able to find the flaw, the jarring note in the overall picture, without fail.
Better not to think about it.
5
As soon as he entered his office, he summoned Fazio.
“Any news?”
Fazio looked surprised.
“Chief, there hasn’t been enough time. I’m still working on the preliminaries. I’ve checked the missing persons reports, of course, both here and in Montelusa—”
“Well done!” the inspector said snidely.
“Why are you mocking me, Chief?”
“You think that corpse was out for an early morning swim and heading home?”
“No, but I had to check things out here, too. Then I asked around, but it looks like nobody knew him.”
“Did you get an ID profile on him?”
“Yessir. About forty years old, five foot eight and a half, black hair, brown eyes. Stocky build. Distinguishing marks: an old scar on the left leg, just under the knee. He probably limped. And that’s it.”
“Nothing to get excited about.”
“Yeah. That’s why I decided to do something.”
“What’d you do?”
“Well, considering that you’re not too fond of Dr. Arquà, I went to Forensics and asked a friend for a favor.”
“And what was that?”
“I asked if he could make me a computerized sketch of what the guy might have looked like before he died. It should be ready by tonight.”
“Listen, I never ask Arquà for any favors, not even if you put a knife to my throat.”
“Don’t worry, Chief. It’ll remain between me and my friend.”
“What do you intend to do in the meantime?”
“Hit the road. I’ve got a few chores to take care of first, but then I’m going to take my own car and check out the towns along the coast, both to the west and to the east. I’ll contact you the minute I have any news.”
As soon as Fazio left, the door flew open and slammed violently against the wall. Montalbano, however, didn’t move; he knew it was Catarella. By now he was used to these entries. What could he do? Shoot him? Keep the door to his office always open? All he could do was put up with it.
“ ’Pologies, Chief. Hand slipped.”
“Come in, Cat.”
He said it with the exact same intonation as the De Rege brothers’ legendary “Come in, cretin.”
“Chief, seeing as how a journalist phoned this morning asking for you, I jes’ wanted to let you know that he said he was gonna call you back.”
“Did he tell you his name?”
“Pontius Pilate, Chief.”
Was it too much to expect Catarella ever to get anybody’s name right?
“Listen, Cat, when Mr. Pilate calls back, tell him I’m in an urgent meeting with Caiphas, at the Sanhedrin.”
“D’jou say Caiphas, Chief? I sure won’t forget that!”
But he remained standing in the doorway.
“Something wrong, Cat?”
“Lass nite I seen you on TV, Chief.”
“What do you do, Cat, spend all your free time watching me on TV?”
“No, Chief, it was by accidint.”
“What was it, a replay of me naked? I must be getting good ratings!”
“No sir, you was drissed. I seen you past midnight on the Free Channel. You was on the docks, tellin’ two of our men to go back ’cause you could take care of things y’self. Man, what a thorty you got!”
“Okay, Cat, thanks. You can go now.”
He felt rather worried about Catarella. Not because he had any doubts about his sexuality, but because if he, the inspector, resigned—as he’d already decided to do—surely Catarella would suffer terribly, like a dog abandoned by its master.
Ciccio Albanese showed up around eleven-thirty, empty-handed.
“You didn’t bring the charts you mentioned?”
“If I showed them to you, would you understand them?”
“No.”
“So why should I bring them? It’s better if I explain things myself.”
“Tell me something, Ciccio. Do all of you trawler captains use maps?”
Albanese looked at him cockeyed.
“Are you kidding? In our line of work, we know our stretch of sea by heart. Some of it we learned from our dads, some of it we learned by ourselves.
Better not to think about it.
5
As soon as he entered his office, he summoned Fazio.
“Any news?”
Fazio looked surprised.
“Chief, there hasn’t been enough time. I’m still working on the preliminaries. I’ve checked the missing persons reports, of course, both here and in Montelusa—”
“Well done!” the inspector said snidely.
“Why are you mocking me, Chief?”
“You think that corpse was out for an early morning swim and heading home?”
“No, but I had to check things out here, too. Then I asked around, but it looks like nobody knew him.”
“Did you get an ID profile on him?”
“Yessir. About forty years old, five foot eight and a half, black hair, brown eyes. Stocky build. Distinguishing marks: an old scar on the left leg, just under the knee. He probably limped. And that’s it.”
“Nothing to get excited about.”
“Yeah. That’s why I decided to do something.”
“What’d you do?”
“Well, considering that you’re not too fond of Dr. Arquà, I went to Forensics and asked a friend for a favor.”
“And what was that?”
“I asked if he could make me a computerized sketch of what the guy might have looked like before he died. It should be ready by tonight.”
“Listen, I never ask Arquà for any favors, not even if you put a knife to my throat.”
“Don’t worry, Chief. It’ll remain between me and my friend.”
“What do you intend to do in the meantime?”
“Hit the road. I’ve got a few chores to take care of first, but then I’m going to take my own car and check out the towns along the coast, both to the west and to the east. I’ll contact you the minute I have any news.”
As soon as Fazio left, the door flew open and slammed violently against the wall. Montalbano, however, didn’t move; he knew it was Catarella. By now he was used to these entries. What could he do? Shoot him? Keep the door to his office always open? All he could do was put up with it.
“ ’Pologies, Chief. Hand slipped.”
“Come in, Cat.”
He said it with the exact same intonation as the De Rege brothers’ legendary “Come in, cretin.”
“Chief, seeing as how a journalist phoned this morning asking for you, I jes’ wanted to let you know that he said he was gonna call you back.”
“Did he tell you his name?”
“Pontius Pilate, Chief.”
Was it too much to expect Catarella ever to get anybody’s name right?
“Listen, Cat, when Mr. Pilate calls back, tell him I’m in an urgent meeting with Caiphas, at the Sanhedrin.”
“D’jou say Caiphas, Chief? I sure won’t forget that!”
But he remained standing in the doorway.
“Something wrong, Cat?”
“Lass nite I seen you on TV, Chief.”
“What do you do, Cat, spend all your free time watching me on TV?”
“No, Chief, it was by accidint.”
“What was it, a replay of me naked? I must be getting good ratings!”
“No sir, you was drissed. I seen you past midnight on the Free Channel. You was on the docks, tellin’ two of our men to go back ’cause you could take care of things y’self. Man, what a thorty you got!”
“Okay, Cat, thanks. You can go now.”
He felt rather worried about Catarella. Not because he had any doubts about his sexuality, but because if he, the inspector, resigned—as he’d already decided to do—surely Catarella would suffer terribly, like a dog abandoned by its master.
Ciccio Albanese showed up around eleven-thirty, empty-handed.
“You didn’t bring the charts you mentioned?”
“If I showed them to you, would you understand them?”
“No.”
“So why should I bring them? It’s better if I explain things myself.”
“Tell me something, Ciccio. Do all of you trawler captains use maps?”
Albanese looked at him cockeyed.
“Are you kidding? In our line of work, we know our stretch of sea by heart. Some of it we learned from our dads, some of it we learned by ourselves.
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