{"product_id":"the-cook-of-the-halcyon-isbn-9780143136187","title":"The Cook of the Halcyon","description":"\u003cb\u003eThe new novel in the transporting \u003ci\u003eNew York Times\u003c\/i\u003e bestselling Inspector Montalbano mystery series\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eGiovanni Trincanato has brought ruin to the shipyard he inherited from his father and when a worker he fires hangs himself on the construction site, Inspector Montalbano is called to the scene. In short order, the inspector loses his temper with the crass Giovanni, delivers a slap to his face, and unfortunately, it won’t be the last he sees of Trincanato. Meanwhile, a mysterious schooner called Halcyon shows up in the harbor, seemingly deserted except for just one man. With its presence comes even more mysteries, another death, and the arrival of the FBI. Alongside Sicilian-American Agent Pennisi, Montalbano and his team must attempt a suspenseful infiltration operation in this new, page-turning Inspector Montalbano mystery.“You either love Andrea Camilleri or you haven’t read him yet. Each novel in this wholly addictive, entirely magical series, set in Sicily and starring a detective unlike any other in crime fiction, blasts the brain like a shot of pure oxygen. Aglow with local color, packed with flint-dry wit, as fresh and clean as Mediterranean seafood — altogether transporting. Long live Camilleri, and long live Montalbano.” —A.J. Finn, #1 \u003ci\u003eNew York Times \u003c\/i\u003ebestselling author of \u003ci\u003eThe Woman in the Window\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“The idiosyncratic Montalbano is totally endearing.” —\u003ci\u003eThe New York Times\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Camilleri is as crafty and charming a writer as his protagonist is an investigator.” —\u003ci\u003eThe Washington Post Book World\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Hailing from the land of Umberto Eco and La Cosa Nostra, Montalbano can discuss a pointy-headed book like \u003ci\u003eWestern Attitudes Toward Death\u003c\/i\u003e as unflinchingly as he can pore over crime-scene snuff photos. He throws together an extemporaneous lunch of shrimp with lemon and oil as gracefully as he dodges advances from attractive women.” —\u003ci\u003eLos Angeles Times\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Like Mike Hammer or Sam Spade, Montalbano is the kind of guy who can’t stay out of trouble. . . . Still, deftly and lovingly translated by Stephen Sartarelli, Camilleri makes it abundantly clear that under the gruff, sardonic exterior our inspector has a heart of gold, and that any outburst, fumbles, or threats are made only in the name of pursuing truth.” —\u003ci\u003eThe Nation\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Camilleri can do a character’s whole backstory in half a paragraph.” —\u003ci\u003eThe New Yorker\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Subtle, sardonic, and \u003ci\u003emolto simpatico\u003c\/i\u003e: Montalbano is the Latin re-creation of Philip Marlowe, working in a place that manages to be both more and less civilized than Chandler’s Los Angeles.” —\u003ci\u003eKirkus Reviews\u003c\/i\u003e (starred review)\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“The novels of Andrea Camilleri breathe out the sense of place, the sense of humor, and the sense of despair that fills the air of Sicily.” —Donna Leon\u003cb\u003eAndrea Camilleri\u003c\/b\u003e, a mega-bestseller in Italy and Germany, is the author of the \u003ci\u003eNew York Times \u003c\/i\u003ebestselling Inspector Montalbano mystery series as well as historical novels that take place in nineteenth-century Sicily. His books have been made into Italian TV shows and translated into thirty-two languages. His thirteenth Montalbano novel, The Potter's Field, won the Crime Writers' Association International Dagger Award and was longlisted for the IMPAC Dublin Literary Award. He died in 2019.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003eStephen Sartarelli\u003c\/b\u003e is an award-winning translator and the author of three books of poetry.\u003cp\u003e1\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe was dancing a waltz at the edge of a swimming pool, all pomaded and fragrant, and he knew that the woman in his arms was Livia, who just a few hours earlier had become his wife. But he couldn't see her face through the dense white veil covering it.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAll at once a strong gust of wind blew in, moving the veil just enough for him to discover that it wasn't Livia he was dancing with, but Signora Costantino, his third-grade schoolteacher, replete with mustache and crooked glasses. The fright drained him of strength; he felt faint and shut his eyes.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eWhen he opened them again, he found himself lying in the hull of a small rowboat dancing dangerously over hair-raising breakers as tall as houses. He realized at once that the boat was on its side and might therefore capsize from one moment to the next. He had to do something, anything, without wasting another second.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe was still all dressed up, sporting even a fancy tie, but his clothes were so sodden with rain that they'd become practically waterproof.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe clouds were so low and black that they looked like a sort of shroud about to cover everything at any moment. A sign that the storm hadn't yet vented all its rage.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe hadn't the slightest idea how or why he'd ended up in such a situation. He vaguely recalled getting gussied up for his wedding, but that was all.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eSuddenly he noticed that one of the oars was slipping out of the oarlock. He had to prevent this at all costs; if he lost the oar he would never be able to steer the boat.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe tried to stand up, but his clothes, sopping wet as they were, impeded his movements and kept him glued to the bottom of the boat.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe tried again, grabbing the sides of the boat with both hands, and managed to rise to a sitting position. Reaching out with one arm, he was able to touch the oar with the tips of his fingers, but then it slipped away and fell into the water.