Game of Mirrors by Andrea Camilleri Read Free Book Online Page A

work to sleep later than usual.
    He parked in the station’s lot, and in the building’s entrance nearly collided with Fazio, who was coming out.
    “Where you going?”
    “I’m going out to see if I can gather any information on the Via Pisacane bomb.”
    “Are you in a hurry?”
    “Not really.”
    “Then come with me, there’s something I have to tell you.”
    Fazio followed him into the office and sat down.
    “Last night I got what seems like some important information. It was Adelina’s son who told me.”
    He told Fazio what Pasquale had said.
    “So the bomb was supposedly intended for Tallarita?” Fazio said when he’d finished. “And it was supposed to mean: watch out, if you cooperate we’ll kill one of your family?”
    “That’s right.”
    Fazio made a doubtful face.
    “What’s wrong?”
    “I’m just wondering why the Narcotics guys, who certainly must have learned about the bomb, haven’t put the family under protection yet.”
    “Are you sure that’s the case?”
    “Chief, I drove by their front door yesterday and saw nothing there. No men, no cars.”
    “Yes, but we should find out whether the Tallarita family is still there; they may have been taken somewhere else.”
    “No, they’re still there, Chief. I’m positive.”
    Montalbano made a snap decision.
    “What did you say his wife’s name was?”
    “Francesca Calcedonio.”
    “I’m going to go and talk to her.”
    “And what should I do?”
    “Try to find out from Narcotics exactly what the situation is with Tallarita.”
         
    The young man who opened the door was quite good-looking, tall with dark curly hair, an athletic build, and sparkling ebony eyes. Though in shirtsleeves and trousers, he still looked elegant.
    “Yes? Can I help you?”
    “I’m Inspector Montalbano, police.”
    In an instinctive reflex, the youth made as if to shut the door in his face, then thought better of it and asked:
    “What do you want?”
    “I’d like to talk to Signora Tallarita.”
    Was it just his impression, or did the youth seem slightly relieved?
    “My mother’s not in. She’s out shopping.”
    “Are you Arturo?”
    The kid looked alarmed again.
    “Yes.”
    “Will she be long?”
    “I don’t think so.”
    Since the inspector wasn’t moving, he added, somewhat reluctantly:
    “If you’d like to come in and wait . . .”
    He showed him into the dining room, which was modest but clean. In one corner were a small sofa, two armchairs, and the inevitable television set.
    “Did something happen to my father?” Arturo asked.
    “No, not as far as I know. Why, are you worried about him?”
    The kid seemed truly flustered.
    “No, why should I be worried about him? I just asked because I have no idea why . . .”
    “Why I’m here?”
    “That’s right.”
    Arturo got nervous again. The inspector decided to toy with him a little. He made an enigmatic face.
    “Can’t you imagine?”
    Arturo turned visibly pale. It wasn’t the reaction of someone who has nothing to hide.
    “No . . . I can’t . . .”
    The front door opened and closed.
    “Artù, I’m back,” a woman called.
    “Excuse me for just a minute,” the kid said, taking advantage of the situation and rushing out of the room.
    Montalbano heard them whispering animatedly in the entrance hall, and then the mother came in alone.
    She looked older than her age, and was fat and panting. She sat down heavily in an armchair and heaved a long sigh of fatigue.
    “Are you feeling all right?”
    “I have heart disease.”
    “I’ll take only a few minutes of your time.”
    “It’s a good thing Arturo’s store was closed today and he didn’t have to go to work, or you wouldna found nobody home ’cause my daughter Stella’s in Palermo. What can I do for you?”
    “Signora, is your husband currently in Montelusa prison serving a sentence for drug dealing?”
    “Yes, an’ it’s not the first time.”
    “And you live here with your two