“That’s true,” she replied. “If you did, I would have wasted no time telling you, right here in front of everyone, exactly what I think of you for wasting my time—time that I would much rather spend saving the killer’s next victim.”

The chief went quiet.

Teresa gestured at something behind his back. Two of Knauss’s men were trying, with little success, to disband an unauthorized stall that was collecting signatures for a petition against the construction of the new ski resort. Tempers were flaring.

“You say you know your people,” Teresa goaded him. “Off you go, then, and see if you can solve whatever the problem is over there.”

Knauss spat out his gum and walked away without another word.

Teresa looked at her watch. Not long to go before the start of the pageant. Presently, she noticed that someone else was walking up to her. This was going to be a long night.

“Jesus Christ, what is everyone’s problem tonight?” she muttered.

The man was holding a piece of paper that Teresa immediately recognized. She’d drafted the document herself and arranged for the chief of police to sign it.

“Do we have you to thank for this, Superintendent?” the man growled at her.

“Good evening, Mayor.”

He ignored the greeting and waved the sheet of paper in her face.

“What’s this nonsense? We can’t even turn the streetlights off, now?”

Teresa didn’t even bother to look at him.

“A public safety measure, Mayor,” she replied.

“How am I supposed to get the devotees down and the bonfires going if the lights are still on?”

“I’m sure you’ll manage to put on a good show regardless, and no one will mind too much. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do here.”

Tearing the injunction up, the mayor retreated into the crowd. Teresa was relieved.

The radio at her hip croaked.

“Nothing to report here,” said Parisi’s voice. He was patrolling the churchyard, the kiosks, and the street vendors’ stalls.

They still hadn’t found Lucas Ebran. He had disappeared. His mother had told them it wasn’t the first time it had happened; her son was sometimes gone for days, but she had no idea where he went. They hadn’t found any fingerprints in the house other than the woman’s own. If it hadn’t been for the neighbors who said they’d seen him as recently as two weeks ago, spying on them through their windows, they might have thought Ebran didn’t exist, that he was a figment of someone’s imagination.

For now, all they had to go on was a grainy old photograph. It was all they had to help them spot him among hundreds of faces covered by hats and scarves.