The Paper Moon by Andrea Camilleri Read Free Book Online

Tommaseo. I’d meant to go with you, but I think there’s no point in my being there.”
    “What does this man want from me?”
    “He needs to ask you some questions about your brother. Could I use the telephone? I’ll tell Tommaseo you’re on your way.”
    “But where am I supposed to go?”
    “To the courthouse, in Montelusa.”
    He went into the study and immediately sensed something strange. Something had changed, but he didn’t know what. He called up Tommaseo and told him he couldn’t attend the meeting with Pardo’s sister. The prosecutor, though he didn’t show it, was naturally pleased.
    Back in the hallway, Michela was ready to leave.
    “Could you please give me the keys to this apartment?”
    She hesitated a moment, unsure, then opened her purse and handed him the set.
    “What if I need to come back here?”
    “Come to the station and I’ll give them back to you. Where can I find you this afternoon?”
    “At home.”
    He closed the door behind Michela and ran into the study.
    From time immemorial the inspector had a kind of photographic eye built into his head. When, for example, he entered a room that was new to him, he could capture in a single glance not only the arrangement of the furniture but also the objects sitting on top of the different pieces. And he would remember all this even after some time had passed.
    He stopped in the doorway, leaned his right shoulder against the jamb and, looking very carefully, discovered at once what didn’t tally.
    The overnight bag.
    The previous evening the bag was resting upright on the floor beside the desk, whereas now it was entirely under the desk. There was no reason to move it; it was not in the way, even if one had to use the phone. Michela must therefore have picked it up to see what was inside and not put it back where it was before.
    He cursed. Shit, what a big mistake he’d made! He should not have left the woman alone in the murdered man’s home. He had made it as easy as possible for her to get rid of anything that might prove in some way compromising for her brother.
    He grabbed the overnight bag and set it down on the desk. The little suitcase opened up at once; it was not locked. Inside, a great mass of papers with letterheads of a variety of pharmaceutical companies, instruction inserts for medicines, order forms, receipts.
    There were also two datebooks, one big and one small. He looked first at the big one. The index of addresses was densely packed with the names and telephone numbers of doctors all over the province, hospitals, and pharmacies. In addition, Angelo Pardo diligently wrote down every work-related appointment he had.
    Montalbano set this aside and thumbed through the smaller one. It was Pardo’s private datebook. It contained the names and phone numbers of Elena Sclafani, his sister, Michela, and many others the inspector didn’t know. He looked at the page for the previous Monday. Pardo had written, 9 pm E. Thus what Elena had told him about her rendezvous with Angelo was true. He set the little datebook aside as well and picked up the phone.
    “Montalbano here, Cat. Lemme talk to Fazio.”
    “Straightaway, Chief.”
    “Fazio, could you come meet me right now at Angelo Pardo’s place?”
    “On the terrace?”
    “No, downstairs, in the apartment.”
    “I’m on my way.”
    “Oh, and bring Catarella along with you.”
    “Catarella?!”
    “Why, can’t he be moved?”
    The desk had three drawers. He opened the one on the right. Here, too, papers and documents relating to the man’s career as—what was that again?—ah, yes, as a “pharmaceutical industry informer.” The one in the middle wouldn’t open. It was locked, and the key was nowhere to be seen. Probably Michela had taken it. What a goddamn idiot he’d been! He was about to open the drawer on the left when the telephone on the desk rang so suddenly and loudly that it scared him. He picked up the receiver.
    “Yes?” he said, squeezing his nostrils