The Paper Moon by Andrea Camilleri Read Free Book Online Page B

him answer the phone. Giacomo’s angry because he’s been unable to get in touch with Angelo for several days. When he’s about to start talking to him, he tells him to hold on because he’s got a call on another line. Right?”
    “Right.”
    “He talks on the other line and somebody tells him something that not only upsets him but makes him break off the conversation. The question is, what did they tell him?”
    “That Angelo’s been murdered,” said Montalbano.
    “That’s what I think, too.”
    “Listen, Fazio, do the newsmen know about the murder yet?”
    “Well, something’s been leaking out. But to get back to our discussion, when Giacomo finds out he’s talking to a fake Angelo, he hangs up immediately.”
    “The question is, why did he hang up?” said Montalbano. “Here’s a first idea: Let’s say Giacomo’s a man with nothing to hide, an innocent friend from nights of wining and dining and girls. While he’s thinking he’s talking to Angelo, somebody tells him Angelo’s been killed. A real friend would not have hung up. He’d have asked the fake Angelo who he really is and why he was passing himself off as Angelo. So we need a second idea. Which is that Giacomo, as soon as he learns of Angelo’s death, says ‘Holy shit’ and hangs up because he’s afraid of giving himself away if he keeps on talking. So it’s not an innocent friendship, but something shady. And that first phone call also seemed fishy to me.”
    “What can we do?”
    “We can try to find out where the calls came from. See if you can get authorization, and then take it to the phone company. There’s no guarantee it’s going to work, but it’s worth a try.”
    “I’ll try right now.”
    “Wait, that’s not all. We need to find out everything we can about Angelo Pardo. Based on what Elena Sclafani told me, it seems he was kicked out of the medical association or whatever it’s called. And that’s not the sort of thing that’s done for chickenshit.”
    “All right, I see what I can do.”
    “Wait. What’s the big hurry? I also want to know the whole life story of Emilio Sclafani, who teaches Greek at the liceo of Montelusa. You’ll find the address in the phone book.”
    “All right,” said Fazio, making no more sign of leaving.
    “Another thing. What about Angelo’s wallet?”
    “He had it in the back pocket of his jeans. Forensics grabbed it.”
    “Did they grab anything else?”
    “Yessir. A set of keys and the cell phone that was on the table.”
    “Before the day is over, I want those keys, cell phone, and wallet.”
    “Fine. Can I go now?”
    “No. Try to open the middle drawer of Pardo’s desk. It’s locked. But you have to be able to open and reclose it so that it looks like it hasn’t been touched.”
    “That’ll take a little time.”
    “You’ve got all the time you want.”
    As Fazio started to fiddle around with the drawer, Montalbano went into the living room. Catarella had turned on the laptop and was fiddling around himself.
    “Iss rilly difficult, Chief.”
    “Why?”
    “’Cause iss got the lass word.”
    Montalbano was befuddled. What, can computers talk now?
    “Cat, what the hell are you saying?”
    “Iss like diss, Chief: When summon don’t want summon to look at the poissonal tings he got inside, he gives it a lass word.”
    Montalbano understood.
    “You mean a password?”
    “Ain’t dat what I said? And if you don’t got the lass word, y’can’t get in.”
    “So we’re fucked?”
    “Not nicissarily, Chief. He’s gotta have a form wit’ the name ’n’ sir name o’ the owner, date a boith, name o’ the missus or girlfriend or brother and sister and mother and father, son if you got one, daughter if you got one—”
    “All right, I’ll have everything to you today after lunch. Meanwhile take the computer back to the station with you. Who are you going to give the form to?”
    “Who’m I sposta give it to, Chief?”
    “Cat, you said, ‘He’s gotta