The inner workings of the Valent family were gradually emerging. She understood now why Diego looked like a miniature grown-up, dressed like an adult in classic navy blue trousers, a beige V-necked sweater, and a starched blue shirt. There was a little bowtie around his neck. Teresa was sure it must feel like a noose to him.

Her instinct was to set him free, ruffle his hair, throw him on the sofa and tickle him senseless. Instead, she rooted around in her pocket and offered him a licorice wheel.

Diego looked at his mother.

“He doesn’t eat sugar,” she said.

“Ah, but this is special candy,” Teresa told the boy. “It’s sweet without being sweet.”

“Sugar substitutes are no less harmful, Superintendent,” the mother insisted.

“Superintendent, yes, but you can call me Teresa,” she repeated, addressing the boy.

The woman seemed to realize she might have sounded rude.

“Forgive me,” she said. “My husband was very strict about this kind of thing.” She gestured at the bowls teeming with sweet treats. “Diego knows he mustn’t take any.”

Teresa wondered at the discipline they must have imposed on him. That’s how you raise a rebellious teenager and an emasculated adult, she thought.

The boy’s lips parted as she placed the licorice wheel back in her pocket. He was desperate for that piece of candy, so meager compared to the delicacies displayed in that house, yet so much more meaningful.

He was wringing his hands, mimicking his mother, and Teresa noticed that there was some dirt under his fingernails. She allowed herself a hopeful smile at the sight of that small flaw in the midst of so much perfection. There was life in him yet, a salutary trace of subversion. The boy noticed, too, and hid his hands behind his back. Teresa winked at him in wholehearted approval.

She stood up, and Marini copied her. Though the inspector had kept quiet throughout—was he finally learning?—he hadn’t missed any of the drama that had just unfolded. The look on his face spoke volumes: he was rooting for Diego just as much as Teresa was.

On the way out, the two police officers had a last routine exchange with Valent’s widow.

“We’ll be in touch soon,” said Teresa. “If you have any questions or doubts, we are always available. And if you remember anything that you think might be useful, even if it seems trivial, call us immediately.”

“Thank you,” said the widow. “I know you will do everything you can to find whoever did this.”

An emboldened Diego stood close to Teresa with his head tilted upwards, not wanting to miss anything about this policewoman who must have appeared so strange to his eyes.

Before they left, she stroked his head—perhaps for a fraction too long. She noticed Marini looking at her hand, and quickly pulled away.

Let it go, she told herself.