Treasure Hunt Read Free

sooner had the inspector set his foot down on the first rung than Gregorio suddenly appeared from behind the banner and fired his pistol. And then disappeared. Montalbano ran for cover in a building entrance and said to Fazio:
    “I think it’s better if I go up alone. You stay behind on the ground and start firing to give me some cover.”
    As soon as Fazio fired his first shot, tearing a hole in the banner, the inspector climbed the first rung. He was gripping the ladder with only his left hand, since he had his revolver in his right.
    He continued climbing cautiously. He’d reached the height of the fifth floor when suddenly, despite Fazio’s gunfire, Gregorio Palmisano reappeared and fired a shot from his revolver that barely missed the inspector.
    Montalbano instinctively ducked his head between his shoulders, and in so doing he caught sight of the street below. All at once a cold sweat drenched him from head to toe and he began to feel so dizzy he was in danger of falling. A surge of vomit rose up from the pit of his stomach. He realized that he was in the throes of vertigo, something he’d never experienced before. And now, no doubt with the onset of old age, it suddenly appeared at the worst possible moment.
    He held still for a long minute, unable to move, eyes shut tight. But then he clenched his teeth and resumed his climb, even more slowly than before.
    When he reached the balustrade, he bolted upright, ready to start firing, but a quick glance revealed that the terrace was deserted. Gregorio had gone back inside, closing the French door behind him, and must certainly be right behind the shutter with his pistol cocked.
    “Turn off the spotlight!” Montalbano yelled.
    And he leapt onto the terrace, immediately lying down flat on the ground. Gregorio’s gunshot arrived on schedule, but the harsh light that had suddenly gone out had left him dazzled, forcing him to fire blindly. Montalbano fired back in turn, but couldn’t see anything. Then little by little his eyes returned to normal.
    But standing up and running towards the French door while shooting was out of the question, since this time Gregorio was certain to hit him.
    As he was wondering what to do, Fazio jumped over the balustrade and lay down beside him.
    Now they heard rifle shots coming from inside.
    “That’s Caterina firing at our men from behind the door,” Fazio said in a soft voice.
    The terrace was completely bare except for a vase of flowers and a clothesline with things hanging from it; as for anything behind which they might take cover, nothing. Leaning against a wall, however, were three or four long iron poles, possibly the remains of an old gazebo.
    “What should we do?” asked Fazio.
    “Run over there and grab one of those metal poles. If it’s not rusted through, I think you should be able to bust open the French door. Give me your gun. Ready? Here we go . . . One, two, three!”
    They stood up, and Montalbano started shooting both pistols, feeling slightly ridiculous, like some sheriff in a ’Murcan movie. Then he pulled up alongside Fazio, who was using the pole as a lever, still shooting, this time at the shutter. At last the French door flew open, and they found themselves in near total darkness, because the large room they had entered was barely illuminated by the faint light of an oil lamp on a small table. It had been some time since the Palmisanos stopped using electrical lighting, and no doubt they no longer had power.
    Where was the crazy old man hiding? They heard two rifle shots ring out in a nearby room. It was Caterina fighting off the efforts of Mimì, Gallo, and Galluzzo to break down the front door.
    “Go and grab her from behind,” Montalbano said to Fazio, giving him back his gun. “I’ll go and look for Gregorio.”
    Fazio disappeared behind a door that gave onto a hallway.
    But there was another door off the room, and it was closed. Montalbano felt certain, for no particular reason, that the old