The judge listened attentively.

“If you hadn’t insisted on bringing the victim’s body immediately to the morgue where Fumagalli could take a look at him, we would never have noticed.”

“Noticed what, Schiavone?”

“You were right. This was no heart attack. Cuntrera was murdered.”

“I knew it, I knew it!”

Rocco shot a quick glance at Lupa, who continued to chew on the carpet.

“Only I wish you’d explain better.”

“Fumagalli discovered a strange reaction taking place with the corpse during the night. And as a result of that, he’s now examining exactly how that corpse, in fact, became a corpse.”

“Excellent!” And Baldi slammed his fist into the desk, making the photograph of his wife jump, along with all the pens and an old brass calendar that was still set to June 2005. Lupa, however, did not allow herself to be distracted. She went on munching on the Bukhara rug. Baldi suddenly leapt to his feet. He strode around the desk. “That carpet is state property, and if your dog won’t stop, I’ll make you pay for it.”

“Lupa!” And the dog shifted her attention to Rocco’s Clarks desert boots, methodically ripping the laces to shreds.

“So that means we’re looking at a murder. And whoever did the killing might be our mysterious puppet master, right?”

“That’s right. The self-proclaimed Carlo Cutrì.”

“Self-proclaimed, you got that right. Now listen carefully . . . Let me bring you quickly up to speed. Domenico Cuntrera belonged to the gang that was extorting the Berguet family. But we need to assemble the puzzle pieces. Important puzzle pieces. The first piece: Cuntrera’s papers, the ones we arrested him with at the border. Well, I’m working on it . . . and there are plenty of things that don’t add up. But those are complications with the banking system that are of little interest to you . . .”

“If you say so . . .”

“The reason they don’t add up is, if you chase after various numbers and numbered accounts, you get very high up the totem pole, Dottor Schiavone.”

“You don’t strike me as someone who has a fear of heights.”

Baldi burst out laughing. “I love it, I’m going to steal that line. But now let’s move on to the second puzzle piece: the Vallée Savings Bank. Do you remember them? They were lending money to Pietro Berguet’s company, Edil.ber. The bank had shut off the spigots of funding to the building company. And so Pietro Berguet started borrowing money from Cuntrera, which means ’Ndrangheta, and once Cuntrera got his nose under the tent flap, he was trying to take over the whole company.”

“I remember perfectly, Dottore. It’s only been a couple of days.”