“They have a motive, and there is a precedent for vandalism and damage to the victim’s property,” she said.

Knauss squirmed in his chair, his bulk suddenly diminished, as if he were shrivelling up in his own skin.

Teresa didn’t wait for him to respond.

“I want the details for each and every one,” she commanded.

Knauss tried once more to explain his position.

“They’re from the village . . . we’ve known them forever.”

“I don’t give a damn if you have your morning coffee with them every day,” Teresa snapped.

She regretted it immediately. From the moment she’d woken up that morning, she’d felt unmoored. All day her emotions had seesawed, and that unpredictability was a destabilizing force.

“They are idealists, Superintendent, they’re young. They just don’t want another ski slope defacing the valley.”

“Idealists are dreamers who organize peace marches, Chief Knauss, they don’t roam about armed with petrol cans and fire bombs,” she said. “What are the charges?”

Knauss signalled to one of his men, and the files were pushed toward Teresa. Within minutes she’d figured out what had happened. The ski resort currently under construction required the deforestation of a vast expanse of mountain slope. She could easily imagine how a certain portion of the valley’s inhabitants might be displeased with these plans. The zone of interest had been divided into lots. A number of soil samples from the lots on the ridge toward the north had already been analyzed; the results from the hydrological tests had been positive, and the work was set to begin in the spring, once the ice had thawed. As for the lots further south, near the village, those had already been fenced off and construction had commenced. These were the sites that the environmental activists had targeted; the worst offence had taken place two weeks before Valent’s disappearance, an episode of arson for which three locals from the protest movement had already been arrested and charged.

“Parisi, look into it tomorrow morning,” said Teresa as she pointed at the suspects’ names on the files. She was breathing with difficulty. “Just an informal chat to start with.”

“Why wouldn’t his wife mention any of this?” asked Marini.

Teresa lifted her head to look at him, but couldn’t seem to respond. Her mouth felt sticky. She felt everyone’s eyes on her.

“Superintendent?”

Faces. Nameless faces everywhere.

Her confusion mingled with embarrassment. Someone offered her a glass of water. He kept calling her Superintendent, and he seemed concerned. Teresa’s instincts told her she knew him, but his name just wouldn’t come to her.

She stuck the temples of her glasses in her mouth and began to chew on them. It was a habit she often turned to, but it had suddenly acquired a new purpose: to buy her some time and conceal her distress in the hope that the words would soon start flowing again.