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHow on earth was he going to get out of this now? He absolutely had to get that oar back.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eIn one painful bound, he leapt to his feet, but immediately the wind struck him just like a punch, forcing him to his knees, blowing so fiercely that he couldn't keep his eyes open.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe kept them shut because they were burning so badly, but when he opened them again, in a flash he saw the prow of a gigantic sailing ship, heading straight for him. It looked like it was flying.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHow could it not have been there just a minute before? Where had it come from?\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eTerrified, he decided at once that his only hope was to jump into the sea and swim as far away as he could.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAnd so he dove in, but the violence of the breakers, and the weight of his clothes, prevented him from swimming.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eDesperate, he managed to go a few meters in the water.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThen he heard the crack of the wooden boat being cleft in two by the prow of the ship.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eMaybe things would be all right now.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAll at once, however, the waves began to grow in ferocity, reinforced by those created by the ship's propeller.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eA first wave dragged him under, but he managed, he didn't know how, to come back up to the surface. He didn't have time, however, to catch his breath before a second wave nearly tore his head off.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe passed out and started sinking, sinking . . .\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eWhen he awoke he was sitting up in bed, out of breath, heart beating wildly, mouth agape, gasping for air.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAgainst the windowpanes, exposed by the open shutters, raindrops as big as chickpeas were drumming loudly. There was no light outside. It was unclear whether it was day or night.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe looked at the clock. Half past six.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eTime to get up, in theory.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eBut what was the use of going out at that hour if all that awaited him at the office were stacks of papers to be signed?\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHis mood darkened. He got up, opened the windows, pulled the shutters shut, closed the windows, went and lay back down in bed, and closed his eyes.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\"Isspector! Iss pass nine o'clock! Ya wan' me to bring ya somma coffee?\"\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAdelina's voice blared like the trumpet on Judgment Day, the one that wakes up the dead.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe sat up in bed again. Past nine o'clock?\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eTrue, there was nothing he had to do, but, all the same, it was bad form to show up at the office late in the morning.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\"Sure! And make it snappy!\"\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe rain had stopped, but he could tell that the storm was merely taking a break.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHis housekeeper came in with a steaming cup. He savored the coffee down to the last drop.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\"There's no watta, ya know,\" Adelina informed him.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eMontalbano took this hard.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\"What do you mean, there's no water?! How can that be? With the deluge we've been having the past few days!\"\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\"Whattya wan' me to say, Isspecter? There jest in't any.\"\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\"So how am I supposed to wash myself?\"\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\"I collicted a li'l bit o' water an' put it inna sink anna bidŽ. Y'er gonna hafta mekki be enough.\"\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\"Where'd you collect it?\"\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\"Sints I awreddy been 'ere f'r o'er an hour an' it wazza still rainin', I fill uppa tree pots an' a bucket witta watta fro' the gutta. Iss watta fro' heaven, an' so iss clean.\"\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eClean, my ass.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eIf it was from the gutters on the roof, chock-full as they were with the poop of rats, seagulls, and pigeons . . .\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\"You know what I say? I'm gonna go wash at the police station. And I'll get dressed there, too.\"\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe left the house in a bad mood.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe'd managed to escape, but just outside the door he found a lake and got his shoes all muddy taking the four steps he needed to take to reach his car.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe hated it when he got mud on his shoes.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe could have gone back inside and grabbed another, clean pair of shoes. But was it right to show up at the police station with a pair of shoes in one hand and a little bag with clean underwear in the other? He turned the key in the ignition, but the engine didn't start. He tried again. Nothing. The car seemed dead.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eNo point in getting out, raising the hood, and looking inside. After all, he didn't know a damn thing about cars.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe let off some steam for five minutes straight, unleashing a stream of curses, head resting on the steering wheel. Then he got out and went back into the house.