“What sort of problem?” Tatiana asked in a quavering voice, even though she already knew the answer.

“Signora, we’re not going to be seeing Corrado again.”

Only then, once she finally had the answer to the nightmare that had been dogging her footsteps for days, did Tatiana roll her eyes upward to the heavens and drop to the ground like an old used tissue.

LUPA RAN FREE ON THE DESERTED BEACH, HAVING THE TIME of her young life. She darted toward the water, barked at the waves breaking nearby, and tried to bite them. She was flabbergasted when she realized that the waves had no bodies and simply dissolved the minute she tried to sink her teeth into them. Rocco was sitting on the low wall, having turned over responsibility for the investigation to his colleagues from Chieti. Corrado Pizzuti had been murdered. But by whom, and for what motive? Searching the apartment, rummaging through all the drawers, in the armoire, and even in the washing machine, he’d found nothing of any interest except for the two plates in the sink and the blood on the floor. He could feel the burden of exhaustion settling down on his shoulders. The wind was tousling his hair. Far off in the midst of the waves someone was having fun launching a sailboat at full speed.

Beethoven’s “Ode to Joy” on his cell phone shattered his thoughts. It was the office.

“Rocco, where are you?”

“In Abruzzo, Italo.”

“In Abruzzo? Doing what?”

“A hefty helping of my own fucking business. What do you want?”

“Utter mayhem has broken loose back here! The police chief is trying to find you, the judge is trying to find you. An enormous development. There’s a press conference in half an hour! Haven’t you been listening to the radio?”

“No. Why?”

“There’s been a roundup. The ROS have arrested the Turrinis, husband and wife, Walter Cremonesi, Luca Grange, and a couple of city commissioners over the thing with the public works contracts. This is serious business! When will you be back?”

“Fuck!” said Rocco. And ended the call.

BARBARA HAD PUT TATIANA TO BED. THE CPA DE LULLO was watching a TV program on Canale 5.

“Let’s let her rest,” the bookseller had said, and De Lullo had picked up the remote control and turned off the television set.

“So he’s dead?”

Barbara nodded.

“Tatiana sensed it.”

“Right.”

“Why was he killed?”

“I don’t know, Signor De Lullo, I can’t figure it out. There was someone in the apartment with him, and probably whoever that was murdered him. I think it has something to do with his past.”