Read Online A Voice in the Night by Andrea Camilleri - Free Book Online

easy . . .’
    ‘Can I ask a question?’
    ‘Of course.’
    ‘Why didn’t Pasquano want to mention the bruises?’
    ‘He said it wouldn’t stand up in court. But in my opinion he’s just protecting himself.’
    ‘From what?’
    ‘My dear Fazio, do you somehow think that Pasquano, as well informed as he is, doesn’t know that the Cuffaros are behind this whole affair? He must have decided that it
wouldn’t hurt to be a little careful.’
    ‘So, you were saying?’ Fazio asked.
    ‘I was saying that since we’ve got nothing to show Tommaseo, I don’t think it’s such a good idea to go and stir him up.’
    ‘You’re right,’ said Fazio, already knowing where the inspector wanted to go with this.
    And indeed:
    ‘You feel like coming with me tonight?’
    ‘To the supermarket?’
    ‘Where else do you think I’d want to go? Dancing?’

SIX
    Fazio didn’t hesitate for a second.
    ‘OK.’
    ‘Listen, to save time, I want you to do something for me. Go and see which of these keys open the front door to Borsellino’s building and his apartment. So we don’t waste time
fumbling around in front of the supermarket. Then come by my place to pick me up around twelve-thirty, one o’clock.’
    ‘Chief, the later it is, the better.’
    ‘Then come by some time after one.’
    But Fazio didn’t get up from his chair.
    ‘What is it?’
    ‘Chief, you really need to think hard before doing something like this.’
    ‘Meaning?’
    ‘If they find out we entered the supermarket with no authorization, there could be some serious consequences.’
    ‘Are you worried that the commissioner—’
    ‘No, Chief, don’t insult me. Nothing the commissioner says could ever make any difference to me.’
    ‘And so?’
    ‘I’m afraid that if anybody ever finds out – say, the Honourable Mongibello – they’re liable to claim that we went into the supermarket to plant false
evidence.’
    ‘That you can bank on. But we’ll make sure nobody ever finds out.’
    *
    Back at home he wolfed down another abundant helping of octopus. He had all the time in the world to digest. Then he cleared the table and went back out onto the veranda with a
pack of cigarettes, half a glass of whisky, and a local newspaper. Naturally it featured an article about the supermarket burglary and the manager’s suicide. The reporter seemed almost to
have written the piece under dictation. He never mentioned the inspector’s or Augello’s names. Everything revolved around the central thesis that the shop’s proceeds had been
stolen by the manager himself, who, upon realizing he’d been found out, had hanged himself.
    ‘Amen,’ said Montalbano.
    At midnight he turned on the television.
    Pippo Ragonese, more purse-lipped than ever, was saying that even admitting that the manager himself robbed the shop, this did not justify Inspector Montalbano’s brutal methods, which were
the real reason the unfortunate Mr Borsellino had hanged himself.
    ‘Since when has a death sentence been the punishment for theft in
our country?’
he asked rhetorically at one point.
    ‘I’ll tell you since when,’ Montalbano answered. ‘Ever since your government made it legal for people to shoot at thieves.’
    He turned the television off and went and had a shower.
    *
    At twelve-thirty, Livia rang.
    ‘Sorry for calling so late, but I went to the movies with a friend. Were you already in bed?’
    ‘No, I have to go out on a job.’
    ‘At this time of the night?’
    ‘At this time of the night.’
    He heard her mutter something but couldn’t understand what she said.
    ‘What did you say?’
    ‘Nothing.’
    But the way she’d said ‘nothing’ let Montalbano know what she was thinking. And he flew into a rage.
    ‘Livia, you continue to make a fuss over something we’ve discussed time and time again. I’m not some clerk with a fixed schedule. I don’t get off work at five-thirty in
the afternoon and go home. I—’
    ‘Wait a second. What are you