the best thing is for me not show my face here anymore, and I don’t think it’s wise for you to come to my office. Call me, even as early as tomorrow, and we’ll schedule an appointment. Thank you for everything.”
He held out his hand, and the inspector shook it. But as soon as he took a step toward the door, he swerved and lost his balance. Montalbano jumped and grabbed him by the shoulder.
“You are in no shape to drive. I’ll take you.”
“No, thanks,” Verruso said firmly, “just walk me to the car.”
He leaned on the inspector’s arm. They walked out of the office, across the hallway, and headed toward the front door. Catarella, seeing them walk in front of him, opened his mouth and his eyes, dropping the telephone he was holding. He looked like that statuette from the Nativity scene, the shepherd with his arms raised in surprise, standing in front of the cave where the baby Jesus had been born. Montalbano waited for the marshal to get in his car and leave. Then he walked back inside. Catarella was still stuck in the same position, a pillar of salt.
6
It was time to go eat, and Fazio still hadn’t shown up. Since the door to his office remained open, he yelled his name. Fazio ran over but stopped at the threshold, poked his head into the office of his superior, and looked around carefully, as if the marshal was hiding and about to suddenly reappear. Montalbano thought he should say the famous punch line by the De Rege brothers: “Come inside, you idiot!”
But he resisted the urge, there was no need to top it all off and make Fazio’s mood even worse.
“So? Are you done yet?”
“Yes, sir, I finished half an hour ago.”
“Then why didn’t you come see me?”
“I was afraid of whom I might run into.”
What should he do? Insult him? Or pretend he didn’t hear and wait for another chance? He chose the second option, carrying on as if the other hadn’t said anything. In the meantime, Fazio had placed the piece of paper he had given him on his desk.
“Take a look.”
“What do you mean?”
“Sir, generally speaking, take a look means take a look. This case is no exception.”
Fazio was in a rotten mood. But the inspector reacted this time.
“If you don’t apologize in five seconds, I’m going to kick you in the ass and I don’t give a fuck if you sue me, the chief, the union, the president of the Republic, and the pope.”
He said it in a low voice, and Fazio realized he had crossed the line.
“I apologize.”
“Come on, out with it, don’t waste my time.”
“There is a link between two of the six tragedies. The man who was squashed by the iron beam and the Albanian worked for the same construction company, Santa Maria, the one belonging to Alfredo Corso .”
“Did they both have the same foreman?”
“No.”
And he didn’t say anything else. He was ice cold, Fazio.
After a while, he asked: “Is there anything else I can do?”
“No. I just wanted to let you know that we’re not investigating the death of the Albanian anymore. It was the marshal’s case, and we were wrong to interfere. Agreed?”
“As you wish. And what should I do with this piece of paper?” he asked, picking it up off the desk.
“Wipe your ass with it. I’m going to eat.”
Catarella ran after him, stopped him at the front door, and spoke in a conspiratorial manner.
“What is it, sir, is he one of your personal relatives?”
“Who?”
“The marshal.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Then, I beg your pardon, why was he putting his personal arm on your own personal one?”
“Catarè, this morning, getting out of the car, didn’t I lean on you?”
“That’s true.”
“Does that mean the two of us are relatives?”
“
Matre santa!
That’s true! Sir, nobody in the world explains things as well as you know how to explain them!”
But he immediately had a doubt.
“But, sir, the marishallo wasn’t getting out of his own personal car! This is something
He held out his hand, and the inspector shook it. But as soon as he took a step toward the door, he swerved and lost his balance. Montalbano jumped and grabbed him by the shoulder.
“You are in no shape to drive. I’ll take you.”
“No, thanks,” Verruso said firmly, “just walk me to the car.”
He leaned on the inspector’s arm. They walked out of the office, across the hallway, and headed toward the front door. Catarella, seeing them walk in front of him, opened his mouth and his eyes, dropping the telephone he was holding. He looked like that statuette from the Nativity scene, the shepherd with his arms raised in surprise, standing in front of the cave where the baby Jesus had been born. Montalbano waited for the marshal to get in his car and leave. Then he walked back inside. Catarella was still stuck in the same position, a pillar of salt.
6
It was time to go eat, and Fazio still hadn’t shown up. Since the door to his office remained open, he yelled his name. Fazio ran over but stopped at the threshold, poked his head into the office of his superior, and looked around carefully, as if the marshal was hiding and about to suddenly reappear. Montalbano thought he should say the famous punch line by the De Rege brothers: “Come inside, you idiot!”
But he resisted the urge, there was no need to top it all off and make Fazio’s mood even worse.
“So? Are you done yet?”
“Yes, sir, I finished half an hour ago.”
“Then why didn’t you come see me?”
“I was afraid of whom I might run into.”
What should he do? Insult him? Or pretend he didn’t hear and wait for another chance? He chose the second option, carrying on as if the other hadn’t said anything. In the meantime, Fazio had placed the piece of paper he had given him on his desk.
“Take a look.”
“What do you mean?”
“Sir, generally speaking, take a look means take a look. This case is no exception.”
Fazio was in a rotten mood. But the inspector reacted this time.
“If you don’t apologize in five seconds, I’m going to kick you in the ass and I don’t give a fuck if you sue me, the chief, the union, the president of the Republic, and the pope.”
He said it in a low voice, and Fazio realized he had crossed the line.
“I apologize.”
“Come on, out with it, don’t waste my time.”
“There is a link between two of the six tragedies. The man who was squashed by the iron beam and the Albanian worked for the same construction company, Santa Maria, the one belonging to Alfredo Corso .”
“Did they both have the same foreman?”
“No.”
And he didn’t say anything else. He was ice cold, Fazio.
After a while, he asked: “Is there anything else I can do?”
“No. I just wanted to let you know that we’re not investigating the death of the Albanian anymore. It was the marshal’s case, and we were wrong to interfere. Agreed?”
“As you wish. And what should I do with this piece of paper?” he asked, picking it up off the desk.
“Wipe your ass with it. I’m going to eat.”
Catarella ran after him, stopped him at the front door, and spoke in a conspiratorial manner.
“What is it, sir, is he one of your personal relatives?”
“Who?”
“The marshal.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Then, I beg your pardon, why was he putting his personal arm on your own personal one?”
“Catarè, this morning, getting out of the car, didn’t I lean on you?”
“That’s true.”
“Does that mean the two of us are relatives?”
“
Matre santa!
That’s true! Sir, nobody in the world explains things as well as you know how to explain them!”
But he immediately had a doubt.
“But, sir, the marishallo wasn’t getting out of his own personal car! This is something
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