“Certainly. Why would I ever remove it? She’s my wife!” But he didn’t say it with total conviction. He seems to be reciting a script he’d memorized. “Now, let’s talk about Cuntrera. Those people,” he went on, referring to the band of white-collar criminals who had just been arrested, “deny any and all connection with the murder. The only one who isn’t talking is Cutrì. He’s involved up to his neck. Turrini and his wife claim they’ve never even met Cuntrera. They’re lying. The kidnapping of Chiara Berguet formed part of a very subtle plan, you know?”

“That part’s clear to me. When they took her, they were operating on two levels. The grimy, obvious level of ransom, which is where Cutrì played the predominant role, and then the secondary level of discrediting the company.”

“That’s right. By suborning Berguet’s right-hand man so that he could be shown to be a member of the gang that had kidnapped Chiara and undermine Edil.ber’s credibility once and for all. And I believe that it constitutes a valid motive for eliminating Cuntrera.”

“Why, because he could have revealed that understanding?”

“Exactly!” And Baldi slammed a fist down on the desk. “The kidnapping. The agreements that they had established. Clever, I say. What about that escort, Amelia, the guard’s sister, anything new out of her?”

“Nothing. Obviously, she knows all about it. All it would take is to find out who gave the twenty-five thousand euros to her brother . . .”

“Difficult to do. We’re monitoring the bank accounts, but do you know how hard it would be for Turrini to reach out to one of his Swiss corporations and withdraw that money to pay the killer?”

“Not hard at all.”

“DOTTOR SCHIAVONE!” CATERINA RISPOLI’S VOICE ECHOED behind him.

“Are we back on a formal basis?”

Caterina lowered her voice: “No, but, I mean, in the middle of the hallway, maybe it would be better . . .”

“Tell me, what’s up?”

“Two phone calls. Officer De Silvestri, Cristoforo Colombo police station, Rome.”

Rocco hurried to his office, closely followed by the deputy inspector. “The officer said it was urgent. What’s this about?”

Rocco dialed the number of his old police station hastily. Caterina didn’t know whether to stay or leave the office. Rocco waved her to a chair.

“Cristoforo Colombo police station, who’s caaaalling?”

“Officer De Silvestri please . . .”

“Who should I say?”

“Deputy Chief Schiavone!”

Background noise. Footsteps in hallways, bursts of static. A printer in the distance, then more footsteps.

“Dottore?” came the familiar voice of Alfredo De Silvestri.

“Alfrè, what’s happening?”

“Do you remember that little research project you entrusted me with? The search for persons who might have escaped from prison, or else been recently released?”