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Was this some kind of stupid joke. He could only gawk, speechless, at the rain-drenched commissioner standing before him. Bonetti was wearing a black, rumpled hat and a raincoat with a shredded left sleeve. The inspector followed him mechanically, as if sleepwalking, forgetting to close the door, which started banging in the wind. His table manners are enough to turn the stomach upside down. It was close enough to make his heart thump like the broken arm of a windmill smacking against the ground. It cost too much for the salary he earned, which barely let him set anything aside. But if he ever did get around to seeing him, the house would go to Livia, that much was certain. Enough money to buy himself a nice car. Twisted logic, yes, but still logical. Surely he had to put Catarella in his will. The two doctors study and study them, then finally sigh as though worn out after a long walk.
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