He said, “Of course the birds.”

What other kind of pigeons were there?

“I have never heard of that. In any event, though Arci’s offense was not serious, Daniela could hardly have a boyfriend who committed a crime.”

“And one who was guilty, as well, of bunga-bunga when he was away at races.”

“Exactly.”

“Poor thing. She must have been devastated.”

Beatrice clicked her tongue, the way a disapproving nun might do in class. “I wouldn’t call her a thing. It’s offensive. But, yes, of course she was upset.” Beatrice looked into the other room, toward the woman who was a foot taller, seven kilos lighter and had the face of an angelic cheetah. She said kindly, “Even the beautiful can suffer from heartbreak. No one is immune. So, I say to you simply that she is available, if you wish to speak to her on the matter.”

Utterly flustered, he blurted, “No, no, no. I have no interest in her in that way, none whatsoever. I’m merely curious. It’s my nature. I am curious about everyone. I am curious about people from different regions. People of different ages. People of different races, different colors. I am curious about men, about women, black, white, brown…” He struggled to find something more to say.

Beatrice helped out: “Children, of any complexion?”

Ercole blinked, then realized she was making a joke. He laughed at her dry delivery, though uncomfortably. She gave no response, other than to study the bags.

“So. What do we have here?” She was holding the card. “‘From the smoking station.’ What is that?”

“The location of a possible witness to a crime. Or a perpetrator.”

She read another card. “‘The attack site.’”

He stepped forward, to tell her what it contained, but she waved him back, past a yellow line. “No, no, no. You are not gowned. Get back!”

He sighed and stepped away. “It’s pebbles—”

“From a rooftop. Obviously.”

He then asked, “And can you see if the NV Hotel in Vomero has a CCTV pointed northeast, from the top level of their parking garage?”

Beatrice frowned. “Me? It would be the Postal Police who could check that.”

“I don’t know anyone there.” He tapped his Forestry Corps badge.

“I suppose I could. What case is this?”

He said, “An independent investigation.”

“Well, Ercole Benelli, you come to the Police of State like a newborn hatchling from the Forestry Corps and leap into the role of investigator, fully formed. With a case of your own. You are the new Montalbano.” The beloved Sicilian detective in the murder mystery series by Andrea Camilleri. “So understandably you do not know the procedures here. An evidence analysis request like this must reference a case number or at least the name of a suspect.”

“We don’t know his identity.” This much was true. If the claim of Garry Soames’s lawyer—and Garry himself—could be believed, someone else had raped the woman on the rooftop, a person unknown.

Ah. Perfect.

“Put down Unsub Number One.”