The barbaric slaughter of that poor animal had kindled a dull, violent rage in him. He approached the horse again and crouched down for a better look.They had even bludgeoned it in the belly, perhaps when it had reared up. Then he noticed that one of the horseshoes had come almost completely detached from the hoof. He lay on the ground, belly down, reached out and touched it. The horseshoe was held in place by a single nail, which had come halfway out of the hoof. At that moment Fazio, Gallo, and Galluzzo arrived, looked out from the veranda, spotted the inspector, and came down onto the beach. They looked at the horse and asked no questions.

Only Fazio spoke.

“There are some vile people in this world!” he commented.

“Gallo, think you can bring the car down here and then drive it along the beach?” Montalbano asked.

Gallo gave a haughty smile.

“Piece o’ cake, Chief.”

“Galluzzo, you go with him. I want you to follow the horse’s hoofprints.You shouldn’t have any trouble finding the spot where they bludgeoned the creature.There are iron rods, cigarette butts, and maybe other things as well. See for yourselves. Then gather everything together very carefully; I want fingerprints taken, DNA tests, the works. Anything that’ll help us identify these jokers.”

“And then what’ll we do? Report them to the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals?” Fazio asked as the two of them were walking away.

“Why, do you think that’s all there is to this affair?”

“No, I don’t. I just wanted to make that quip.”

“Well, I don’t think it’s worth repeating. So why did they do it?”

Fazio made a doubtful face.

“Could be some kind of revenge on the horse’s owner.”

“Maybe. And that’s all?”

“No.There’s something more likely. I’ve heard talk . . .”

“Of what?”

“Of a clandestine horse-racing circuit in Vigàta.”