“Any sadist? No. But you’re right: it is a show. An exhibition, just like the presentation of Valent’s body. There is a deeper meaning to it all that I’m sure we’ll figure out eventually.”

“What do you think about the dead animal? A threat?”

Teresa shook her head.

“That’s not how it works. The urge to harm animals is a trait commonly found in inveterate killers, but they usually act upon it in private. It’s like a first step toward fulfilling the fantasies that torment them, clamoring to be put into practice.”

Marini looked around.

“Now what do we do?” he asked.

“Now I want to talk to the girl.”

Lucia Kravina was like a grown-up already. She was only eight years old, but she’d been the one to bring coffee to the police officers, and she seemed much less disoriented than her mother, who’d only just come home, and hadn’t even given her daughter a hug for comfort. Judging by her appearance, Teresa surmised she must have been very young when she had Lucia, probably before she was ready to stop being a little girl herself. With chipped, black nail varnish, bitten nails, a streak of pink and fading highlights in her hair, and wearing leggings that were too tight for her with a leather jacket cropped just below her breasts, she looked like an overgrown teenager. Parisi had already begun taking her statement, but soon gestured at Teresa to signal they wouldn’t glean much from her.

The real child, then, was this woman with absent eyes, which meant that Lucia must have been used to looking after herself. Teresa was sure she was the one who kept the house in her mother’s stead. It was a humble home, but it was tidy and clean.

Teresa hadn’t approached the little girl yet, but had been watching her from a distance. She had been trying to figure out how to avoid scaring her, how to earn her trust without causing her too much suffering. The child had witnessed enough violence for a day—not only the sight of the wretched carcass hanging from her window, but now the arrival of these strangers barging into her home. And one of those strangers was Teresa.

“Lucia is a strong girl. She’s had to grow up fast, but she’s as sweet as any child her age.”

Teresa turned around.

The man who had spoken was smiling at her now. He was wrapped in a green wool coat, face half hidden behind a thick scarf with a checked pattern, and he wore a felt hat with a thin band and a bow of small, silky feathers. He wasn’t much taller than Teresa.

“I’m sorry,” said the stranger. “I saw the way you were looking at her.”

“You’re a good observer,” said Teresa.

He smiled and held out his hand. His irises were a remarkably light blue.