He himself had never played seriously—too tall, too gangly. Ercole’s hobby as a boy had been bird-watching and board games.

“Did you play football? I mean soccer,” he asked Thom.

“No. I fenced in college.”

“Fencing! Very exciting. You were serious about it?” He regarded the man’s thin, muscular frame.

“I won some awards.” The words were modestly spoken.

Ercole managed to get the man to admit he’d nearly made it to the Olympics.

“That’s the building there.” Ercole strode toward the structure. It was a two-story affair and had apparently been modified for rental: A second door to the ground floor had been installed, clumsily. This, the lower-level living space, was the one that Garry Soames lived in. An easy deduction, since the cheap wooden panel was mounted with a bold placard warning that the space was closed by order of the police and one must not trespass. Was this typical? Closing a whole floor for merely a connection to a crime, rather than the site where an assault had occurred?

Perhaps for such a terrible wrongdoing as rape, yes.

Thom smiled. “That says we’re not supposed to be here, right?”

“No trespassing, yes. Let us go to the back. We’re easily seen here in front.” They circled through a weed-filled alley to the back of the place.

As he did, his phone dinged with a text. It was the response to one he had sent not long before—while driving here.

Ercole. Yes, I am free for an aperitivo after work. May I suggest Castello’s Lounge at 21:00.

A thump, low in his belly. Well, look at this. Convinced she wouldn’t say yes to his proposal for a drink or dinner, he’d resigned himself to a rejection.

Badger cop. Fungus cop…

But she had agreed! He had a date!

He typed: Good!

Debated. Ercole removed the exclamation point and sent the text.

All right. Back to work, Inspector Benelli.

It was unlikely one could have broken into the front door to plant the date-rape trace without being seen. The back? There was one door here, on the first-floor deck. There were windows, but those large enough for someone to climb through were high—three meters up, not easily reachable. At the ground level were slits of windows on the sides of the structure, but only about twenty centimeters high, too small for entry. In any event, they were painted shut and clearly had not been opened in decades, if ever.

Thom pointed out two pudgy workmen painting the building next door. Ercole and he approached. The men regarded the officer’s uniform and climbed from the scaffolding. Ercole asked if they’d seen anyone at the backyard in the past few days. They replied they’d noticed only some boys playing football yesterday or the day before.

Thom had Ercole ask if they kept ladders here overnight, one that an intruder might borrow. But they did not. They took all their equipment with them. A person wishing to break in might have brought his own ladder, of course. Ercole now borrowed one of the workmen’s and used it to climb to each of the windows. They were locked or painted shut. He returned the ladder and stepped into the backyard.