“There’s a real desire to meet you and thank you in person. But there’s not the level of strength required to leave the house.”

“Excuse me, but are you talking about Chiara or your husband?”

“Chiara. My husband . . .” And here she emitted a second groan. Different, sharper. This one was a wifely groan. “My husband, I’m not sure about. He isn’t the same person anymore, hasn’t been for a few days now. They expelled him from the competition for the bid, and now he spends most of his time out and about, who knows where. He doesn’t go to the office, he seems to have lost all interest in the company’s future.”

Rocco wasn’t much when it came to marriage counseling. He limited himself to nodding, with the expression of someone who understands and empathizes.

“He snaps at the slightest thing,” Giuliana continued. “He seems to have lost his mind. I even tried talking to his brother Marcello about it . . .”

“How is Marcello?”

“He seems to have reacted better. But Pietro . . . I’m really very worried. In any case, I won’t take any more of your time. I just wanted to say hello. By the way, that horrible thing I read about in the newspaper, the murder in your home. How terrible!”

“Right. I’m working on it.”

“Are you thinking this might be part of a vendetta?”

“It most assuredly is, Signora. But not on the part of the people who were trying to extort your husband. It’s something else, and eventually I’ll figure out what.”

Giuliana nodded. The deputy chief assumed that the two of them had nothing else to say to each other, and so he extended his hand to the woman. “Let me thank you again, then, and please give my best regards to your husband and your daughter.” But Giuliana didn’t stand up. She looked at him, her eyes puffy with tears. She barely opened her mouth and in a faint voice said: “Help me.”

Rocco furrowed his brow. He didn’t understand. “How can I help you, Signora Berguet?”

“I’m losing everything. My daughter, the company, my husband. Please. I know that Pietro is seeing another woman. He’s chilly and distant. He’s no longer himself. I’m begging you.”

“Signora, that’s the kind of work that private detectives do, not the state police.”

“Can I hire you?”

“No. I’d say that you can’t.”

Giuliana looked at the floor. “Chiara, her at least. She won’t talk to me anymore. She only told me that she really wished she could thank you, but she doesn’t have the courage to come in to police headquarters. I’m begging you, go see her. Just once.”

“I’ll try . . .”

“No. Trying’s not enough. You need to promise me!”