement, it was a momentary break in the reflection
of the moon on the straw and yellow scrub. It
couldnt have been Fazio or Grasso. He had purposely
wanted to leave that area unguarded, as if to favor, even suggest,
that approach. The movement, or whatever it was, repeated
itself, and this time Montalbano could make out a
small, dark shape coming slowly forward. It was the kid, no
doubt about it.
    He moved slowly toward Livia, guided by her breath.
    Wake up, hes coming.
    He returned to the window and was joined at once by
Livia. Montalbano spoke into her ear:
    As soon as they catch him, I want you to go immediately
downstairs. Hes going to be terrified, but when he sees
a woman he might feel reassured. Stroke him, kiss him, tell
him whatever you can think of.
    The little boy was right next to the house now.They could
see him clearly as he raised his head and looked up towards the
    window. Suddenly a mans shape appeared, descended on the
boy and grabbed him. It was Fazio.
    Livia flew down the stairs. Frans, kicking, let out a
long, heartrending wail, like an animal