But are these photographs real? Alessandro Martinelli, warden of the house of detention of Varallo, was wondering. Maybe they’d just copied them out of fashion magazines, and then you went to the appointment and found yourself face-to-face with a skeletal junkie or, even worse, a transsexual. He lingered over one girl who seemed really promising. It listed her cell phone and three other photos of the woman, still with her face blocked out, in various poses. But she was never naked. Always fully dressed, maybe just a glimpse of breast, a bit of thigh. She was in the Top Escort category.

Expensive stuff. Hundreds and hundreds of euros. And maybe she was worth every cent. He read her profile.

Ciao, I’m not for just anyone, only for a discerning, refined customer. Time to spend and generous gifts should be among your virtues. I don’t reply to anonymous messages. At my place or in third-party offices. Seriously, though, only write me if you’re interested. My time is precious to me. But wait and see, you won’t be sorry that you called. The only risk is that you might fall in love with me, with my lips, with my breasts, with my theighs.

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.”