“Do you know how to pick it?”

“It’s not going to be easy. It’s a Mottura.” The two wooden walls that supported the jambs showed cement underneath the boards. “No, I thought I could remove the wooden facing of the wall, but there’s cement underneath. It’s an armor-plated room, in any case . . .”

“So what are we going to do?”

“That I don’t know,” Rocco replied. Then he glared at that obstacle made of metal and wood with hatred. He kicked at it. “This makes everything much more complicated . . .”

“So now what?”

“So now we go and look for the keys.” And he said it with simplicity, as if someone had just suggested they go to the bar for a drink.

BESIDE THE VILLA, ABOUT A HUNDRED YARDS AWAY, A SMALL structure served as a garage for the cars. The garage doors were open. Inside were a Jaguar, an SUV, and a small four-wheel drive vehicle. Above the garage, three windows with lots of curtains. Rocco and Italo, hidden in a thorny dog rose bush that was just putting out its first blooms, eyed the building. “We have to hope that he lives there,” said the deputy chief.

“Who?”

“Dodò.”

“Who’s Dodò?”

“The groom.”

“Ah!” said Italo, who still remembered what he’d been told at police headquarters. “The one who was at dinner with them?”

“Exactly, Italo. Are you starting to understand?”

“Absolutely not.”

They slipped outside.

THE DOOR TO THE LITTLE APARTMENT WAS LOCKED TIGHT. The deputy chief tried to turn the handle a couple of times, but there was nothing doing. “We’re going to need to get up on the roof.”

“On the roof?”

“That’s right . . . Haven’t you noticed something?” And without bothering to wait for an answer, he darted around the corner of the little stone house. Italo had no option but to follow him.

Rocco picked up a small metal outdoor table and carefully positioned it next to the wall. He climbed on top of it. He reached up with both hands and got a grip on the rain gutter. “Let’s hope this holds,” he whispered to Italo. “If not it’s going to make a tremendous ruckus!” He pulled himself up. The gutter creaked, but it supported his weight. The deputy chief was on the roof. “Come on, don’t sweat it, you weigh less than me.”

Italo heaved a sigh of annoyance and imitated his boss. With some difficulty he pulled himself up, and then they were standing on the terra-cotta roof tiles of the little outbuilding. “Walk gently now. One foot after the other, and test the tile to make sure it’s solid, otherwise don’t rest your weight on it.”