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the guy probably had to walk with his head bent when he was below decks. Then the lady and her captain started going up the gangway to the
Vanna
.
    When he got to the flat rock under the lighthouse, the inspector sat down, fired up a cigarette, and started thinking about what he had just seen.
    What were the owner and captain of the
Vanna
doing aboard the
Ace of Hearts
?
    Perhaps just a courtesy visit, a good-neighborly sort of thing? Was it common practice for those kinds of people to do that? Given the time of day, it was also quite possible, even likely, that the
Vanna
people had been invited to lunch.
    Or did they all know each other from before? Were they old friends? Or business associates or something similar?
    There was only one way to find out: try to learn more about the
Ace of Hearts
.
    This, however, would mean that the investigation, instead of becoming smaller and more focused, would expand by involving more people. Which was the worst thing that could happen to an ongoing investigation.
    At any rate, the only way to get any information on the
Ace of Hearts
was to ask Laura, whom he had something else to ask as soon as possible.
    Laura! Man, was she ever . . .
    Once again he got lost in his thoughts about her. He didn’t like the fact that the moment she came to mind, he could no longer concentrate on anything else. In his head there was only her: the way she walked, the way she laughed . . . Deep down, he felt a little ashamed of this. It didn’t seem proper for a man his age. But he couldn’t do anything about it.
    Once inside the car, instead of going to the station, he took the road to Montelusa. Pulling up in front of the Forensic Medicine Institute, he got out and went inside.
    “Is Dr. Pasquano here?”
    “He’s here, for what it’s worth.”
    Which, translated, meant: He’s here, but it is not advisable to go and bother him.
    “Listen, all I need is a copy of the memo the doctor wrote after performing the autopsy on the disfigured corpse.”
    “I can get that for you myself, but you should know you can’t take it away with you.”
    “I only need some information from it, which I can get here, on the spot, right in front of you. Please do me this favor.”
    “All right, but don’t tell the doctor.”

    Half an hour later, he pulled up in front of the broadcasting studios of the Free Channel, one of the two local television stations.
    “Is Zito in?”
    “He’s in his office,” said the secretary, who knew Montalbano well.
    The inspector and Zito embraced. They were old friends and were always genuinely happy to see each other.
    Montalbano gave him the information he had copied down. Height, weight, hair color, width of shoulders, length of legs, teeth . . . Zito promised to make the announcement on the eight o’clock evening news and the midnight edition, which were the two most watched. Anyone who happened to call the studio in response would be told to contact the Vigàta police directly.

    Back at the office, he found Fazio waiting for him, looking like a beaten dog.
    “What’s wrong?”
    “We’re fucked, Chief!”
    “You think that’s news? What’s so unusual about that? I happen to believe I’ve been fucked since birth. So, a little more fucked, a little less fucked, makes no difference . . . What’s this about?”
    “Shaikiri.”
    “Tell me everything.”
    “Well, just by chance, as I was on my way to eat, I saw Digiulio, Ricca, and Alvarez going into Giacomino’s tavern. So I waited a few minutes and went in myself, and I sat down at a table not far from theirs. When I heard them talking about Zizì, I pricked up my ears. And you know what?”
    “If it’s bad news, I don’t want to hear it. But tell me anyway.”
    “Zizì was arrested last night.”
    Montalbano cursed.
    “By whom?”
    “The carabinieri.”
    “For what?”
    “Apparently, as they were heading back to the ship last night, Zizì saw a carabinieri squad car parked near the port. He’d