Rounding the Mark Read Online Free PDF Page B

said slowly.
    “So you noticed it, too? He had the same thing around the other wrist and the ankles as well. And that, to me, can mean only one thing . . .”
    “He’d been tied up.”
    “Exactly. But with what? With iron wire. Pulled so tight that it sawed into his flesh. If it had been rope or nylon, the wounds wouldn’t have been so deep as to cut almost down to the bone. And we certainly wouldn’t have found any trace of them. No, before they drowned him, they took the wire off. They wanted to make it look like a routine drowning.”
    “Any chance we can get some forensic tests done on him?”
    “Maybe. It all depends on Dr. Mistretta. We’d have to order the tests specially from Palermo, to see if there are any traces of metal or rust remaining inside the cuts around the wrists and ankles. But it’d take a long time. And that’s the long and the short of it. It’s getting late.”
    “Thanks for everything, Doctor.”
    They shook hands. The inspector got back in his car and drove off at a leisurely pace, lost in thought. A car came up behind him and flashed its high beam, reproaching him for going so slowly. When Montalbano pulled over to the right, the other car, a kind of silver torpedo, passed and came to a sudden stop in front of him. Cursing, the inspector slammed on the brakes. In the beam of his headlights, he saw a hand emerge from the torpedo’s window and give him the finger. Seething with rage, Montalbano got out of his car, ready to have it out with the driver. The torpedo’s driver also got out. Montalbano stopped dead in his tracks. It was Ingrid, arms open and smiling.
    “I recognized the car,” said the Swede.
    How long had it been since they’d last seen each other? Surely at least a year. They embraced long and hard. Ingrid kissed him, then lightly pushed him away, holding him at arm’s length to have a better look.
    “I saw you naked on TV,” she said laughing. “You’re still a pretty nice hunk.”
    “And you’re more beautiful than ever,” said the inspector in all sincerity.
    Ingrid embraced him again.
    “Is Livia here?”
    “No.”
    “Then I’d like to come sit a while on your veranda.”
    “Okay.”
    “Give me a second. I need to break an engagement.”
    She murmured something into her cell phone, then asked.
    “Got any whisky?”
    “A whole bottle, still unopened. Here, Ingrid, take my house keys. You go on ahead, I can’t keep up with you.”
    She laughed, took his keys, and had already vanished by the time the inspector turned on the ignition. He was pleased by this chance encounter. It would not only afford him the pleasure of spending a few hours with an old friend, but would grant him the distance necessary to think with a cool head about what Dr. Pasquano had just revealed to him.
    When he pulled up in front of his house, Ingrid came up to him, embraced him and held him tight.
    “I have authorization.”
    “From whom?”
    “From Livia. The minute I went inside, the phone started ringing, so I answered. I shouldn’t have, I know, but it was an instinctive reaction. It was her. I told her you’d be home in a few minutes, but she said she wouldn’t call back. She said you hadn’t been feeling too well and that, as your nurse, I was authorized to comfort you and take care of you. And this is the only way I know how to comfort and take care of people.”
    Shit. Livia must have been seriously upset. Ingrid hadn’t understood, or had pretended not to understand, Livia’s venomous irony.
    “Excuse me just a minute,” said Montalbano, breaking free of her embrace.
    He dialed Livia’s number in Boccadasse, but it was busy. She’d taken the phone off the hook, no doubt about it. He tried again. Meanwhile Ingrid roamed about the house, digging up the whisky bottle, getting some ice cubes from the freezer, going out on the veranda and sitting down. The line remained busy. The inspector gave up, went outside, and sat down next to Ingrid on the bench. It was