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could have descended on him at any moment and surprised him!”
    “No, I don’t think so,” said Montalbano.
    “Why?”
    “Because Angelo, in a way, had taken a precaution: He’d gone up to the room on the terrace. And the glass door leading to the terrace was locked. Do you have a key for that door?”
    “No.”
    “So you see? Even if you’d arrived unexpectedly, there was no way you could have surprised him. Do you have keys to his apartment?”
    “No.”
    “So all you could have done was knock on the apartment door, and nobody would have answered. Before long you would have concluded that Angelo wasn’t home, that he’d gone out, perhaps to blow off some steam, and you would have given up. In his room on the terrace, Angelo was out of your reach.”
    “But not the killer’s,” Elena said, almost angrily.
    “That’s another matter,” said Montalbano. “And you can help me in this.”
    “How?”
    “How long had you been with Angelo?”
    “Six months.”
    “During that time, did you have a chance to meet any of his friends, male or female?”
    “Inspector, perhaps I didn’t make myself clear enough. When we got together, it was always to…well, it was always for a very specific purpose. I would go to his place, we’d have a whisky, get undressed, and go to bed. We never once went to the movies together, or to a restaurant. More recently he wanted to do those kinds of things, but I didn’t. And that also led to quarrels.”
    “Why didn’t you want to go out with him?”
    “Because I didn’t want to give people a reason to laugh at Emilio.”
    “But surely Angelo must have spoken to you about some of his friends or girlfriends!”
    “He did. He told me, shortly after we met, that he had just broken up with a certain Paola, ‘the red,’ as he called her. He also told me about a certain Martino, with whom he often went out to lunch and dinner. But the person he spoke most often about was his sister, Michela. They were very close, and had been so since childhood.”
    “What do you know about this Paola?”
    “I’ve already told you everything I know: Paola, red hair.”
    “Did he talk about his job?”
    “No. One time he mentioned that it paid well but was boring.”
    “Did you know that he’d had a medical practice for a while and then gave it up?”
    “Yes. But he didn’t give it up. The only time he ever spoke to me about it, he made vague mention of some episode that had forced him to stop practicing. It was totally unclear to me, but I didn’t probe any further because I didn’t care.”
    This was absolutely new. He had to find out more about it.
    Montalbano stood up.
    “Thank you for your openness. A rare thing, I assure you. I think, however, I’ll need to meet with you again.”
    “Whatever you say, Inspector. But please do me a favor.”
    “At your service.”
    “Next time don’t come so early in the morning. You can even come in the afternoon. As I said, my husband knows everything. Sorry, but it’s just that I’m a late riser.”

    He pulled up in front of Angelo Pardo’s building over half an hour late. But he could take his time, since the meeting with the commissioner had been postponed. He rang the intercom bell, and Michela buzzed open the door. As he was climbing the stairs, the building still seemed dead. No voices, no sounds. Who knew whether Elena, when coming to see Angelo, had ever run into any of the other tenants?
    Michela was waiting for him at the door.
    “You’re late.”
    Montalbano noticed she was wearing a different dress, but one still made to hide what could not be hidden. She’d also changed her shoes.
    Did she therefore keep a whole wardrobe in her brother’s apartment?
    Michela realized what was going through the inspector’s head.
    “I went home early this morning. I wanted to see how Mama had spent the night. And so I took the opportunity to change clothes.”
    “Listen, this morning you have to go see the Public Prosecutor