CHIARA AND ROCCO WERE SITTING ON THE BED. CATERINA was sitting in a swivel chair at the girl’s desk, which was covered with photographs and CDs. At the door, Giuliana was looking at her daughter with such intensity that seemed to be trying to transmit nothing but positive thoughts and a lust for life to her. But Chiara instead was distracted by the landscape outside the window. Pale and serious, she had her knees pulled up to her chest, her chin resting atop them. Night had fallen, and the only light illuminating the bedroom was the lamp on the nightstand, shaped like a hot-air balloon.

“Can I get you anything?”

Chiara started clutching at her knees with an obsessive rhythm.

“No, Signora, grazie,” Rocco replied. But Giuliana wouldn’t leave.

“A cup of tea?” the woman asked the deputy inspector.

“Grazie, Signora, nothing, really.”

“Mamma, they don’t want anything, please!” Chiara said in a faint voice. Giuliana lowered her head and left the room, closing the door behind her.

“Jesus, what a pain in the ass!” Chiara blurted.

Rocco looked at Caterina. Then at the girl again. “You’re a bit of a wreck . . .”

Chiara didn’t answer. She kept looking out the window.

“It’s normal for your mother to worry, you know that, right?”

“She just keeps hassling me! It’s all she knows how to do.”

“That’s her job,” said Rocco.

Chiara smiled. “Right.”

There was a book in French on the bed. A book of fairy tales. Rocco picked it up. “Are you reading this?”

“French homework. It’s a fairy tale by Anatole France . . .”

Rocco picked it up. “Abeille . . . what does that mean?”

“‘Bee’ . . . ‘little bee’ . . . It’s a fairy tale, like I told you. But I don’t know why, I can’t seem to concentrate. I read a line and then . . .”

“And then?”

“And then my mind starts to wander. I’m back in that garage in the midst of all that snow.”

Rocco set the book down. “A girl all alone in the woods, a captive of the evil ogre, and then Prince Charming comes along and saves her.”

Finally Chiara looked at the deputy chief. “And are you supposed to be Prince Charming?”

“In the fairy tale, sure. In reality, not so much. I’m just a policeman.”

“Right, and in fact, I imagine Prince Charming a little different from you.”

“I know. He looks a little more like Max Turrini, right?”

Chiara bit her lip. “Right. Max keeps coming over. But I don’t know. Tell me the truth, Dottor Schiavone. They raped me, didn’t they?”

Caterina tried to catch her boss’s eye, but instead, he just answered without paying the slightest attention to her. “Yes, Chiara. They did.”

Chiara sniffed loudly, then wiped away a tear. “Thanks. You’re the only person who tells me the truth.”