He hadn’t been able to get a wink of sleep in his old apartment on Via Poerio. As he lay half awake, dreams and memories had piled up, along with sex fantasies and places he’d never been in his life but which he knew, strangely, like the back of his hand. It was all jumbled together in a tangled clump of brightly colored threads. It was pointless to try to sort them out; they were knotted together, and the best thing to do was to let his mind float free like a kite, allow himself to be possessed by this illogical sequence and watch it as if it were a film by a Czech director, without subtitles. He greeted the first faint rays of sunlight as manna from heaven, a vacuum cleaner that sucked away all those cobwebs, restoring a realistic view of the world. The bed, the furniture wrapped in plastic slipcovers, the walls of the room, Marina’s paintings, the three framed photographs of her, the armoire. He took a shower and walked out onto the balcony. He looked at the plants, uncovered the lemon trees under their winter shrouds. Rome spread out beneath him, with its gleaming roofs that reflected the early shafts of sunlight. A few clouds appeared in the distance, toward the sea. The flowers wafted their perfume into the air, and dozens of insects were buzzing power dives to their petals, ready to suck the nectar and dirty their feet with pollen. Rocco looked at his reflection in the window, in boxer shorts and undershirt. He had the sensation that he was the only thing in black and white around there.

WHEN HE GOT BACK TO AOSTA POLICE HEADQUARTERS, AFTER six hours in the car and with the taste of the cigar still in his mouth, Italo came toward him with an even more depressed look on his face. “Were you in Rome?” he asked him. Rocco nodded.

“Maybe it’s not important. But since yesterday I’ve been thinking over and over about it, and I finally remembered.”

“If you’d only tell me what the fuck you’re talking about, then maybe I could join in.”

“The escort, you know, the one in the photo.”

“Amelia. Well?”

“I was right, I’ve seen her before. And it wasn’t the night we broke into the Turrini property.”

“Oh, no?”

“No. I saw her outside the Hotel Pavone, in Nus, a few days ago.”

“Wait, didn’t you tell me that the Hotel Pavone was a place for lovers having illicit trysts? I don’t see anything strange about that.”

“No, neither do I, but it’s something I couldn’t get out of my head, and finally I’ve nailed it down.”

“Excellent, Italo. Good job!” And he slapped him on the back. He headed off toward his office. Then he froze with his hand on the doorknob. He turned around. Italo was heading toward the criminal-complaints office.