“Why did he run away? Could he be the man we’re after?” he asked.

Teresa also rose to her feet, though a lot more slowly than he had, and much less gracefully, too. At least the pain in her back had receded.

“Then why would he save me from crashing down into that?” she said, leaning over to look down at the precipice. “The killer we’re looking for has no sense of empathy. He would have stood and watched, and enjoyed it, too.”

“So I guess he was just a mountain man who was particularly reluctant to answer your questions.”

“Well, a person’s spirit is shaped by the environment they inhabit, and as my tailbone can now attest, these mountains are a hard place to live.”

Marini took a few steps forward, his eyes fixed on the ground.

“No sign of footsteps,” he remarked. “He must have walked along the ballast. I’ll run some tests, but . . .”

Teresa stared at him.

“You’ll run some tests?” she noted.

He realized his slip and closed his eyes for a moment.

“I didn’t mean . . .”

“Leave it, Marini.”

“You’re the one giving orders, obviously.”

“Yes, obviously.”

“So what now?”

Teresa brushed her trousers.

“So now you run some tests,” she told him, heading toward the road. “Do I have to tell you everything?”

When they arrived back at the school, Diego bid his teacher farewell and walked toward them.

“Shall we go?” Teresa said, smiling at him and offering him her uninjured hand. He looked inquisitively at the dirt on her clothes, but didn’t ask any questions. He did take her hand, though. Teresa noticed a white stain on her sleeve. She swiped a finger through the smudge.

“What’s this?” she asked Marini.

He shrugged.

“I’ve no idea.”

“P-Poo.”

They both turned to look at the boy.

“He’s right,” said Marini, sniffing at the stain. “It looks like bird poo.”

Teresa looked at Diego and gave him a wink.

“The perfect conclusion to a perfect chase,” she said, laughing.

-30-

-30-

Lucia was used to being alone and silence didn’t scare her. It was something else that was making her sad that morning: she hadn’t been able to meet up with her friends. Her father had left just before dawn, instructing her to clean the house and tidy up, and telling her that whatever happened, she mustn’t go outside. He would be gone for a while, perhaps a couple of days.

“Where’s Mommy?” she’d asked.

He’d told her she’d left. Lucia had accepted that simple explanation; after all, her mother had left them before, though she always came back.