“Does he say where?”

“Yes.” Rossi gave her the name of a road. He’d gone to Google Earth and found a footpath to a hilltop that overlooked the camp. He described it to her.

“I probably just flew over it. I’ll stop on the way.”

“I will have Ercole Benelli meet you there. In case translation is necessary.” He chuckled. “Or a real badge must be shown to loosen tongues.”

She disconnected. Well, a concerned citizen had come forward.

A somewhat concerned citizen.

Would there be any evidence?

Maybe, maybe not. But you never missed any opportunities for the collection of even a microgram of trace.

Amelia Sachs sat in the back of Mike Hill’s limo, the cheerful driver flirting once more and regaling her with additional details of Naples. The eruption of Vesuvius was today’s topic, and she learned to her surprise that it was not ash or earthquake or lava that killed. It was poisonous fumes.

“In only, it was, a few minutes. Poof. You would say poof?”

“Yes.”

“Poof and then: dead! Thousands dead. That certainly makes you think, does it not? Never waste a moment of life.” He winked, and she wondered if he regularly used references to natural disasters to seduce women.

She’d given him the destination and the Audi limo wound through hills north of the camp. In a tree-line gully, she found Ercole Benelli, and asked the chauffeur to stop.

They greeted each other and she introduced him to the driver. The men shared a brief conversation in Italian.

“Can you wait here? I won’t be long,” Sachs said to the driver.

“Yes, yes! Of course.” The big man smiled, as if anything a beautiful lady asked would be granted.

“That’s the path?” she asked Ercole.

“Yes.”

She looked around. It was impossible to see the camp from here, but she assumed that the walkway would take her to a good vantage point.

They slipped rubber bands over their shoes and started. The way was steep, mostly dirt and grass, but some stepping-stones were smooth and seemed intentionally planted. Was this an ancient Roman route?

Climbing, breathing hard. And sweating. The day was hot, even at this early hour.

A breath of wind surrounded them with a sweet smell.

“Telinum,” Ercole said. He’d apparently noted her head turn toward the scent.

“A plant?”

“A perfume. But made of some of what you’re smelling: cypress, calamus and sweet marjoram. Telinum was the most popular perfume in Caesar’s day.”

“Julius?”

“The only and one,” Ercole said.

“One and only.”

“Ah.”

They crested the top of the hill. It was free of trees and, looking down, she saw that, yes, she did have a good view of the camp. She was discouraged to see no obvious signs that the Composer had been here. They walked farther, to the center of the clearing.

Ercole asked, “Milano? Captain Rhyme reported that you found nothing.”

“No. But we eliminated a clue. That’s as important as finding one that pans out.”