“And you think this horse was killed as a consequence of something that happened in those circles?”

“What else could it be? All we gotta do now is wait for the consequences of this consequence, which there will surely be.”

“But maybe it’s better if we can prevent these consequences, no?” said Montalbano.

“That’d be better, yes, but it ain’t gonna be easy.”

“Well, let’s begin by saying that before killing the horse, they must have stolen it.”

“Are you kidding, Chief? Nobody’s gonna report the stolen horse. It would be like coming to us and saying: I’m one of the organizers of the illegal horse races.”

“Is it a really big deal?”

“Millions and millions of euros in bets, they say.”

“And who’s behind it?”

“I’ve heard the name of Michele Prestia mentioned.”

“And who’s he?”

“Some nitwit, Chief, about fifty years old.Who up until last year worked as an accountant for a construction firm.”

“But this doesn’t seem to me like the work of some nitwit accountant.”

“Of course not, Chief. Prestia’s just a front man, in fact.”

“For whom?”

“Nobody knows.”

“You have to try to find out.”

“I’ll try.”

* * *

When they were back in the house, Fazio went into the kitchen to make coffee and Montalbano called City Hall to inform them that there was a horse’s carcass on the beach at Marinella.

“Is it your horse?”

“No.”

“Let’s be clear about this, sir.”

“Why, is there something unclear about what I said?”

“No, it’s just that sometimes people say the animal’s not theirs because they don’t want to pay the removal fee.”

“I told you it’s not my horse.”

“Okay, we’ll take your word for it. Do you know whose it is?”

“No.”

“Okay, we’ll take your word for it. Do you know what it died of ?”