The Safety Net by Andrea Camilleri

Author:Andrea Camilleri [Camilleri, Andrea]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Mystery
ISBN: 9780143134961
Google: vWXRDwAAQBAJ
Amazon: B07TF3GLBV
Goodreads: 46722310
Publisher: Penguin
Published: 2020-03-17T05:00:00+00:00

* * *

The first thing he did upon entering his office the following morning was to call the commissioner.

“Good morning, sir. I wanted to let you know that I came back from my leave yesterday evening to make myself totally available to the force. I also wanted to ask you if I could come and talk to you before the press conference at noon.”

“I appreciate your conscientiousness, Montalbano. You can consider yourself exempted from attending, since—”

“Thank you, but I absolutely have to talk to you.”

“But is it something concerning what happened yesterday?”

“Yes, Mr. Commissioner.”

“Then come to my office at eleven.”

“Thank you.”

Moments later, Fazio walked in.

“Were you able to get some rest?”

“Enough. But I didn’t get home until past midnight.”

“Why? Where were you?”

“Out gathering information on Mr. Puleo, the teacher.”

“And what can you tell me?”

“Giuseppe Puleo . . .”

He stopped and looked at Montalbano.

“Can I have a look at my notes?”

“Sure, just so long as you don’t launch into a full account of Puleo’s family tree.”

“Okay.”

With a satisfied air, Fazio pulled a folded sheet of paper out of his jacket pocket, unfolded it, and started reading.

“Puleo, first name Giuseppe, forty-eight years old, born in Montelusa. Been teaching mathematics for the past five years at the Pirandello School. Married with three children, all males, and all good kids. He’s widely admired as a serious, balanced, reserved person, and as far as we are concerned, he has no police record, no 41 bis, and no friends of 41 bis in his family.”

He folded the page up again and put it back in his pocket.

“Mimì told me,” said Montalbano, “that Puleo was exemplary in his behavior during the disruption in his classroom and never once lost his cool. I would like to talk to this schoolteacher, and to the custodian who saw the culprits’ faces. I would also like to go and have a look at the school early this afternoon.”

“The school is closed by court injunction. But, if you want, I can ask both of them to come by around twelve-thirty.”

“Okay. Go and call them right away.”

As Fazio was leaving, Augello came in.

In his hand he was holding a transparent plastic bag containing the shirt that Montalbano had lent him the previous evening. All nice and clean and ironed and good as new. He set it down on the desk.

“There was no need to make work for Beba. You could have just given it back to me the way it was.”

“Actually the poor thing had to work double-time, because when she hung it out to dry after the first washing, a pigeon made a point of shitting on it, and so she had to wash it again by hand and then dry it with a hair dryer. Anyway, here it is.”

Montalbano took it and put it in a drawer of his desk.

“I’ve been exempted,” he said, “from attending the press conference.”

“Well, I haven’t, unfortunately,” said Augello.

“But the commissioner’ll be expecting me at eleven, and I want to talk to him about this Riccadonna business.

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