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with this explicit question?
    “How did you know I—”
    “Inspector, there are currently two men in my life. You made it clear you hadn’t come to talk about my husband, and this can only mean you’re here to talk about Angelo. Am I right?”
    “Yes, you’re right. But before going any further, I would like you to explain that adverb you used: ‘currently.’ What do you mean?”
    Elena smiled. She had bright white teeth, like a wild young animal.
    “I mean that at the moment there’s Emilio—my husband—and there’s Angelo. More often there’s only one: Emilio.”
    While Montalbano was contemplating the meaning of these words, Elena asked:
    “Do you know my husband?”
    “No.”
    “He’s an extraordinary person, kind, intelligent, understanding. I’m twenty-nine years old. He’s seventy. He could be my father. I love him. And I try to be faithful to him. I try. But I don’t always succeed. As you can see, I’m speaking to you with total sincerity, without even knowing the reason for your visit. By the way, who told you about me and Angelo?”
    “Michela Pardo.”
    “Ah.”
    She snuffed out her cigarette in the ashtray and lit another. A wrinkle now furrowed her beautiful brow. She was concentrating very hard. Not only beautiful, but also quite intelligent, no doubt. Without warning, two more wrinkles appeared at the corners of her mouth.
    “Did something happen to Angelo?”
    She’d finally asked.
    “He’s dead.”
    She shook as though from an electrical current, and closed her eyes tight.
    “Was he murdered?”
    She was quietly weeping, without sobbing.
    “What makes you think there was a crime?”
    “Because if it had been a car accident or natural death, a police inspector would not have come to interrogate the victim’s mistress at eight-thirty in the morning.”
    Hats off.
    “Yes, he was murdered.”
    “Last night?”
    “We found him yesterday, but he’d been dead since Monday night.”
    “How did he die?”
    “Shot.”
    “Where?”
    “In the face.”
    She gave a start, trembling as though she felt suddenly cold.
    “No, I meant where did it happen?”
    “At his place. Do you know that room he had up on the terrace?”
    “Yes, he showed it to me once.”
    “Listen, ma’am, I have to ask you some questions.”
    “Well, here I am.”
    “Did your husband know?”
    “About my affair with Angelo? Yes.”
    “Was it you who told him?”
    “Yes. I never kept anything from him.”
    “Was he jealous?”
    “Of course. But he could control himself. Anyway, Angelo wasn’t the first.”
    “Where would the two of you meet?”
    “At his place.”
    “In the room on the terrace?”
    “No, never. As I said, he showed it to me once. He told me he went up there to read and sunbathe.”
    “How often did you meet?”
    “It varied. Normally, when one of us felt like it, we would call the other. Sometimes we went as long as four or five days without seeing each other, maybe because I was too busy or because he had to go out on his rounds of the province.”
    “Were you ever jealous?”
    “Of Angelo? No.”
    “But Michela told me you were. And that lately the two of you had been quarreling a lot.”
    “I don’t even know Michela. I’ve never met her. But Angelo used to tell me about her. I think she’s mistaken.”
    “About what?”
    “About our quarrels. Jealousy wasn’t the reason.”
    “Then what was?”
    “I wanted to leave him.”
    “You did?!”
    “Why are you so surprised? The feeling was fading, that’s all. And then…”
    “And then?”
    “And then I realized Emilio was taking it too hard, even though he didn’t let it show. It was the first time he felt so bad.”
    “Angelo didn’t want you to leave him?”
    “No. I think he was starting to develop a feeling for me that he hadn’t counted on at the beginning. You know, in matters of women, Angelo was rather inexperienced.”
    “Forgive my asking, but where were you Monday evening?”
    She smiled.
    “I