A SHIVER RAN DOWN OFFICER ANTONIO SCIPIONI’S SPINE. The clock on the car’s dashboard said it was twenty-two minutes past midnight. He’d already been staked out in front of the Ristorante Santalmasso, a short distance outside Aosta on the road to La Salle, for three long hours. Walter Cremonesi had gone in at ten o’clock and still hadn’t come back out. The mountain hut that housed the restaurant had all its lights brightly burning, and the luminous sign was reflecting off the bodywork of the four luxury automobiles parked outside. He was starting to feel the tingling of pins and needles all down his left leg. His foot had gone to sleep entirely. He decided to get out and take a peek at the dining room from the side window. He grabbed his compact camera and opened the car door. He stamped his foot on the ground three times, and a stab of sensation lanced upward into his brain. Then he twisted his aching neck, put both hands on his hips, and arched his spine backward. He heard a vertebra crack, then another. He took a nice deep silent breath and approached the restaurant. He cautiously peeked inside. Walter Cremonesi was sitting at a table, along with two other men and a woman who immediately attracted his attention. Silky black hair, red lips, a small fine nose, a red dress that put a substantial pair of breasts on display with a plunging neckline. As she sipped her wine, she left the stamp of her lipstick on the rim. Otherwise, the dining room was empty. A waiter with a flower-print vest approached the table bearing three saucers with dessert. Officer Scipioni heaved a sigh, because that endless dinner seemed to be drawing to its conclusion and soon he would finally be able to go home and get some sleep. He took pictures of the foursome, though only after making sure that the flash was turned off. He put the little Nikon back in his pocket, stepped away from the glass pane, and retraced his steps. Outside the entrance was a lit-up wooden vitrine, and in it, on display, was the restaurant’s menu. Antonio leaned forward curiously. He grimaced when he read the prices of the appetizers. Entrées came in at more than twenty euros. Not the kind of restaurant he could afford. He went back to the car and lit a cigarette. The night was clear, but a light chilly wind found its way down the collar of his leather jacket, raising goosebumps on his flesh. The cold glittering stars dotted the dark vault of the sky. He got back into the car and cracked the driver’s side window open just wide enough to let the smoke stream out.