He shut his eyes. The images came pouring in like an avalanche. Caterina’s face, Lupa’s tail, Marina’s hair and her pale diaphanous hand, Giuliana Berguet adjusting her necklace, Adele laughing, Lupa’s tail again, Cuntrera’s corpse, the perfume of the tuberose flowers, the scent of the meadows, the book by Anatole France, the Turrinis’ Fontana paintings, the police chief’s eyeglasses. He opened his eyes again. Now Amelia was looking at him. She seemed impatient. He decided it was time to be done with it, and he came.

AS HE GOT DRESSED AGAIN, HE DIDN’T SAY A WORD. THE woman lay on the bed, illuminated by the light from the window with the pleated pink curtains. He laced his Clarks desert boots, stood up, and put his hand on the door handle. “I think we’ll be seeing more of each other,” he told her.

“Why? Were you satisfied?”

“No. If you ask me, at four hundred euros you’re overpriced. I’m thinking more about down at police headquarters. Ciao, Amelia.” Before leaving, he offered her a tip, free of charge: “By the way, there’s no e in ‘thighs.’”

“Well, Italian isn’t my native language. I grew up speaking Provençal . . . Dab plasèr . . . it’s been a pleasure!”

WHAT REASON THERE COULD HAVE BEEN FOR ALL THOSE IMAGES to flood through his mind he just couldn’t say. Were they mental notes, so many Post-its stuck to his brain? The police chief and his eyeglasses were certainly a reminder of some kind—he was almost certainly trying to find Rocco. Marina and Caterina, too easy to find an answer to that one. Lupa’s tail? Why Lupa’s tail? Giuliana Berguet and her necklace . . . Why had Chiara’s book of fairy tales surfaced in his mind? They’re just images, he thought to himself, like frames of an old movie. A friend of his who’d been a psychiatrist, now dead, but with whom he’d spent many wonderful evenings, had explained to him that thoughts and dreams are very rarely random products of chance. Often images and concepts remain buried under the ashes, but all it takes is a breath of wind to bring them back to life. He got back into his car. Lupa had licked the side window extensively. Delighted to see her master returning to the car, she leapt into the front seat and greeted him, sniffing vigorously at his neck and face. “What is it, do you smell a strange scent?” he asked with a laugh. Lupa barked. “Are you jealous? But you know the way things work, don’t you? That’s just the way males are . . .”

The rapidly growing puppy continued licking him.