The grammar and syntax were perfect, even if the delivery was mired in her thick accent.

Spiro shot her one of his glances. “And you are lecturing me for what reason, Officer Renza?”

Rhyme had to chuckle. “She’s quoting, Dante. Not lecturing. And she is quoting me. My textbook. And I believe that’s verbatim.”

She said, “It is used here but only in English. It should be translated.”

“That may very well happen.” He explained that just this morning Thom had received a call from one of the best literary agents in Italy, a man named Roberto Santachiara, who had read the press account that Rhyme was in Naples and wanted to talk to him about an Italian translation of his book.

“It will be on the bestseller list. Among us, the Scientific Polices, at the least.” Beatrice then lifted a file folder. “Now. I have made a discovery that is pertains to something else. This is relating to the Garry Soames case. The wine bottle Ercole wished me to run an analysis.”

The bottle at the smoking station on the deck the night of the attack.

She handed the lengthy report to Dante Spiro, who scanned the text and said to Rhyme, “I will translate. There were the same results as in the first analysis, the friction ridges, the DNA, the Pinot Nero wine, which showed no traces of the date-rape drug. But there was new trace found on the surface of the bottle.”

“And?”

“Beatrice found present cyclomethicone, polydimethylsiloxane, silicone, and dimethicone copolyol.”

“Ah,” Rhyme said.

Spiro looked his way. “Is this significant?”

“Oh, yes, it is, Dante. Significant indeed.”

She was stunningly beautiful.

Though in a different way from Amelia Sachs, Rhyme reflected. Sachs radiated a hometown, neighborhood-girl attractiveness. The sort you could approach and talk to, without intimidation.

Natalia Garelli was a different species of beauty—an appropriate word, for there was something animal-like about her. High, hard cheekbones, eyes close together, the color an otherworldly green. She wore tight black leather pants, boots with heels that boosted her height three inches over Spiro’s, and a thin, close-fitting brown leather jacket. As supple as water.

Natalia looked over Rhyme and Spiro, the only people in the situation room at the moment, though Rhyme saw Beatrice cast a curious look at her from the lab. The Scientific Police officer turned back to a microscope.

The woman had no interest in Rhyme’s disabled condition. Her thoughts were elsewhere. “Have you brought me here for, come si dice? For a lineup. To identify a suspect?”

“Sit down, please, Signorina Garelli. You are comfortable with English? My associate here does not speak Italian.”

“Yes, yes.” She sat, flipping her luxurious hair. “Allora. A lineup?”

“No.”

“Why am I here then? May I ask?”

Spiro said, “We have more questions about the sexual assault of Frieda Schorel.”

“Yes, of course. But I spoke to you, Procuratore, and to Ispettore…What was her name?”