Game of Mirrors Read Online Free PDF Page A

not convinced.”
    “Nope.”
    “Me neither. Tell me why.”
    “Well, first they shot Nicotra, then he was supposed to have been blown up with his car the moment he turned the key in the ignition, except that he’d sent his assistant to go and get his car, and the guy got killed in the process . . . What I mean is that Carlo Nicotra is not the kind of man they send warnings to. They just try to kill him, period.”
    “I totally agree. At any rate, I’d still keep an eye on him. And who are the two ex-cons?”
    Fazio thrust a hand in his pocket and pulled out a sheet of paper. Montalbano frowned.
    “If you start reciting the names of the father and mother and the date and place of birth of these convicts, I’m going to make you eat that piece of paper.”
    Fazio turned red and said nothing.
    “You would have been happier working as a clerk at the records office for a living,” said the inspector.
    Fazio began putting the piece of paper slowly back in his pocket. He was acting like a man dying of thirstwho had just been refused a glass of water. Young Eagle Scout Salvo Montalbano decided to do his good deed for the day.
    “Oh, okay, go ahead and read it.”
    Fazio’s face lit up like a lightbulb. He unfolded the piece of paper and held it in front of him.
    “The first one is Vincenzo Giannino, son of Giuseppe Giannino and Michela Tabita, born in Barrafranca on March 7, 1970. He’s done a total of ten years in prison for armed robbery, breaking and entering, and assaulting a public official. The second one is Stefano Tallarita, son of Salvatore Tallarita and Giovanna Tosto, born in Vigàta on August 22, 1958. He’s currently in Montelusa Prison, serving a term for narcotics trafficking. He’d already been in once for four years, also for dealing.”
    He folded up the paper and put it back in his pocket.

3
    “Excuse me,” said Montalbano, “but if Tallarita’s in jail, who’s living at his place in Via Pisacane?”
    Fazio again pulled the piece of paper out of his pocket. He looked at his boss as though asking permission to read. The inspector shrugged and threw his hands up. With a beatific expression on his face, Fazio, now in seventh heaven, began to read.
    “Wife Francesca, née Calcedonio, forty-five years old, born in Montereale; son Arturo, twenty-three years old, and daughter Stella, twenty years old.”
    “What does Arturo do?”
    “I know he works in Montelusa. I think he’s a salesman in a clothing store for men and women.”
    “And the daughter?”
    “A student at the University of Palermo.”
    “Do they seem like bomb targets to you?”
    “No, sir.”
    “So it was intended for either Arnone or, despite our opinions, Nicotra.”
    “What should I do?”
    “Keep working on those two.”
    Fazio made as if to leave, but the inspector stopped him with a gesture. Fazio sat back down and waited for Montalbano to ask him something, but his boss remained silent. The fact was that the inspector didn’t know where to begin. Then he made up his mind.
    “Do you remember when you asked me about my neighbors a little while ago?”
    “The Lombardos? Yes.”
    What a superb cop’s memory Fazio had!
    “Do you know the husband?”
    “The first time I saw him was when he came in to the station to report the theft of a suitcase he’d left on the backseat of his car.”
    “Did the thieves force the door open?”
    “Yeah.”
    “What was in the suitcase?”
    “Personal effects, according to him. He was heading out on a tour of the island. I believe he’s the representative of a computer company. And truth be told, he didn’t seem that keen on reporting the crime.”
    Then it must be some kind of family vice, this not wanting to file reports.
    “Explain.”
    “Before leaving Vigàta, he’d stopped at the BarCastiglione for a cup of coffee. And while he was inside, some guy on a motorcycle smashed the car window, opened the door, and grabbed the suitcase. A municipal patrolman then showed up,