“Yes, yes.” The young officer’s eyes then dropped once more to the pages.

Spiro lifted the book out of his hands.

“But, please, who were the train attackers, Procuratore? Savages? Bandits?”

Spiro waved his hand with a grimace, and Ercole instantly fell silent.

“Now, we have two cases to work on. And at the moment Captain Rhyme wants you to arrange for Beatrice to run a further analysis regarding the Garry Soames case…What would this be?”

Rhyme answered, “I was reading the charts and the accounts of the crime. And I would like a full analysis of the wine bottle found at the smoking station.”

“The contents were checked for the date-rape drug and the outside for fingerprints and DNA.”

“I understand but I would like an examination of trace on the surface of the bottle and the label.”

Spiro said to Ercole, “Do that now.”

“Yes, I will see Beatrice about this. Where would the bottle be?”

“The evidence facility is up the hall. She will know. Is there anything else, Captain Rhyme?”

“Lincoln, please. No, I think that will be enough for now.”

Spiro looked him over. “You have a question about the wine served at the party. I myself find another question equally intriguing.”

“And what is that?”

“This third person, who broke into Garry Soames’ apartment, might have planted the evidence to shift guilt to an innocent man either to protect the actual rapist or to visit revenge on Soames.”

“Yes. That’s one theory.”

“There is another, you know: The intruder might also be a friend of Soames who committed the break-in in hopes that we would come to the very conclusion we just have: that he is being framed…when in fact he’s guilty as—what do you Americans say?—guilty as sin.”

Sunday, September 26

VI

The House of Rats

Chapter 44

The G6 jet settled low on the approach to Naples airport, smooth as a Cadillac in soft-suspension mode.

Amelia Sachs was the only passenger today and the flight attendant had doted.

“More coffee? You really should try the croissants. The ones filled with prosciutto and mozzarella are the best.”

I could really get used to this…

Now, breakfasted and caffeinated, Sachs sat back and looked below the plane, on final. She got a clear view of the Capodichino Reception Center. From here it was a messy sprawl, much bigger than it appeared from the ground. Where, she wondered, would all those people end up? In ten years, would they have homes here? In other countries? Or would they have been sent back where they had come from—to meet a fate merely postponed by their voyage here.

Would they be alive or dead?

Her phone hummed—the crew didn’t require mobiles to be powered off—and she answered.

“Yes?”

“Detective Sachs…I am sorry, Amelia. It is Massimo Rossi. Are you in Milan still?”

“No, just landing, Inspector.”

“In Naples?”

“Yes.”

“Good, good. For we have received an email on the Questura website. The writer says that he—or she, there’s no name—saw a man on a hilltop near the camp the night of the murder of Dadi, just afterward. He was beside a dark car. The Italian is bad so we are certain he used a translation program. I would guess he is one of the vendors and Arabic is his first language.”