“What does he do?” she asked.

“He’s unemployed. He knew the first victim: he worked as a bricklayer on the site for the ski resort. He was fired two weeks before Valent’s death for his inability to complete any of the tasks assigned to him, no matter how simple.”

Teresa felt her whole body tingle with an excitement she had to keep under control.

“His psychosis wouldn’t let him,” she said distractedly.

Parisi continued, “He’s been spotted lurking on the edge of the woods, spying on people’s homes. Someone’s been worried about him harassing their teenage daughter. We’re looking for him now.”

Teresa could feel the whole squad looking at her as they awaited her response. She was about to make a decision that could change a man’s life. Ebran was either a savage, bloodthirsty killer, or just a misfit who lived on the fringes of the community, completely harmless.

Maybe someone else poisoned the cat, and the dog had simply run away. Maybe Lucas Ebran had acted out as a teenager because he’d suffered from his father’s abandonment, and he detested his neighbors because he felt the weight of their judgment. He spied on other families because he envied them and would have liked to know some of that warmth himself, and he liked to stare at beautiful teenage girls because he’d never had a girlfriend in school.

Maybe Ebran was all this, but not a killer. Still, Teresa couldn’t leave any room for doubt. She hated her own intransigence sometimes, and the only way she could live with it was by constantly reminding herself that someone might be about to die and was currently going through the last few moments of their life completely unaware of how close they were to its end.

“Fine,” she said. “Give me five minutes, then call up the deputy public prosecutor. There’s something I need to sort out in the meantime.”

-45-

-45-

Teresa found Hugo Knauss in the kitchen, where he was making himself a cup of tea. The kettle was sputtering on the stove, and he had a teabag ready on the table, with a slice of lemon on a saucer.

“Put that mug down and turn around,” she growled.

He was so surprised that he did as she commanded.

“What’s wrong?” he asked. The light accentuated his features. With his darkened skin, roughened by the cold, he looked like a wooden mask carved by a sculptor with a sense of humor: the ears were too big, the nose was too small, the eyes were too close together . . .