The Potter's Field by Andrea Camilleri Read Free Book Online Page B

car?”
    â€œYes. A Fiat Punto.”
    â€œWhat does she do?”
    â€œNothing. Housewife.”
    â€œWhat about the husband?”
    â€œSea captain. At the moment he’s sailing as first mate on a container ship. He’s been out of the country for the past few months. They say if the husband comes home four times a year it’s already a lot.”
    â€œSo, in theory, the poor girl is forced to go hungry. Did you hear anything to the contrary? Did anyone suggest that she fools around when the husband’s away?”
    â€œI got some conflicting reports. For one or two people, Signora Dolores is actually a slut who’s too shrewd to get caught in the act; for others she’s a woman who is so beautiful that if she does have a lover, she’s right to have one, since her husband is always away; for the majority, however, she’s a virtuous woman.”
    â€œSounds like you held a referendum!”
    â€œBut, Chief, men just love to talk about a woman like that!”
    â€œIn essence, though, it’s all smoke and no fire. All gossip. You know what I say? Let’s forget about her. Maybe the attempt to run her over really was nothing more than a moronic prank.”
    â€œOn the other hand . . . ,” said Fazio.
    â€œOn the other hand?”
    â€œIf you’ll allow me, I’d like to try to find out more about this woman.”
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œAt the moment I can’t really explain it, Chief. But there’s something somebody said to me that made me wonder. It was sort of a flash, an idea that immediately faded. I don’t remember if it was a single word or a phrase, or if it was the way the word or phrase was said to me. Or maybe it was just a silent stare that seemed important to me at that moment.”
    â€œYou don’t remember at all who the person was?”
    â€œI’m having trouble bringing it into focus, Chief. I talked to about ten people in all, women as well as men. I can’t very well go back and ask them the same questions.”
    â€œDo what you think best.”

    Phoning Vanni Arquà, the chief of the Forensic Laboratory, was always a pain. The inspector didn’t like the man one bit, and the feeling was amply returned in kind.
    But he had no choice. Because if he didn’t call him himself, Arquà would never relay any information to him. Before picking up the receiver, Montalbano took a deep breath, as if about to plunge underwater, all the while repeating to himself:
    Easy does it, Salvo, easy...
    He dialed the number.
    â€œArquà? Montalbano here.”
    â€œWhat do you want? Look, I haven’t got any time to waste.”
    To avoid blowing up right off the bat, he clenched his teeth so hard that the words came out very strangely.
    â€œI hrd tht ths mrning—”
    â€œWhy are you talking that way?”
    â€œWhat way? I’m talking the way I always talk. I heard that this morning Dr. Pasquano sent you a bridge he’d found—”
    â€œYes, he did. So what? Goodbye.”
    â€œNo, I’m sorry . . . but, if possible, I would like . . . a little more quickly . . . I realize how swamped with work you people are . . . but you must realize, that . . . for me...”
    In the effort to try to be nice, to avoid hurling abuse at Arquà, he became incapable of constructing a complete sentence. He felt furious at himself.
    â€œThe bridge is no longer here with us.”
    â€œWhere is it?”
    â€œWe sent it to Palermo, to Professor Lomascolo’s lab.”
    Arquà hung up. Montalbano carefully wiped away the sweat that was drenching his brow and redialed the number.
    â€œArquà? Montalbano again. I’m truly sorry to bother you again.”
    â€œSpeak.”
    â€œIf I may, I forgot something important.”
    â€œWhat did you forget?”
    â€œTo tell you to go fuck yourself.”
    He hung up. If he hadn’t got it out of his system, he might be on