Free The Fourth Secret by Andrea Camilleri Page B

called.”
    “Did you tell him about Puka?”
    “There was no need. He implied he already knew. He only said a few things. I think he was calling from abroad.”
    On the landing, as she was searching for the right key, she added that she had told him about her plan to take their son to Rome, to his grandparents.
    “And what did he say?”
    “He said he agrees. The difficult part will be telling my dad. He will suffer being away from his grandson.”
    Once they entered the office, she sat behind the desk and turned on her computer.
    “What sort of information do you need?”
    Montalbano told her.
    “Give me ten minutes. Then I’ll copy it to a disk so you can take your time looking at it on your computer.”
    Disk?! Computer?! The inspector was overwhelmed with panic. He was about to ask her to print it all, but he realized he would just be wasting more of her time and she had already been so kind to him. Then the thought that Catarella could have solved the problem put his mind at ease. But Catarella’s name reminded him of the appointment they had to see the old lady to fix his shoulder. But since he was distracted by the current events, it made its presence known with four stabbing pains, one after the other. He sighed and looked at Catarina. The woman hadn’t heard him since she was focused on her task. And at that point, the inspector couldn’t take his eyes off of her. She was truly beautiful, no question about it. Beautiful and translucent. Looking at her, he felt like he was out at sea, breathing clean air. As he was looking at her, something else happened that jolted his system. Catarina, lost in her research, placed the tip of her tongue on her upper lip.
    Gurglegurglegurgle
, his blood ran swiftly through his veins.
    At a certain point, Catarina sensed she was being observed. She took her eyes off the computer and looked at the inspector. Her look lasted a millionth of a second longer than it should have.
    “If you want to smoke,” Catarina said, handing him an ashtray.
    “No, thanks,” Montalbano said. “I’d rather enjoy the sea breeze.”
    Catarina looked at him again. Her eyes asked: What sea breeze?
    Yours, Montalbano’s eyes answered.
    She blushed.
    Once finished, she slid the disk into an envelope and handed it to the inspector. They both got up.
    “Thanks. When are you leaving?”
    “In three days, I hope.”
    “Will you be gone long?”
    “No. I’ll fly to Rome in the morning and be back that evening.”
    They didn’t say a word in the elevator. Montalbano walked her to her car. They said good-bye. The handshake lasted a millionth of a second longer than it should have.
    “Carabinieri of Tonnarello. With whom am I speaking?”
    “This is Salvino Montaperto. Is Marshal Verruso in?”
    “I’ll patch you through.”
    After thirty seconds of silence, Verruso’s voice: “Inspector? Go ahead.”
    He was a real cop, no question about it; he got it right away.
    “How are you?”
    “Better now, but I had to stay home all afternoon.”
    “Any news?”
    “Not on my end. How about you?”
    “Yes, quite a bit. I’m getting an idea. I need to see you tomorrow morning, wherever and whenever it’s convenient for you.”
    The marshal thought about it awhile.
    “You remember that phone booth where we first met? Would nine thirty work?”
    Catarella was the only one at the station.
    “Sir, we have to wait fifteen minutes for Galluzzo to come and relieve me.”
    “Fine. Let’s do this.”
    He took the disk out of his pocket.
    “While we’re waiting for Galluzzo, print this, but don’t let anyone see you. Got it? I’m going to grab a coffee and I’ll wait for you in the car.”
    Catarella showed up after Montalbano had already smoked three cigarettes and was starting to get nervous.
    “I demand your pardon, sir, but as a practical matter, Galluzzo got in late.”
    He handed him a pile of papers.
    “I printed everything.”
    “So, where does this old lady live?” Montalbano asked,