“Antò, if I find out you have anything to do with this, I’ll come back and break both your femurs for you.” Rocco released his grip. He stood up and looked down at the old man with contempt. “All these years in prison haven’t changed you a bit. You’re just the same old dickhead as ever, only now with a broken femur. I hope I never see you again, Biga!”

He turned and walked over to Brizio, who hadn’t moved from the street corner.

Antonio Biga was struggling to get up off the cobblestones. His legs were waving frantically like those of a cockroach on its back. “Schiavò, these things have nothing to do with me anymore. It wasn’t me. And you want to know why? Because I wouldn’t have missed, I wouldn’t have shot the wrong person. I wouldn’t have killed Sebastiano’s girlfriend. I would have killed you!” The old man’s voice echoed down the deserted alley. “If I’ve broken my femur, I’ll file a criminal complaint!”

“Why don’t you just complain to NASA!” Schiavone shouted at him. Then, with a nod to Brizio, “Let’s go. It’s not him. He knows, but he’s not talking.”

“Maybe a car will come by and run him over,” Brizio said and pointed at Biga, who was crawling along the cobblestones, trying to use the stool to get back on his feet.

“No such luck, this is a pedestrian zone.” Then Rocco looked up at the sky above. “There’s still plenty of daylight. Shall we go pay a call on Zaccaria?”

“WE’RE SORRY, BUT THE NUMBER YOU’VE DIALED IS MOMENTARILY unreachable . . .” Judge Baldi slammed down the receiver. “Where is he?” he shouted at his office. Then he stuck his forefinger into his ear and scratched. “Where is that mental defective?” he yelled at the walls of his office, empty but for him. He picked up the phone again.

“Aosta police headquarters, go ahead.”

“This is Judge Baldi. Where is Schiavone?”

“We haven’t seen him in a while, Dottore.”

“Who am I speaking with?”

“Officer Deruta.”

“Could you put me through to . . . Who else is there?”

“I couldn’t say. Do you want the whole list?”

“No, who is there in Schiavone’s place?”

“Ah . . . well, Pietra, from the Turin mobile squad was here. I don’t know if he’s in the office now. Did you want to speak with him?”

“No, I want to invite him out to dinner. Of course I want to speak with him!”

He detected noises in the background. A subdued buzz of conversation. Baldi rolled his eyes. Someone else took the receiver. “Dottore, this is Officer Italo Pierron speaking, how can I help you?”

“Where is Carlo Pietra?”

“You want the truth? I couldn’t say . . . I haven’t seen him since yesterday.”