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\"D'ja fuhget som'n?\"\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\"No, it's the car . . .\"\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe was about to phone the station to ask someone to come and pick him up, when Adelina said: \"The watta jess cumma back, ya know.\"\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eWater! This brought to mind a poem he learned in French class in junior high school:\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eEau si claire et si pure,\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ebienfaisante pour tous . . .\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe dashed into the bathroom. They were likely to shut the water off again at a moment's notice. There was no time to waste. Whatever the case, better to turn up late at the office than to show up looking like some kind of refugee.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAnd now they even wanted to privatize water! The bastards!\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eBut you could be sure there would still be shortages, no doubt about that, and they would make you pay a euro a drop.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eNow all clean and shaven, he left the house again, made his way around the lake, and managed not to muddy his change of shoes.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eNot until he stuck the key in the ignition did he remember that the car wouldn't start.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eExcept that this time it did.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eIt is said that man, in a democracy, is free. Really?\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eBut what if the car won't start, the phone doesn't work, the power is out, there's no water or gas, and the computer, television, and refrigerator refuse to function?\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eIt is probably better still to say that, yes, man is free, but it is a conditional freedom, dependent upon the whims of objects he can no longer live without.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAnd almost as if to prove him right, the car stopped running the moment he entered Vigˆta.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eApparently it wanted to mess with his head.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe got out and walked the rest of the way to the station.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\"Cat, get me Fazio,\" the inspector said as he was walking past the switchboard operator's closet.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\"'E ain't onna premisses, Chief.\"\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\"Then get me Inspector Augello.\"\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\"'E ain't onna premisses, neither.\"\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHad they all flown the coop? What was going on? Montalbano took two steps back.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\"So where are they?\" he asked.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\"'Ey was called by Signor Drincananato, oo'd a happen a be-\"\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\"I know who he is. Wha'd he want them for?\"\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\"'E wannit 'em 'cuzza woikers was raisin' hell ousside the 'stablishment.\"\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eMontalbano made a snap decision.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\"I'm gonna go there myself.\"\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe was about to set off when he remembered he didn't have a car.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\"Is Gallo around?\"\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\"'E's onna premisses, Chief.\"\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\"Then call him and tell him I need him to drive me there.\"\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\"Bu', Chief, I guess I din't make myself clear. Gallo in't onn 'ese 'ere premisses, but on th' other premisses, atta Drincananato woiks, wit' Isspector Augello.\"\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\"Is there a squad car available?\"\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\"Yeah, we got one, Chief, 's far as 'at goes, bu' iss not in any condition to go nowheres, insomuch as iss got no gas. Bu' ya c'n take mine, if ya want, I'll give yiz the keys.\"\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAs the inspector was starting up the car, it occurred to him that he should post a circular around town, saying:\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eGiven the cuts in government funding,\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eevery citizen desiring the protection of law enforcement is requested to come to the police station with two jerrycans of gasoline. Whoever does not contribute\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ewill not be protected.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eTrincanato, Inc., was a small factory specialized in making ships' hulls, and things had gone well there until two years ago. The company employed about two hundred people, between office workers and manual laborers.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThen the old proprietor died, and the business was passed on to his son, Giovanni, who only had eyes for women and gambling.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eBetween Giovanni and the sudden economic crisis, it wasn't long before the factory was in trouble.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eJust three days earlier, in fact, Montalbano had learned that the layoffs were starting, and unemployment compensation claims were being filed.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThough he didn't feel like it, he was going to the site because he was afraid to leave Fazio and Augello alone there. Mim“ was liable to say the wrong thing to the enraged workers, and that must be avoided.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe'd once had his head busted by angry strikers, but Mim“ wasn't the type to learn his lessons gracefully.