Read Online IM10 August Heat (2008) by Andrea Camilleri - Free Book Online

answer because it was turned off, but then, an hour later, he picked up. He’ll be here at nine o’clock sharp.”
    “Find out anything?”
    “Of course, Chief.”
    He pulled a little piece of paper out of his pocket and started reading.
    “Michele Spitaleri, son of Bartolomeo Spitaleri and Maria Finocchiaro, born in Vigàta on November 6, 1960, and currently residing in said city, on via Lincoln 44, married to—”
    “That’s enough,” said Montalbano.“I let you get it out of your system for a second, because I felt like being nice today, but now that’s enough.”
    “Thanks for being nice,” said Fazio.
    “Tell me who this Spitaleri is.”
    “Well, seeing as how his sister married Pasquale Alessandro, and seeing as how Alessandro has been mayor of Vigàta for the last eight years, this Spitaleri happens to be the mayor’s brother-in-law.”
    “Elementary, my dear Watson.”
    “Owning, in that capacity, three construction companies and being a surveyor by trade, he gets ninety percent of the municipality’s contracts.”
    “And they let him do that?”
    “Yes they do, because he pays his dues in equal part to both the Cuffaros and the Sinagras. And naturally, he kicks back a cut to his brother-in-law.”
    And therefore, since the Cuffaros and the Sinagras were the two dominant Mafia families in the area, the developer could consider himself safe.
    “So the final cost of every contract ends up being double the figure established at the outset.”
    “Dear Inspector, poor Spitaleri can’t do it any differently, otherwise he’d be operating at a loss.”
    “Anything else?”
    Fazio made a vague expression.
    “Rumors.”
    “Meaning?”
    “He likes minors. A lot.”
    “A pedophile?”
    “Chief, I don’t know what you call it, but the fact is, he likes young girls around fourteen, fifteen years old.”
    “But not sixteen?”
    “No, he thinks they’re past their prime.”
    “He must be one of those who often goes abroad: a ‘sex tourist.’ ”
    “Yessir, but he finds ’em here, too. And he’s not wanting for money. In town they say that one time a girl’s mother and father wanted to report him, but he paid out millions of lire and dodged the bullet. Another time, when he deflowered a virgin, he paid for it with an apartment.”
    “And does he find people willing to sell him their daughters?”
    “Chief, don’t we live in a free-market economy these days? And isn’t the free market the sign of democracy, liberty, and progress?”
    Montalbano gawked at him, open-mouthed.
    “Why are you looking at me like that?”
    “Because you just said something I should have said . . .”
    The telephone rang.
    “Chief, there’s a Signor Spitaletti here says he gots—”
    “Yes, send him in.” He turned to Fazio: “Did you tell him why he was summoned?”
    “What, are you kidding? Of course not.”
    Spitaleri, tanned to the point of being brown, finely dressed in a green jacket as light as onionskin and sporting a Rolex, shoulder-length hair, a gold bracelet, a gold crucifix one could barely see amidst the chest hair sticking out of his unbuttoned shirt, and yellow moccasin loafers and no socks, was visibly nervous about being called in.The way he sat on the edge of the chair said it all. He spoke first.
    “I came, just as you asked, but, believe me, I have no idea—”
    “You will.”
    Why did the guy provoke such a violent aversion in him? He decided to put on the usual act to waste time.
    “Fazio, have you finished over there with Franceschini?”
    There was no Franceschini over there, but Fazio had a lot of experience playing the straight man.
    “Not yet, sir.”
    “Listen, I’ll be right over, that way we can finish this business in five minutes.”
    Turning towards Spitaleri, he stood up.
    “Just sit tight a minute, then I’m all yours.”
    “Look, Inspector, I have an engagement that—”
    “I understand.”
    They went into Fazio’s office.
    “Ask Catarella to make me a