She didn’t bother to reply. She was convinced that wasn’t the case, and surely the fingerprint tests would soon show a match with the prints found on Valent’s body, proving her right. The fact that he’d been observing potential prey—spying on them, even—did not necessarily imply a sexual motive. It simply suggested that his homicidal instincts had awakened once more. There was always a voyeuristic element to these kinds of cases: the killer, patrolling his hunting grounds, might enter people’s homes when there was nobody there, perhaps steal some of their belongings—totems with which to fuel his fantasies. Hugo Knauss had said that someone had been stealing people’s washing. Teresa had found it an interesting detail. But what was most alarming was that there were no more than a thousand people living in Travenì, tourists excluded, so it was very likely that the killer was known to the victim, and perhaps even to the Kravina family. The thought of little Lucia alone at home worried Teresa. She would arrange for the house to be placed under police protection, like the Valent residence.

It was still afternoon, but already twilight was descending onto the forest. The shortest days of the year were approaching. It was the worst possible time to be hunting a killer who prowled the mountain trails.

“We must alert the municipal authorities, but without causing panic,” she told Marini. “And let’s be careful with the press; if we stroke the killer’s ego, we’ll only end up encouraging him.”

“Are you worried they’ll make front page news of him?”

She wasn’t worried, she was certain. It had happened before, and the literature was full of examples of killers who’d ended up in a twisted dance with the press, a game both parties relished.

“It will happen. It’s inevitable,” she said. “People are alarmed by this kind of news, but also secretly fascinated. It’s the lure of evil. It’s the same reason your heart’s beating so fast right now—it is, isn’t it? You’re wondering what it would be like to run into him at this very moment, hiding behind that tree over there. You’re wondering what kind of face someone like that might have, how he would look at you.”

“I’m not afraid.”

Teresa stopped to look at him.

“And yet I’m sure I felt your hand shaking earlier, Inspector.”

He ignored her and pointed at the stream bubbling through clumps of ivy.

“The forensics team say that’s where his trail vanishes,” he said.