Martinelli was a stickler for good spelling, and that last error shattered his excitement. Someone knocked at the door.

“Come in!” shouted the warden, and with a click of his mouse he closed the escort website, replacing it with a drab and bureaucratic email from the Ministry of the Interior.

The office door swung open and the bearded face of a guard appeared. “Dottore! Mozzicarelli, the inmate who asked to see you, is here.”

“Send him in.”

The guard gestured and Sergio came in, his shoulders bowed, his hands in front of him, and his head hanging low.

“Well, what is it?” snapped the warden, out of sorts, without inviting him to sit down. “You’ve been asking for this meeting since yesterday. I hope it’s something important.”

“Dottore, I . . . I have to see someone.”

“Mozzicarelli, this is a prison, not a hotel. Who do you need to see so urgently?”

“The deputy chief.”

Martinelli narrowed his eyes. “Do you mind telling me why?”

“No, Dottore, I mean yes, I do mind. It’s something that . . . in other words, I can only tell him.”

The warden nodded seriously and seemed offended. “All right. We’ll take care of it later. Now go back to your cell and don’t worry about it.”

“Actually, today I’m on cafeteria duty.”

“Even better, so go to the cafeteria, and if Dottor Schiavone has time to see you, I’ll let you know.”

“Make sure you tell him that this is something he’ll be very interested in.”

“Mozzicarelli, if this is to waste the deputy chief’s time and mine with some delirium of yours, say so immediately and we don’t have to discuss it ever again.”

“Dottore, you and I have known each other for many years. And I’ve never asked you for a thing. If I tell you that it’s urgent, trust me. It’s urgent and it’s very, very important.”

“Sollima!” shouted the warden. The door swung open again and the guard’s bearded face reappeared. “Take the inmate back to his cell.”

“To the dining hall, actually,” Sergio corrected him.

“Wherever it is!”

The two men left the room. Martinelli went back online to get the photo of that Amelia. In any case, he wanted to make a note of the girl’s cell phone number.

DEPUTY INSPECTOR CATERINA RISPOLI ENTERED THE CONFERENCE room in police headquarters where Antonio and Italo were waiting for her. She carried two small plastic cups.

“What am I going to tell Schiavone?” she asked as she set the espressos down for her colleagues.

Antonio grabbed his espresso. “What do I know? Just tell him what happened to me. Anyway, the Carabinieri were there and they’re following Cremonesi. Then Schiavone can figure what it all adds up to.”

“It’s a strange thing,” said Italo after sampling the cup of bilge from the vending machine. “It seems to me that there are maneuvers going on here that we don’t understand. What should I do? Report it to the judge?”