Free IM10 August Heat (2008) by Andrea Camilleri

he tried to stand up, but his legs and breath failed him, and he fell back into the chair.
    “Water!” he managed with difficulty to articulate.
     
     
     
    They gave him the water, and they sent for a cognac from the bar on the corner.
    “Feel better?”
    Spitaleri, who still didn’t seem in any condition to speak, gestured with his hand that he felt so-so.
    “Listen, Mr. Spitaleri, for now I’ll do the talking, and you can shake your head yes or no. Okay?”
    The developer nodded.
    “The little girl’s murder can only have happened on the day before or the day itself when the illegal floor was buried. If it happened the day before, then the killer hid the body somewhere and didn’t bring it inside until the next day—and just in the nick of time, since the underground floor became inaccessible after that point.You follow?”
    Another nod.
    “If, on the other hand, the murder took place on the last day, the killer must have left a small opening, pushed the girl in, then, once inside, raped her, slit her throat, and stuck her into the trunk. After which he left the apartment and closed up the only remaining opening. Do you agree?”
    Spitaleri threw his hands up, as if to say he didn’t know what to say.
    “Did you oversee the work up until the last day?”
    The developer shook his head.
    “Why not?”
    Spitaleri spread his arms and made a rumbling sound.
    “Rrrrrrhhhhhhhh . . .”
    Was he imitating an airplane?
    “You were flying?”
    Another nod.
    “How many masons were used to bury the illegal apartment?”
    Spitaleri held up two fingers.
    Was this any way to carry on an investigation? It was starting to look like a comedy routine.
    “Mr. Spitaleri, I’m getting tired of seeing you answer in this fashion. Among other things, I’m beginning to wonder if you think we’re a bunch of dumbasses that you can fuck around with.” He turned to Fazio.“Were you wondering the same thing?”
    “Yeah, I was.”
    “So, you know what you’re gonna do? You’re gonna take him into the bathroom, make him strip down naked, then give him a cold shower until he recovers his senses.”
    “I want my lawyer!” yelled Spitaleri, miraculously recovering his voice.
    “You think it’s such a good idea to publicize this?”
    “What do you mean?”
    “I mean that, if you call your lawyer, I’ll call the newsmen. I believe I remember you have a history in matters of young girls . . . If those guys turn it into a public trial, you’re fucked. If, on the other hand, you cooperate, you can walk out of here in five minutes.”
    Pale as a corpse, the developer was overcome by a sudden fit of the shakes.
    “What else do you want to know?”
    “Just now you said you hadn’t been able to see the work through to the end, because you’d taken a plane somewhere. How many days before?”
    “I left on the morning of the last day of work.”
    “And do you remember the date of this last day?”
    “The twelfth of October.”
    Fazio and Montalbano exchanged glances.
    “So you’re in a position to tell me whether, in the living room, aside from the fixtures wrapped in plastic, there was also a trunk.”
    “There was.”
    “Are you sure about that?”
    “Absolutely. And it was empty. Mr. Speciale himself had us carry it down there. He’d used it to bring some stuff from Germany. And since it was half broken and had become almost unusable, he had it put in the living room downstairs instead of throwing it away. He said he might need it later on.”
    “Tell me the names of the two masons who were the last to work on the house.”
    “I don’t remember.”
    “Then you’d better call your lawyer,” said Montalbano. “Because I’m going to accuse you of being an accessory to—”
    “But I really don’t remember!”
    “I’m sorry for you, but—”
    “Can I make a call to Dipasquale?”
    “Who’s he?”
    “A foreman.”
    “The same one you called earlier?”
    “Yes. That’s him, Dipasquale. He was the foreman