Read Online The Paper Moon by Andrea Camilleri - Free Book Online

mean that somebody had taken it away. But what could they do with it without the key? Or maybe the person who took it owned a duplicate key? And did Michela know nothing about this? It was becoming more and more necessary to talk with that woman. He’d promised her he would find out about the funeral, so he called Pasquano.
    “Hello, Doctor, am I disturbing you?”
    One had to approach Pasquano carefully. He had a decidedly nasty, unstable character.
    “Of course you’re disturbing me. Actually, to be more precise, you’re breaking my balls. You’re making me get blood all over the receiver.”
    Someone else who didn’t know the doctor would have hung up in embarrassment, apologizing profusely. But the inspector had been so long associated with him that he knew that sometimes it was better to throw fuel on the fire.
    “Doctor, I don’t give a fuck.”
    “About what?”
    “Whether I’m disturbing you or not.”
    It worked. Pasquano let out a big fat belly laugh.
    “What do you want?”
    “Angelo Pardo’s family wants to know when we can give back the body for the funeral.”
    “Five.”
    What the hell had gotten into Fazio and the doctor? Had they both become Cumaean sibyls? Why had they taken to reciting numbers?
    “What’s that mean?”
    “I’ll tell you what it means. It means that before I get to Pardo, I have five other autopsies to perform. Therefore the family will have to wait a bit. Tell them their dear departed is not having such a bad time of it in the freezer. Oh, and while I’ve got you on the line, I should tell you I was mistaken.”
    Madunnuzza santa, the patience one needed with this man!
    “About what, Doctor?”
    “About whether Pardo had had sexual relations before he was killed. I’m sorry to disappoint Judge Tommaseo, who was off to such a flying start.”
    “So you did examine him!”
    “Just superficially, and only the part I was curious about.”
    “But then why…?”
    “Why was it out, you mean?”
    “Exactly.”
    “Well, maybe he’d gone and taken a piss in a corner of the terrace and wasn’t allowed the time to put it back in. Or maybe he was planning a moment of solitary pleasure but they beat him to it and shot him. But that sort of thing’s not my province. It’s you, Mr. Inspector, who’s conducting the investigation, isn’t it?”
    He hung up without saying good-bye.
    So, come to think of it, Elena was right when she refused to believe that Angelo had met with another woman while he was waiting for her. But the doctor’s hypothesis didn’t hold water either.
    There was no bathroom in the former laundry room, only a sink. If Angelo needed to go and didn’t feel like going downstairs to his flat, there was no need to do it in some dark corner of the terrace; he could have used the sink as a toilet bowl.
    Nor was the masturbation hypothesis very convincing.
    Yet in both cases it was very odd that Pardo hadn’t had time to put himself back in order. No, there must be some other explanation. Something not so simple as Pasquano’s theories.
    Mimì Augello appeared in the doorway.
    “What do you want?”
    He had dark circles under his eyes, worse than when he used to spend his nights womanizing.
    “Seven,” said Mimì.
    Montalbano looked like he’d suddenly gone mad. He sprang out of his chair, red in the face, and screamed so loudly they must have heard him all the way to the port:
    “Eighteen, twenty-four, thirty-six! Fuck! And seventy, too!”
    Augello got scared, and chaos erupted all over the station, doors slamming, footsteps racing. In an instant, Galluzzo, Gallo, and Catarella were in the doorway.
    “What’s going on?”
    “What happened?”
    “What’s wrong?”
    “Nothing, nothing,” said Montalbano, sitting back down. “Go back to your posts. I had a little attack of nerves, that’s all. It’s over.”
    The three men left. Mimì was still staring at him
    “What got into you? What were those mysterious numbers you said?”
    “Ah, so