The police chief jutted his chin toward a specific point in the living room. Standing next to a tapestry was a man. Small in stature, fair-haired, light-colored eyes. A charcoal gray suit draped over his frame without a crease or wrinkle.

“Who’s he?”

“Luca Grange.”

“The one who was awarded the construction contract by the regional government instead of Edil.ber?”

“Right. The party is partly for him.”

“Ah. How nice to know that Signora Turrini is such a close friend with the Berguets.”

“Yes, such a close friend,” Costa commented sadly. “But life goes on, doesn’t it?”

“I see it differently. It’s more a case of the victor’s carriage being the most comfortable one.”

“That’s always the case, except for in one field: soccer. I will always remain a Genoa fan, in victory and in defeat.”

“And since when has victory ever favored your team?”

“Let’s forget about it, Schiavone, and just focus on your own team.”

“Right you are. Tell me a little something more about this Luca Grange.”

“He’s a young businessman. His father had contracts with the township of Aosta to clean the public transit vehicles. But Luca is an architect, he founded the company, and apparently not even two years later, he’s ready to make the great leap.”

Rocco Schiavone had no trouble whatsoever classifying Luca Grange in his mental bestiary. His ice-blue eyes, focused and still, perfectly suited to the snows of the endless tundra, and his white teeth and small, sharp nose made Luca a Siberian husky, the dog originally from Siberia trained to pull sleds, the protagonist of the greatest novels of the northern frontier.

“So it certainly seems that Luca Grange is a young man who’ll go far . . .” Schiavone muttered.

“So it would seem.”

Now Fausto Papetti was squeezing out a version of “Killing Me Softly.” Costa smiled at Rocco. “I need to go find this stereo and put on some different music.”

“That’s something I’d appreciate deeply, Dottore.”

With a smile, the police chief walked away.

“HEAVENS! OF COURSE, I’LL TAKE YOU TO SEE HIM!” BERARDO Turrini was shouting in the center of the living room with a wineglass in his hand. “Everybody, come with me!” And he headed for the door. A group of six people followed him. Rocco looked over at Anna, who shrugged and tailed after the group. Rocco did the same.

“Where are we going?” he asked her.

“I don’t know. To see something very important, I think.”

The group, which now numbered fifteen people, went out the back door of the house, and like the rats following the Pied Piper of Hamelin town, they followed the master of the house in single file. They turned down a little lane, and only the sound of gravel crunching underfoot broke the nocturnal silence. A narrow road illuminated by beautiful lampposts led to a cluster of reddish buildings.

“The stars are out,” said Anna.