IM10 August Heat (2008) by Andrea Camilleri Read Free Book Online Page B

in the event of an early departure.”
    “Who asked for anything back, Signor Callara?”
    “Ah, okay.Well, then don’t bother coming here yourself. I’ll send someone down to the station to pick up the keys.”
    “I need to talk to you and then show you something.”
    “Come by whenever you like.”
     
     
     
    “Catarella? Montalbano here.”
    “I already rec’nize ya inasmuch as yer voice is all yours, Chief.”
    “Any news?”
    “No sir, Chief, nuttin. ’Xcept fer Filippo Ragusano, you know him, Chief, he’s a one wherats got a shoe store by the church, and ’e shot ’is brother-n-law Gasparino Manzella.”
    “Did he kill him?”
    “Nossir, Chief, jess grazed ’im.”
    “Why’d he shoot him?”
    “Says Gasparino Manzella was gettin on ’is noives since it was rilly hot ’n all an’ a fly was walkin on ’is head which rilly bugged ’im an’ so he shot ’im.”
    “Fazio there?”
    “Nossir, Chief. ’E went out by the iron bridge ’cuz some guy busted ’is wife’s head out that way.”
    “Okay. I wanted to tell you—”
    “But there’s somethin else happened.”
    “Oh, yeah? I was somehow under the impression that nothing had happened.What happened?”
    “What happened izzat Corporeal ’Tective Alberto Virduzzo went into a muddy locality and slipped wit’ both ’is legs in the mud that was there, breaking one o’ the legs aforesaid. Gallo took ’im to the hospitable.”
    “Listen, I wanted to tell you that I’ll be late coming in.”
    “You’re the boss, Chief.”
     
     
     
    Signor Callara was busy with a client. Montalbano stepped outside to smoke a cigarette in the open air. It was so hot that the asphalt was starting to melt, making one’s shoes stick slightly to it. Once Callara was free, he came out in person to meet Montalbano.
    “Please come into my office, Inspector. I’ve got air-conditioning.”
    Which Montalbano hated. Never mind.
    “Before I take you to see something—”
    “Where do you want to take me?”
    “To the house you rented to my friends.”
    “Why? Is there anything wrong? Anything broken?”
    “No, everything’s fine. But I think you should come.”
    “As you wish.”
    “I believe I remember you saying, when you took me to see the house, that it was a man who had emigrated to Germany that had the house built. A certain Angelo Speciale, who had married a German widow, whose son, Ralf, I think you said, had come here with his father-in-law and then mysteriously disappeared on their way back to Germany. Is that correct?”
    Callara looked at him in admiration.
    “Absolutely.What a memory you’ve got!”
    “You, naturally, have the name, address, and telephone number of Signora Speciale?”
    “Of course.Wait just one minute while I look for the information on Signora Gudrun.”
    Montalbano wrote it all down on a scrap of paper. Callara became curious.
    “For what purpose—”
    “You’ll understand later. I seem also to remember that you gave me the name of the developer who designed the house and oversaw the construction.”
    “Yes. His name is Michele Spitaleri. Would you like his phone number?”
    “Yes.”
    Montalbano jotted that down, too.
    “Listen, Inspector. Can’t you tell me why—”
    “I’ll tell you on the way there. Here’s the key. Keep it with you.”
    “Will this take long?”
    “I couldn’t say.”
    Callara gave him an inquisitive look. Montalbano donned an expressionless mask.
    “Maybe I’d better tell the secretary,” said Callara.
     
     
     
    They headed off in Montalbano’s car. On the way, the inspector told Callara how little Bruno had disappeared, how hard it had been to find him, and finally how they’d pulled him out with the help of the firemen.
    Callara was worried about one thing only.
    “Did they do any damage?”
    “Who?”
    “The firemen. Did they damage the house in any way?”
    “No, not inside.”
    “That’s a relief. ’Cause one time when a fire broke out in the kitchen of a