“Maybe the truth is they see the world more clearly than we do,” she said in a low whisper. “They see the inferno beneath our feet while we stop to look at the flowers. We are lucky that we have a veil between us and the world, but their past has robbed them of that filter. That doesn’t mean they’re right to kill, of course, or that I’m justifying what they do.”

“So what does it mean?”

“That in some distant past, they suffered, and their suffering has made them what they are. If there’s anyone who should know what that means, it’s me.”

It was the first time this woman had told him anything remotely personal, the first time she had offered a glimpse—however hazy—into the history of her own life. Massimo grabbed the lead she’d thrown him, knowing that she would soon regret doing so, and pull it right back in.

“What do you mean, you should know?” he questioned, unable to stop himself.

But she seemed lost in altogether different thoughts.

“Because I can see beyond the flowers, just like they do. I can see the inferno,” she murmured.

Her words faded into silence. The ticking of the clock on the wall behind them seemed to say that the time for confessions was drawing to a close.

This was the moment Massimo had been waiting for. He pulled the gift he had bought her out of his pocket and put it on her desk.

He saw her frown. Teresa Battaglia slipped on her glasses and brought her face close to the little sprig with pointed, leathery leaves, heavy with red berries.

“In Japan they call it Nan-ten, or sacred bamboo. It has ceremonial functions in Buddhist temples. Here we call it nandina. It’s evergreen and it grows in gardens.”

The superintendent raised her eyes to his.

“It’s not a woodland plant,” she said.

He nodded, satisfied.

“The eyes for the effigy came from a garden in Travenì,” Massimo confirmed. “If we can figure out which one, maybe we can trace the killer’s footsteps.”

“And find out whom he’s been watching,” Teresa went on. “Whom he’s yearned for.”

-34-

-34-

Lucia didn’t like disobeying her father, but one thing that bothered her even more was to be separated from her friends in a time of need.

She had received the secret signal to gather at the creek: two rings of the telephone, followed by a pause, and then another ring. It was reserved for emergencies.