“No older than twelve,” the coroner continued, “though based on an initial measurement of the bones, I’d say ten or eleven. I haven’t detected any signs of trauma.”

Neither of them spoke for several moments.

“I’ve already extracted a few samples to test for biological anomalies,” Parri resumed, handing a box with the samples to an assistant. “I’ll have them sent to the lab immediately so we can get some answers quickly. We’ll need a few more hours here before we can move everything.”

“Is there any way we can run a toxicology test now? I want to understand how he died.”

“I could remove the skull right away to get going on that, and it would also allow us to test the tissue he took from the victims.”

“Thank you, Antonio.”

Marini called out to her from the blackened table.

“Superintendent, you might want to come and see this.”

-65-

-65-

Marini had found something among the burned objects that were impossible to identify and the remnants of the partially scorched books: a handwritten notebook, with each entry dated at the top. The last entry was marked 20 September 1993.

It was in German. Teresa’s understanding of the language was limited to what she had learned at school, and those ancient memories were of no use to her now.

“Do you speak German?” she asked Marini.

“I know a few words here and there.”

“Chief Knauss!” she called.

The chief approached them.

“I know you’re all bilingual here. Translate this for me,” she said, pointing at the diary.

“Now?”

Teresa stared at him, wondering how it was possible that he would always find something to say—even a single, insignificant word—that was bound to irritate her.

“You tell me. Would you rather take it home and settle down with it by the fireplace?” she replied.

It took Knauss a while to realize she was joking. He fished for his reading glasses in the pocket of his jacket and sighed as he put them on, leaning with his face close to the notebook.

“It looks like a diary.”

“Yes, we surmised as much from the dates.”

Teresa watched with increasing impatience as Knauss read a few lines and tried to figure out what he was looking at. She saw him turn a few pages, go back, then stop to think before he resumed his reading.

“What’s wrong?” she asked him.

“I don’t understand,” he muttered.

“Ask one of your men to help. There must be someone else here who can read it.”

Knauss lifted his gaze from the notebook.

“I can read it myself, Superintendent.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

“It’s what they’ve written in here. It sounds like an experiment.”

Teresa was no longer in the mood to make jokes.

“Read it to me,” she commanded.

Knauss ran his finger down one of the pages.