“And what did you find?”

“Three clubs, a piece of rope, eleven cigarette butts of two different brands, and an empty Bic lighter,” Galluzzo replied.

“Let’s do this,” said Montalbano. “You, Gallo, go to the Forensics Lab and give them the clubs and the lighter.You, Galluzzo, take the rope and butts and bring them to my office. Thanks for everything.We’ll meet back up at the station. I’ve got a couple of private phone calls to make.”

Gallo looked doubtful.

“What’s wrong?”

“What am I supposed to ask Forensics to do?”

“To take fingerprints.”

Gallo looked more doubtful than ever.

“And if they ask me what it’s about, what do I say? That we’re investigating the murder of a horse? They’ll throw me out of there on my ass!”

“Tell them there was a brawl with several wounded and we’re trying to identify the assailants.”

* * *

Left alone, he went inside the house, took off his shoes and socks, rolled up his trousers, and went back onto the beach.

This idea of immigrants stealing the horse in order to eat it didn’t convince him in the least. How long had they been in the kitchen, he and Fazio, drinking coffee and chatting? Half an hour, max.

So, in half an hour the immigrants had the time to spot the horse, run two miles back to their shanties, grab a cart, return to the beach, load it on the cart, and roll it away?

It wasn’t possible.

Unless they had spotted the carcass at the crack of dawn, before he opened the window, and then had returned with the cart, seen him next to the horse, and hidden nearby, waiting for the right moment.

Some fifty yards down the beach, the wheel tracks made a turn and headed inland, where there was a concrete esplanade full of cracks, which had been in that state since the inspector first moved to Marinella.The esplanade provided easy entry onto the provincial road.