Read Online The Fourth Secret by Andrea Camilleri - Free Book Online

then in Germany, to understand these people who leave their country out of desperation.”
    “How do you hire these foreigners?”
    “Their names are brought to my attention.”
    Montalbano noticed a slight hesitation.
    “By whom?”
    “Well, by the local branch of Caritas or organizations like that, by the Prefettura …”
    “And who, in particular, brought Puka’s name to your attention?”
    “I don’t recall.”
    “Make an effort.”
    “Catarina!”
    The door to the next room opened immediately and a thirty-year-old woman, tall, beautiful, elegant, emerged. She was one hell of a secretary.
    “Catarina, who gave us Puka’s name?”
    “I’ll look it up on the computer.”
    She disappeared and reappeared immediately.
    “The police.”
    Corso caught fire; he started yelling.
    “The police! Did you hear that, Inspector? The police! And here you are giving me all this bullshit!”
    Then the secretary did something she shouldn’t have done in front of strangers. She walked behind the desk, hugged Corso from behind, and kissed him on his bald head.
    “Don’t get worked up; you’ll raise your blood pressure.”
    Then she walked back to her office. They weren’t hiding their relationship at all.
    “You are …” Montalbano started to say.
    He was about to say “a widower,” but he stopped right away. Something in the eyes of the man made him realize the truth.
    “What were you going to ask me?” Corso said, now almost completely calm.
    “Nothing. That’s your daughter, right?”
    “Yes, I had her late. So, my dear sir, as you can see, it’s very unlikely that the police suggested I hire a thief, don’t you think?”
    Montalbano raised his arms. He had to find a way to talk to the secretary-daughter alone. The look she gave him as she was getting up after kissing her father, had been as clear as words: We need to talk.
    “I know you’re running short on time,” he said, making a sorry face, “but I must ask for more information on …”
    “No way! I’m already late!” Mr. Corso said, yelling.
    “Catarina!”
    “Yes,” the girl said, appearing in a flash. How did she do that, was she standing behind the door waiting to be called?
    “Catarì, you help this gentleman. We have nothing to hide. Good day.”
    And he left without giving the inspector the time to answer his salutations.
    “Have a seat,” Catarina said, opening the door to her office and stepping aside to let him in.
    The room was big and the furniture was old-fashioned, without any chrome, metal, or indecipherable shapes. The only exceptions were the computer and the two telephones, the kind that do everything, from sending a fax to brewing coffee. On one side, there was a sort of sitting room. The girl asked the inspector to sit on the couch; she chose an armchair for herself. She looked a bit embarrassed.
    “Did you really want to ask for more information, or did you realize I wanted to …”
    “I understood that you wanted to talk to me, but not in your father’s presence.”
    “This is what’s bothering me.”
    “What’s that?”
    “I don’t like talking about my father without him knowing, but it’s for his own good. If I said what I am about to say in front of him, he would have gotten all worked up. He has very high blood pressure, and he has already had a heart attack.”
    Montalbano noticed on her table two framed pictures: one portrayed a five-year-old boy, and the other a forty-year-old man who looked like Alfredo Corso must have looked thirty years ago. Sometimes women marry men who look just like their fathers.
    “Signora,” he started.
    “Please, Catarina. My dad calls me Catarì. Not sure why.”
    “Well, I can assure you that Mr. Corso will never know about our conversation.”
    “Sorry, I haven’t expressed myself properly. It’s not a matter of my dad finding out; it’s rather that I’m doing something behind his back.”
    Montalbano’s ears perked: something behind his back?
    “I’m