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThere were about fifty people gathered round the gate of the large hangar, which stood practically at the water's edge.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eOn the other hand, there was nobody outside the administrative building, which was protected by four private security guards with guns in their holsters.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eEverything was calm. Nobody was shouting. On the contrary.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe workers as well as the clerks all seemed strangely uncomfortable, and were either clustered in small groups of two or three or standing alone, heads bowed and looking at the ground. They weren't talking to one another.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eMontalbano parked the car, got out, and headed towards Fazio, who had an arm around a man's shoulder.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAs he drew near, he noticed that the man was crying. Fazio, seeing the inspector, came up to him.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\"So where's all the commotion Signor Trincanato was talking about?\" asked Montalbano. \"It looks more like a funeral to me!\"\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\"Indeed,\" said Fazio.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\"Speak more clearly,\" replied Montalbano, feeling confused.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\"Early this morning, a worker by the name of Carmine Spagnolo made his way inside the hangar and hung himself. He was fifty years old, and had a wife who's sick and three kids. He'd just been laid off.\"\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\"But are things really so bad here?\"\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\"The workers were ready to make some sacrifices, even to take a pay cut by half, but Trincanato preferred just letting the whole thing go to shit.\"\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\"But doesn't he also lose out that way?\"\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\"The workers say no; they say he gains from it. They say he made a deal with the competition.\"\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\"Have you called the prosecutor and Dr. Pasquano?\"\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\"Yeah, but the prosecutor can't come before one o'clock.\"\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\"I want to see the body. Who's inside?\"\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\"Gallo.\"\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eFazio then turned to the two guards standing stiffly outside the gate and said:\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\"Let us in.\"\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe dead man was hanging just three steps inside the entrance.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAll Carmine Spagnolo'd had to do was to climb up a half-finished boat hull, run a rope through a pulley, tie it around his neck, and jump.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe must have been a rather short, delicate man in life. If one ignored his bulging, desperate eyes and his mouth agape in a silent scream, he looked a little like a rag doll.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eGallo, despite a giant no smoking sign, was standing there with a lit cigarette and a good ten butts on the floor at his feet.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\"Chief, I'm just so upset. I can't stand looking at the poor bastard.\"\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\"Then go outside. What are you doing in here, anyway?\"\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\"No, sir, I'm gonna stay here.\"\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\"Why?\"\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\"Since his mates aren't allowed to come in, I don't want to leave him all alone.\"\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eMontalbano had to refrain from hugging him.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\"Where's Augello?\"\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\"In Trincanato's office.\"\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eMontalbano went out. The sky was covered with black clouds again, and a cold wind was blowing.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\"I'm going to talk to Trincanato,\" he said to Fazio, heading off.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThree steps in front of the glass entrance of the office building, one of the four security guards blocked his path.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThough the man was wearing sunglasses, despite the fact that there was no sun, the inspector recognized him.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eJust a few years earlier the man had appeared on television, on the TeleVigˆta channel, to tell the story of his services as a private contractor in Iraq. He was built like a tank, with red hair.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\"Where do you think you're going?\"\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAnd he made the mistake of putting a hand on Montalbano's chest. The inspector looked first at the guard's hand, then in his eyes.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\"One . . .\" he said.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\"What's that supposed to mean?\"\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\"It means that when I get to three I'm going to crush your balls,\" the inspector said ever so calmly.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAnd he smiled at him with affection, like a brother.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe guard jerked his hand away as if he'd burnt it. And he stepped aside.\u003c\/p\u003e","brand":"Penguin Books","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46304578535653,"sku":"NP9780143136187","price":16.0,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9780143136187.jpg?v=1767738829","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/products\/the-cook-of-the-halcyon-isbn-9780143136187","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}