Free The Paper Moon by Andrea Camilleri Page A

her?”
    “It was I who didn’t want to meet her. Not even by chance. I’d begged Angelo always to let me know whenever Elena was coming over.”
    “Why didn’t you want to meet her?”
    “Antipathy. Aversion. Take your pick.”
    “But you saw her only once!”
    “Once was enough. Anyway, Angelo often talked about her.”
    “What did he say?”
    “That she had no equal in bed but was too money-hungry.”
    “Did your brother pay her?”
    “He used to buy her very expensive gifts.”
    “Such as?”
    “A ring. A necklace. A sports car.”
    “Elena confided to me that she had made up her mind to leave Angelo.”
    “Don’t believe it. She wasn’t done squeezing him yet. She was always throwing jealous fits to keep him close.”
    “So were you this hostile to Paola the Red, too?”
    She leapt, literally, out of her armchair.
    “Who…who told you about Paola?”
    “Elena Sclafani.”
    “The slut!”
    The sandpaper voice had returned.
    “I’m sorry, but who are you referring to?” the inspector asked angelically. “Paola or Elena?”
    “Elena, for bringing her into this. Paola was…is a good person who fell sincerely in love with Angelo.”
    “Why did your brother leave her?”
    “The affair with Paola had gone on for so long…he met Elena at a moment when he was feeling tired of her…To Angelo she represented something new and intriguing that he couldn’t resist, even though I…”
    “Give me Paola’s surname and address.”
    “Inspector! Do you expect me to give you personal information on all the women who had relationships with Angelo? On Maria Martino? Stella Lojacono?”
    “Not all of them. Just those you mentioned.”
    “Paola Torrisi-Blanco lives in Montelusa, Via Millefiori 26. She teaches Italian at the liceo. ”
    “Married?”
    “No, but she would have made an ideal wife for my brother.”
    “Apparently you knew her well.”
    “Yes. We became friends. And we continued to see each other even after my brother broke up with her. I called her just this morning, to tell her my brother had been murdered.”
    “By the way, have any journalists contacted you?”
    “No. Have they found out?”
    “The news is starting to leak out. You should refuse to speak to them.”
    “Of course.”
    “Let me have the addresses, if you’ve got them, or the phone numbers of the other two women you remembered.”
    “I don’t have them right at hand. I need to look in some old datebooks. Is it all right if I give them to you tomorrow?”
    “All right.”
    “Inspector, can I ask you something?”
    “Go right ahead.”
    “Why are you centering your investigation on Angelo’s women friends?”
    “Because you and Elena are doing nothing but serving me women’s names on a platter — or, better yet, on a bed,” he wanted to say, but didn’t.
    “You think it’s a mistake?” he asked instead.
    “I don’t know whether or not it’s a mistake. But there certainly must be many other leads one could follow concerning the possible motive for my brother’s murder.”
    “Such as?”
    “Oh, I don’t know…something concerning his business…maybe some envious competitor…”
    At this point the inspector decided to cheat, laying a trick card down on the table. He put on an embarrassed air, like someone who wants to say something but doesn’t really feel like it.
    “What’s led us to favor the…ahem…the feminine hypothesis…”
    He congratulated himself for coming up with the right words; even the British-cop-like “ahem” had emerged from his throat to perfection. He continued his masterly performance.
    “…was…ahem…a detail that perhaps I’d…ahem…better not…”
    “Tell me, tell me,” said Michela, assuming for her part the air of someone expecting to hear the worst.
    “Well, it’s just that your brother, when he was killed, had just had…ahem…er, sexual relations with a woman.”
    It was a whopper, since Pasquano had said something else. But he wanted to see if his