Rocco thought it over. “Then, if they won’t believe you, let them in, and that way they can see with their own eyes that I’m not here!”

Caterina made a face. “But if I let them in, they’ll see that you are here.”

“They won’t see anyone but Lupa, trust me! And after you send them away, come back into the office and stick your head out the window!”

Caterina nodded, baffled, and left the room. Moving quickly, Rocco opened the window, clambered over the sill, and found himself outside police headquarters, on the roof of the canopy over the front entrance. He squatted down. He waited. He took advantage of the passing time to scoop up a few roaches from long-ago joints. A minute went by. There was no sign of Caterina. “What the fuck are you doing?” he cursed her through clenched teeth. He waited a little longer. Perhaps the time had come to go back into the office. How long does it take a person to stick their head in and see that the deputy chief isn’t in his office? he wondered.

As he was being tormented by these doubts, he heard someone leave police headquarters, right under the canopy on which he was hiding. It was none other than Signore and Signora Berguet! If they had chanced to turn around at that instant, they would have seen him perched, balanced precariously, atop the canopy over the front entrance. A passerby in fact did look up and spotted him in that strange position. Rocco gestured to him to mind his own business and keep on walking. The man laughed and walked away. Just as the Berguets were opening their car doors, Rocco’s “Ode to Joy” started to ring. With a feline lunge, the deputy chief flattened himself, legs and arms splayed wide, onto the roof. Pietro Berguet had looked up toward the second-story window, his notice attracted by the cell phone’s ringtone. In the meantime, Rocco managed to extract the bellowing electronic device. It was Baldi calling. He had no choice; he had to answer. “Yes, sir, Your Honor,” he said in a choking voice.

“I’m calling about something important. Daniele Abela and Federico Tolotta must have caught on. They’ve disappeared.”

“Oh, fucking . . . What about Amelia?”

“She’s behind bars. Do you want to have a chat with her?”

“We’ll see . . .”

“What are you doing? Your voice sounds strange . . . forced. Are you climbing the stairs?”

“No,” he replied, his back plastered against the roof. “Everything’s fine.”

“I’ll tell you something else. The fact that the two guards took to their heels as soon as they heard about the arrests of the Turrini–Cremonesi group tells us all we need to know about their guilt.”

“That’s for sure . . .”