“You see? Here, we’re not talking about just some perfume, but about perfume par excellence. I don’t have a tester, as you can imagine, this isn’t some supermarket perfume.” And she laughed at the very idea. “Would you care to sample?”

“May I?” asked the policeman.

“Bien sûr!” the woman practically shouted. She extracted the perfume bottle as if it were a holy relic, removed the top, and gestured for Caterina to extend her wrist. “Now be careful,” she said, “I’m only going to spray a tiny bit. On your skin. Whatever you do, don’t rub it!”

“No, no,” said Caterina, intimidated.

“You know? Many women, interested in getting a strong whiff of the scent, make the mistake of rubbing perfume on their skin, and then forget about it! There’s a radical change in scent. You have to give the essences enough time to settle into the dermis and interact with the skin. Let me have your wrist.”

Slowly, Caterina extended her wrist toward the woman, looking at Rocco, who rolled his eyes elaborately. He’d already had his fill of that whole routine.

Psst! A quick spray and the scent filled the room.

“It’s certainly very nice,” said Rocco. “Tuberose?”

The woman smiled happily. “Yes,” she said, closing her eyes as if confessing to who knows what sins. “Tuberose. The queen, the very symbol of the haute parfumerie! You have a sharp nose.” Then she looked at Caterina. “And excellent taste, if you don’t mind my saying so.”

“Fine. Excellent. Caterì, do you like it?”

“I’d say . . . It’s very nice indeed.”

Rocco pulled out his wallet. “How much is it?”

“Listen, only because it’s you—”

“Why just for me?”

“Because you have a good nose . . . it’s one hundred seventy euros.”

Rocco didn’t bat an eye. Caterina intervened: “No, Dottore. What are you doing?”

“Allow me, Caterina . . . Do you take Visa?”

“Mais bien sûr.”

“Ça va sans dire!” And Rocco gave his credit card to the woman, who moved her bulk to the cash register.

“Why, no, Dottore . . . I can’t accept.”

“What are you doing? What am I going to do with it? It’s a perfume for women . . .”

“You put me in an awkward position. Well, you could always give it to one of your—”

“You have the wrong idea about me, Caterina . . .” And he went over to the cash register to pay. “And I hereby order you to stop addressing me as ‘sir,’ even in public, and never to use the formal with me, otherwise I’ll take it back.” The shopkeeper ripped the receipt from the machine.

“Wait, you’re . . . you’re colleagues! I had assumed that between the two of you—”

“No, Signora, the young lady just arrested me and I’ve been trying to bribe her.”

The perfume store clerk gazed in bewilderment at Caterina, who was in the meantime flashing a smile with every tooth in her mouth.