She couldn’t help but feel sorry for that mother and son who had, at some point in their lives, been cut adrift. She forced herself to remain alert and detached.

“The fact that at his age he’s still relying on photographs to satisfy his urges, rather than an actual woman—that says something,” she said. “I doubt he’s ever had a romantic relationship. He lives with a mother who is the embodiment of physical and mental breakdown. And it’s likely he doesn’t have any friends.”

“It’s been years since I last saw this kind of magazine. Doesn’t he know it’s easier and cheaper to use the internet these days?”

That was when they realized there wasn’t a single electronic device in the entire house. No computers, no mobile phones, not even a TV. It was as if they had gone back in time.

Teresa pointed out the date on one of the magazines.

“They probably belonged to his father.”

The furniture and fittings revealed a difficult financial situation. There was a shelf filled with books on the local fauna, and more of the same on the bedside table. It seemed Ebran was fascinated with wild animals. A map of the world on the wall was dotted with felt-tip pen marks. Teresa let out a melancholy sigh. “All the trips he could never afford to make,” she whispered.

She could feel Marini’s eyes on her.

“It’s almost like you feel sorry for him.”

“It’s called empathy.”

“He could be the killer.”

“Yes, he could be.”

“Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”

“Of course it does. It means that before crossing the point of no return, every serial killer is a human being in pain. Often abused. Always lonely.”

Marini’s phone rang. After a quick conversation with the headquarters in Travenì, he hung up.

“A man has been reported missing. His name is Abramo Viesel,” he explained. “He didn’t show up at his sister’s for dinner last night, and his phone’s been unreachable for hours. The sister can’t go anywhere because of the snow, but she’s worried. She says it’s never happened before.”

Teresa parted the yellowed lace of the curtains and looked out of the window. In the garden, cutting through the snow, was a tuft of pointed leaves and crimson berries.

-48-

-48-

Abramo Viesel was a janitor at the school in Travenì. He was divorced and had no children. Once a week he went to see his sister, Caterina, for dinner; she lived with her family in a chalet just outside the village, in an isolated stretch of flat land.