The Paper Moon by Andrea Camilleri Page A

for your services.”
    He was prepared for every possible reaction on Elena’s part, except for her to start laughing.
    “Maybe Angelo overestimated my ‘services,’ as you call them. I assure you I’m hardly in a class of my own.”
    “Then let me ask you again: Why?”
    “Inspector, the explanation is very simple. Angelo gave me these gifts over the last three months, starting with the car. I think I’ve already told you that he had lately been overcome by…well, in short, he’d fallen in love with me. He didn’t want to lose me.”
    “And how did you feel about it?”
    “I think I already told you. The more possessive he became, the more I grew distant. I can’t stand being harnessed, among other things.”
    Wasn’t there an ancient Greek poet who wrote a love poem to a young Thracian filly that couldn’t stand being harnessed? But this wasn’t the time for poetry.
    Almost against his will, the inspector slipped a hand into his jacket pocket and extracted the three letters he’d brought with him. He set them down on the table.
    Elena looked at them, recognized them, and didn’t seem the least bit troubled. She left them right where they were.
    “Did you find them in Angelo’s apartment?”
    “No.”
    “Where, then?”
    “Hidden in the trunk of his Mercedes.”
    Suddenly three wrinkles: one on her forehead, two at the corners of her mouth. For the first time, she seemed genuinely baffled.
    “Why hidden?”
    “Well, I wouldn’t know. But I could venture a guess. Maybe Angelo didn’t want his sister to read them. Certain details might have proved embarrassing to him, as you can imagine.”
    “What are you saying, Inspector? There were no secrets between those two!”
    “Listen, let’s forget about the whys and wherefores. I found these letters inside a linen envelope hidden under the rug in the trunk. Those are the facts. But I have another question, and you know what it is.”
    “Inspector, those letters were practically dictated to me.”
    “By whom?”
    “By Angelo.”
    What did this woman think? That she could make him swallow the first bullshit that came into her head? He stood up abruptly, enraged.
    “I’ll expect you at the station at nine o’clock tomorrow morning.”
    Elena also stood up. She’d turned pale, her forehead shiny with sweat. Montalbano noticed she was trembling slightly.
    “No, please, not the police station.”
    She kept her head down, her fists clenched, arms extended at her sides, a little girl grown up too fast, scared of being punished.
    “We’re not going to eat you at the station, you know.”
    “No, no, please, I beg you.”
    A thin, frail voice that turned into little sobs. Would this girl ever be done astonishing him? What was so terrible about having to go to the station? As one does with small children, he put a hand under her chin and raised her head. Elena kept her eyes closed, but her face was bathed in tears.
    “Okay, no police station, but don’t tell silly stories.”
    He sat back down. She remained standing but drew close to Montalbano until she was right in front of him, her legs touching his knees. What was she expecting? For him to ask her for something in exchange for not forcing her to go to the police station? All at once the smell of her skin reached his nostrils, leaving him slightly dazed. He became afraid of himself.
    “Go back to your place,” he said sternly, feeling as if he’d suddenly become a school principal.
    Elena obeyed. Now seated, she tugged at the housecoat with both hands, in a vain attempt to cover her thighs a little. But as soon as she let go of the cloth, it climbed back up, worse than before.
    “So, what’s this unbelievable story about Angelo himself dictating the letters to you?”
    “I never followed him in my car. Among other things, when we started seeing each other, it had been a year since I had a car. I’d had a bad accident that left my car a total wreck. And I didn’t have enough money to buy