It was hopeless. He had to stay put. He was trapped. Sandwiched. And the worst of it was that he had no idea what the hell had happened to create this situation.

After another twenty or so minutes he lost patience, opened the car door, and got out. In the twinkling of an eye he was soaked straight down to his underpants. He started running towards the front of the column of cars and soon came to the point of obstruction, the cause of which was immediately obvious: the sea had washed the road away. Completely. Both lanes were gone. In their place was a chasm, at the bottom of which lay not earth but yellowy, foamy water. The nose of the first car in the column was actually sticking out over the edge. Another ten inches and it would have plummeted below. The inspector, however, became immediately convinced that the car was still in danger, because the road surface was still crumbling, though very slowly. In some twenty minutes, that car was destined to be swallowed up by the chasm. The downpour made it impossible to see inside the vehicle.

He went up to the car and tapped on the window. After a pause it was opened barely a crack by a young woman just over thirty wearing eyeglasses with lenses as thick as bottle bottoms. She looked terrified.

She was alone in the car.

“You have to get out,” he said to her.

“Why?”

“I’m afraid your car’s going to get swallowed up if help doesn’t arrive immediately.”

She made a face like a child about to start crying.

“But where will I go?”

“Take whatever you need, and you can come in my car.”

She just looked at him and said nothing. Montalbano realized she didn’t trust him, a total stranger.

“Listen, I’m a police inspector.”

Perhaps it was the way he said it, but the girl seemed convinced. She grabbed a sort of handbag and got out of the car.

They started running side by side, then Montalbano had her get in his car.