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Montalbano quickly slammed the trunk shut and sat down on top of it. When the beam from Livia’s torch shone on his face, he automatically smiled.
‘What’s in the trunk?’ Livia asked.
‘Nothing. It’s empty.’
How could he possibly have told her there was a corpse inside?
The lazy, slow month of August at the height of the Sicilian summer is, Inspector Montalbano assures his girlfriend Livia as they prepare for a relaxing holiday in a villa he has found for them, far too hot for any murders to be committed. But when Livia's friends’ young son goes missing, a chain of events is sparked which will certainly ruin the Chief Inspector’s pleasant interlude.
A secret apartment and a grisly find in an old trunk are just the beginning, as Montalbano navigates his way though the case, as well as coping with the sweltering heat, the suspicious death of an Arab labourer and the tempting lure of a beautiful girl . . .
‘A magnificent series of novels’ Sunday Times
‘Wonderful Italian detective stories’ Guardian
"synopsis" may belong to another edition of this title.
As usual with Montalbano (whose gourmet instincts are as keen as his investigative skills), his methods for learning the truth from suspects vary according to the individuals he is dealing with; here, an unpleasant paedophile comes in for some particularly no-nonsense treatment -- and the legality of some of Montalbano’s actions is distinctly questionable.
The setting, as usual, is the picturesque, non-metropolitan region of Vigata in Sicily. And it's hot --stiflingly hot. In August Heat, we are never allowed to forget the all-enveloping sultriness (the inspector -- possessor of miniature fan, the only one in the police station -- sometimes cloisters himself in his office and strips naked to deal with the heat). At the beginning of the novel, Montalbano’s lover, Livia, has arranged for some friends to stay near them. But their guests' irritating child disappears, and Montalbano undertakes a search. The house they are using yields no clues, despite being searched with a fine toothcomb. The mystery is total -- is it an abduction? Has the child wandered away? Until, that is, Montalbano finds a tunnel in the ground outside -- one that that takes him to a concealed layer of the house. He finds the child, unharmed, but there is another discovery waiting for him in the subterranean room: a trunk. Inside, wrapped in plastic, is the unclothed body of a girl -- her throat has been slashed. The clues to her killer may lie with those responsible for the concealed floor.
Camilleri fans will be more than happy with this, though there is no catch-up characterisation for Montalbano's police colleagues; the author clearly makes the assumption that we’ll be familiar with them. This reservation apart (plus a few others involving a comic secondary figure), followers of this urbane, relentless Italian copper need not hesitate. --Barry Forshaw
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