The Track of Sand by Andrea Camilleri Read Free Book Online Page A

there an hour before the start. It would be impolite if we didn’t show up till the starting signal.”
    “All right, then.”
    “Really? You see? I was right!”
    “About what?”
    “You did find my friend Rachele attractive.”
    “It’s not that; I only accepted so I could spend a few more hours with you.”
    “You’re more phony than . . . than . . .”
    “Oh, listen. How should I dress?”
    “Naked.You look good naked.”

5
    Fazio, who had gone missing all morning, straggled in just before five o’clock.
    “You got anything for me?”
    “Enough.”
    “Before you open your mouth, I want you to know that early this morning, Mimì went to Lo Duca’s stables and found out some interesting things.”
    He told him what Augello had discovered. When he had finished, Fazio had a dubious look on his face.
    “What’s wrong?”
    “Sorry, Chief, but wouldn’t it be better, at this point, if we got in contact with our colleagues in Montelusa and—”
    “And passed the ball to them?”
    “Chief, it could be useful to them to know that one of the horses was killed here, in Marinella.”
    “No.”
    “Have it your way, then. But could you explain why?”
    “If you insist. It’s a personal matter. I was really appalled by the stupid ferocity with which they killed that poor animal. I want to see these guys’ faces myself.”
    “But you can tell our colleagues how the horse was killed! With all the gory details!”
    “It’s one thing to hear tell of something, it’s another to see it with your own eyes.”
    “Chief, I’m sorry to be so insistent, but—”
    “Are you in cahoots with Augello?”
    “Me, in cahoots . . . ?!” said Fazio, turning pale.
    “Sorry, I’m a bit on edge.”
    He really was. Because he just remembered he had said yes to Ingrid, and now he no longer felt like going to Fiacca to join the pack of assholes drooling after Rachele.
    “Tell me about Prestia.”
    Fazio was still a touch offended.
    “Chief, there are certain things you shouldn’t say to me.”
    “I’ll say it again: I’m sorry. Okay?”
    Fazio pulled a sheet of paper out of his jacket pocket, and the inspector realized that he was going to recite all the personal particulars of Michilino Prestia and his associates. Some people collect stamps, Chinese prints, model airplanes, and seashells; Fazio collected bureaucratic information on individuals. No doubt when he went home he logged all the information he collected on the people he was investigating onto his computer. And on his days off, he amused himself reviewing it.
    “May I?” said Fazio.
    “Go ahead.”
    At other times the inspector had threatened him with death if he read his notes out loud. But since he had offended him, he now had to pay. Fazio smiled and started reading. Peace had been made.
    “Michele Prestia, known as ‘Michilino,’ born in Vigàta, March 23, 1953, to Giuseppe Prestia and Giovanna née Larosa, and living at Via Abete Meli 32. Married in 1980 to Grazia Stornello, born in Vigàta on September 3, 1960, to Giovanni Stornello and—”
    “Couldn’t you skip that part?” Montalbano asked timidly, after he had started sweating.
    “It’s important.”
    “All right, go on,” said the inspector, resigned.
    “—and Marianna née Todaro. Michele Prestia and Grazia Stornello have had one male child, Balduccio, who passed away in a motorcycle accident at the age of eighteen. After studying bookkeeping at a vocational school, Mr. Prestia began working at age twenty as a junior accountant at the firm of Cozzo and Rampello which presently owns three supermarkets.After ten years at this job, he was promoted to the rank of senior accountant. He resigned from this post in 2004, and has remained unemployed to the present day.”
    He carefully refolded the sheet of paper and slipped it back into his pocket.
    “That is all that’s officially known,” he said.
    “And unofficially?”
    “Shall I begin with the wedding?”
    “Begin wherever you