The Paper Moon Read Free

but I rang the doorbell for a long time.”
    “All right, but maybe he’s in no condition to come to the door.”
    “Why would that be?”
    “I dunno…maybe he slipped in the bathtub and can’t walk, or has a very high fever—”
    “Inspector, I didn’t just ring the doorbell. I also called out to him. If he’d slipped in the bathtub, he would have answered. Angelo’s apartment is not that big, after all.”
    “I’m afraid I must insist you go back there.”
    “I won’t go back alone. Would you come with me?”
    She looked at him again. This time Montalbano suddenly found himself sinking, the water coming up to his neck. He thought about it a moment, then decided.
    “Listen, I’ll tell you what. If you still haven’t heard from your brother by seven o’clock this evening, come back here to the station, and I’ll accompany you.”
    “Thank you.”
    She stood up and held out her hand. Montalbano took it but couldn’t bring himself to shake it. It felt like a piece of lifeless flesh.

    Ten minutes later Fazio appeared.
    “A seventeen-year-old kid. Went up to the terrace of his building and shot himself up with an overdose. There was nothing we could do, poor guy. When we got there, he was already dead. The second in three days.”
    Montalbano looked at him dumbfounded.
    “The second? You mean there was a first? Why didn’t any one tell me about it?”
    “Fasulo, the engineer. But with him it was cocaine,” said Fazio.
    “Cocaine? What are you saying? Fasulo died of a heart attack!”
    “Sure, that’s what the death certificate says. It’s what his friends say, too. But everybody in town knows it was drugs.”
    “Badly cut stuff?”
    “That I can’t say, Chief.”
    “Listen, do you know some guy named Angelo Pardo, forty-two years old and an informer?”
    Fazio didn’t seem surprised at the mention of Angelo Pardo’s profession. Maybe he hadn’t fully understood.
    “No, sir. Why do you ask?”
    “Seems he disappeared two days ago and his sister’s getting worried.”
    “You want me to—”
    “No, but later, if there’s still no news, we’ll see.”

    “Inspector Montalbano? This is Lattes.”
    “What can I do for you?”
    “Family doing all right?”
    “I think we discussed them a couple of hours ago.”
    “Yes, of course. Listen, I’m calling to tell you that the commissioner can’t see you today, as you’d requested.”
    “Look, Doctor, it was the commissioner who asked to see me.”
    “Really? Well, it makes no difference. Could you come tomorrow at eleven?”
    “Absolutely.”
    Upon learning that he wouldn’t be seeing the commissioner, his lungs filled with air and he suddenly felt ravenous. The only solution was Enzo’s trattoria.
    He stepped outside the police station. The day had the colors of summer, without the extreme heat. He walked slowly, taking his time, already tasting what he was about to eat. When he arrived in front of the trattoria, his heart fell to his feet. The restaurant was closed. Locked. What the hell had happened? In rage he gave the door a swift kick, turned around, and started walking away, cursing the saints. He’d barely taken two steps when he heard someone calling him.
    “Inspector! What, did you forget that we’re closed today?”
    Damn! He’d forgotten!
    “But if you want to eat with me and my wife…”
    He dashed back. And he ate so much that as he was eating he felt embarrassed, ashamed, but couldn’t help himself. When he’d finished, Enzo nearly congratulated him.
    “To your health, Inspector!”
    The walk along the jetty was necessarily a long one.
    He spent the rest of the afternoon with eyelids drooping and head nodding from time to time, overcome by sleepiness. When this happened, he would get up and go wash his face.
    At seven o’clock Catarella told him the lady from the morning had returned.
    As soon as she walked in, Michela Pardo said only one word:
    “Nothing.”
    She did not sit down. She was anxious to get to