The Cook of the Halcyon by Andrea Camilleri

Author:Andrea Camilleri [Camilleri, Andrea]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Mystery
ISBN: 9780143136187
Google: 0p0eEAAAQBAJ
Amazon: B08D8JF5H6
Goodreads: 54732986
Publisher: Penguin
Published: 2019-05-30T05:00:00+00:00

Smart kid, no doubt about it.

The doorbell rang. Before opening, he looked through the peephole.

It was Fazio. He opened the door.

“How come Stracquadanio let you go free?”

Fazio was frowning darkly.

“I’ve been free the whole time. Mr. Inspector didn’t see fit to include me in the investigation team. No doubt following orders.”

They went and sat out on the veranda.

“What’s Stracquadanio like?” asked Montalbano.

“He seems like a good kid. A bit out of his element. The force isn’t really cooperating with him.”

“How would he take it if you went and told him a few things?”

“I dunno, but I can try and see.”

“Feel up to it?”

“Sure. What do you want me to tell him?”

“The first thing to tell him is that Trincanato was expecting something like this. He was holed up at home not because he was ill, but because he was scared to death. He realized that he’d said too much one time when he’d had too much to drink.”

“And wha’d he say?”

“I don’t know. But I got it from a reliable source.”

“Anything else?”

“Yes, and important to boot. The killers’ intention was to kill only Trincanato, and in fact they spared the chauffeur. Do you agree?”

“Completely.”

“Do you agree that if they’d found themselves faced with the two housekeepers, they would have been forced to commit a massacre?”

“Yep.”

“And that’s why they wanted to do the deed when the housekeepers were out. One had actually left just half an hour before they got there. So the question is this: Who informed the killers?”

Fazio thought about this for a moment. “It could only have been the chauffeur.”

“Right. And he had them club him in the head so he could have an alibi. You have to tell Stracquadanio to squeeze him hard. Unless he comes to the same conclusion himself.”

“Maybe it’s best to give him a little push anyway.”

The telephone rang. At that hour it could only be Livia. At any rate, just to be safe, Montalbano disguised his voice.

“Hello?”

“Salvo, is that you?”

He recognized Nicolò Zito’s voice, then turned on the speakerphone.

“Ciao, Nicolò. What is it?”

“There’s big news. The commissioner called me in for questioning.”

“Have you gone yet?”

“I’m just coming out now.”

“What did he want?”

“At first he spoke to me gently and politely. He begged me not to broadcast our interview, or to wait at least a week. Then he said, and these were his exact words: ‘You’ll see for yourself that there was no point in broadcasting it.’”

“And what did you say?”

“I countered with the usual argument about the freedom of the press, but he said he was in no way enforcing any censorship. And he added, the bastard, that if the Finance Police’s inspection lasted another week, it wasn’t his fault.”

“So, in other words, he was blackmailing you.”

“Exactly.”

“What do you think you’ll do?”

“I’m in a delicate position, Salvo. Somebody—clearly someone from the commissioner’s office—informed the Free Channel that the tug-of-war between us and them was due to your interview. And since we lose tons of money for every day of broadcasting we miss, you can imagine if this thing drags on for a while longer.

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