Free The Fourth Secret by Andrea Camilleri Page A

others.”
    “And what would he do?”
    “I don’t know what he did. I’d open the big shack for him, he would walk in, and I would come back here.”
    “And how do you explain the fact that the day of the accident, instead of staying in the shack, he walked all the way up the scaffolding?”
    “How am I supposed to explain that? But I had seen him do it once before.”
    “And what was he doing?”
    “He was making a phone call. He told me that he couldn’t get any reception down in the shack.”
    The explanation was good enough. It was true that there was no reception down there. But the cell phone could help explain many things.
    “Who took his cell phone?”
    “
Bo
… I didn’t see it next to his body. Maybe the marshal took it.”
    “Listen, the morning of the accident, when Puka fell, where were you?”
    “In here, Inspector. I hadn’t slept a wink the night before. I had a toothache that …”
    “And you didn’t here any screams?”
    “No.”
    “Not even the sound of the fall?”
    “Not a thing.”
    He was still lying, that slimy bastard. Montalbano could barely restrain from kicking him in the face. That man inspired in him such a desire for physical violence that it scared him. Better to leave the shack as soon as possible.
    “When you saw him on the scaffolding on the phone, what was he wearing? His work clothes?”
    “I think he had changed. … Yes, now that I think about it, I’m sure of it. He was wearing his work clothes.”
    “Good,” the inspector said walking to the door.
    “So, you’re not going to arrest me?”
    “Not today.”
    The man got up immediately, walked over to Montalbano, knelt, took his hand, started to kiss it, covering the back of it in saliva. Disgusted, the iraised his knee and struck the man’s chin as hard as he could. The guard fell back, twitching in pain. Montalbano walked over him and out into the fresh air.
    As he was driving up that damn hill, what the guard had just told him started to spin in his head. There was at least one strange thing, provided that was the truth. Why would Puka climb to the top of the scaffolding in order to make a call? The guard said that there was no reception in the shack, which is fine. But why did he have to call precisely at that moment and from that place? Couldn’t he have called before getting to the construction site? He could have made it from home or from anywhere on the road between Montelusa and Tonnarello, which he took on his motorcycle. In the meantime, he had reached the top of the hill and turned toward the construction site. He understood in flash why Puka, in spite of the fact that he had to act cautiously to avoid the suspicion of his coworkers, had taken such an apparently unnecessary risk. He had been forced, the poor man; he didn’t have a choice.
    It was seven thirty. He desperately rushed toward Montelusa, but when he pulled in front of the building where Alfredo Corso’s office was, he found it was locked. He rang the bell, but no one responded. He started cursing. He didn’t even have Corso’s phone number and, in any case, he couldn’t have called, since the builder could have intercepted it, back from his short trip. What should he do? He needed that information like he needed air. He was stuck in front of the gate, when the door opened and Catarina Corso appeared.
    “Inspector!”
    Montalbano almost hugged and kissed her.
    “How good to see you!” he couldn’t help himself.
    Catarina, after all, was still a woman. And so her face lit up with a smile.
    “Where you looking for me?”
    “Yes. Please excuse me, but I realized I can’t do without you.”
    Catarina’s smile increased in voltage.
    “Believe me, I really need to ask you some more questions. I know you’re on your way home, but …”
    Catarina’s smile turned off immediately, like a burned-out bulb. She stepped aside.
    “Don’t worry about it; please come in.”
    In the elevator, she said: “My husband