“Certainly. He has a Labrador retriever and a German shepherd. So try to keep quiet.”

They crept through a grove of fir trees. A couple of linden trees stood at the edge of the grove. The villa, beyond the trees, stood dark. Aside from a solitary light in the turret, there was no sign of life. “All right, move fast!” And the deputy chief and his junior officer, bent over, moved rapidly across the meadow, which glittered with the reflected light of a spotlight glaring from atop the wall about sixty feet away. They reached a stone building. “All right . . . let me see if I can remember . . .” Rocco looked around. Then he made up his mind. “That way . . .” And he moved off toward the right. Italo, who still didn’t understand what they were doing there, followed him faithfully. The stench of horse urine and feces, mixed with straw, was increasingly overpowering. “All right . . . now through here!” Rocco hissed. At last they reached the stables. Somewhere a horse was rhythmically stamping a hoof on the pavement. The deputy chief leaned against the wooden gate. He turned the handle and slowly opened it inward. It was creaking. The operation demanded more time than expected. Schiavone pushed slowly until he had wedged open sufficient space to make his way into the stables. Then, like two nocturnal fish, rapid and silent, the two policemen slid inside. The deputy chief pushed both sides of the heavy wooden gate behind him. In front of them was a long corridor with the stalls of the individual horses on the left and right. A black horse with a long mane had appeared, checking out the new arrivals. As the deputy chief went by, he stroked the horse’s muzzle. “If they pull their ears back, never pet them!”

“I wouldn’t dream of it!” said the officer. “You want to tell me what we’re looking for?”

Schiavone said nothing. They went past all the stalls. At the far end of the structure there were two doors. He tried to open the first one. No luck. He pulled out his Swiss Army knife while Italo continued looking nervously behind him. “If they catch us, we’re in serious trouble, Rocco!”

“If, in fact, they catch us.”

A horse whinnied. Italo started and practically lurched into his superior officer’s arms. “Unless you tell me what we’re doing here, I’m leaving!”

“Go ahead, be my guest.”

Rocco inserted the blade into the keyhole. He forced it two or three times. It snapped open. He opened the door and went in, followed closely by Italo. The room had no windows. Confidently, Rocco switched on the light.