“Still, that’s a big step forward. A very big step forward. Are you in Rome?”

“I have been for a few hours now. Seba and Brizio didn’t want to drag you into it, but I figure these are things you need to know.”

“Why would they have kept me out of it?” Rocco asked, his voice growing louder.

“Seba . . . is convinced that if you find the killer, you’ll send him up in front of the judge. But he wants to have a little talk with him first . . .”

“Understood. I don’t know myself what to hope for.”

“That he gets there first, Rocco. He’s the one who has paid, in person, and more than anyone else.”

“Actually, that would be Adele,” the deputy chief corrected him.

“After Adele, of course.”

Wednesday

Cigarette smoke had filled the car. The night was passing quietly, and it seemed as if all they did at the Turrini residence was throw parties. The lights were still on, and there were a dozen or so expensive cars parked on the gravel driveway. A Labrador retriever was curled up under an outdoor light and was chewing on something red. A rubber ball, maybe.

“How much longer are we going to have to wait?” asked Italo.

Rocco stretched his legs. “Until the guests go away.”

The clock on the car’s dashboard read three in the morning.

“Why did you ask me that thing about the bee?”

“I needed to know . . .”

“Can I at least turn on the radio, Rocco?”

“No!”

Italo heaved a tired sigh. “My balls are aching,” he complained. “Sometimes they tingle. Does that ever happen to you?”

“No. It happens to my ass cheeks.”

“Can I get out and stretch my legs?”

“Stay inside!” the deputy chief snapped seriously. Then he pointed his finger at a spot at the foot of the hill where they had parked. About thirty feet from the low wall around the Turrini villa, there was a dark-blue car with its lights out.

“You see them?”

“Who is that? Bodyguards?”

“No. It’s the cousins.”

Italo looked at him blankly.

“The Carabinieri.”

“Ah! Still? Are they keeping an eye on the villa?”

“If you ask me, it’s the same people who stopped Antonio.”

A silvery laugh, sudden and distant, caught their attention. A number of people had stepped out of the front door to the villa. “Luca Grange, and maybe his wife . . .” Rocco began.

“Cremonesi and two women . . .”

“I know the one on the right,” said Rocco. “Her name is Amelia.”

“Not bad.”

“She turns tricks for four hundred euros!”

“And how do you know that?”

“I just do . . . Who are those others?” asked the deputy chief.

“All right, so the guy in the gray jacket . . . Fuck! He’s one of the commissioners for public works.”

“With his wife, I’d say . . . and the two at the door are Signore and Signora Turrini . . .”