Then a look toward Sachs. She nodded. “Ercole?”

Sighing, the Forestry officer dug his keys from his pocket, dropped them into her palm, and they jogged out the door.

Chapter 45

Amelia Sachs braked the Mégane to a hard stop toward the back of the Capodichino Reception Center, guided to the crime scene by the phalanx of Flying Squad cars, lights flashing. The Composer had snatched this victim from the west side of the camp, opposite from where he had slashed to death Malek Dadi.

She and Ercole Benelli climbed from the small car and strode to a uniformed officer who was directing an underling to string yellow police tape around the perimeter. He seemed not the least surprised to see an American detective with a useless NYPD badge on her hip and a Beretta in her waistband, accompanied by a tall young officer in Forestry Corps grays. Apparently Rossi or Spiro had explained who they were and by what authority they were present.

After a brief conversation with the officer, in Italian, Ercole said to her, “He is saying that the victim was outside the fence, about there.”

Sachs followed his finger and saw another improvised gate.

“The kidnapper approached from those bushes and there was a scuffle. In this case, though, he was able to get the hood over the victim’s head and vanished. But more interesting and more helpful to us, I think: Someone came to the aid of the victim and fought with the Composer.”

Ah, Sachs thought. Transfer of evidence.

“Was it a guard? Police? The person who fought?”

“No. It was the victim’s wife.”

“Wife?”

“Sì. They were walking along those trees, the two of them. The Composer hit her, knocked her down. But she rose again and began fighting him. Her name is Fatima Jabril. The man taken was Khaled. They were recent arrivals.”

The Scientific Police van arrived and the two officers exited the vehicle and began to robe. She recognized them from the prior scenes. They exchanged greetings.

Sachs too pulled on a Tyvek jumpsuit, booties and cap and gloves. Though there was no formal division of labor, the woman SP officer asked, through Ercole, if Sachs would work the main scene—where the struggle had occurred—while they took the secondary scene: the far side of a stand of magnolia and vegetation, where the Composer had parked his car and, presumably, lain in wait for the victim.

“Sì,” Sachs said. “Perfetto.”

The woman smiled.

For a half hour, Sachs walked the grid, using the Italian number cards to mark spots for photography and collection of trace, including the trademark noose. She made one particularly good find in a bush beside a spot where people had clearly grappled: a Converse Con shoe—a low-top model.

When she was finished, the SP officers entered the scene and collected the trace, the noose and the shoe and then photographed and videoed around the numbers.

Outside the perimeter, Sachs stripped off the Tyvek and took the bottled water Ercole offered. “Thanks.”