Thom returned to the dining room, bearing a bag. “Pasta, cheese, spices. The chef insisted.” He took his place at the table and asked for, and received, a glass of the white wine. At Rhyme’s request he took pictures of the labels.

A figure appeared in the doorway of the restaurant. And Rhyme was surprised to see Ercole Benelli approach.

The young officer, in his gray Forestry Corps uniform, had a matching expression.

Greetings all around.

“Ah, Hercules,” Spiro said, offering the English pronunciation. “The man of the twelve labors.”

“Sir.”

The prosecutor gestured toward the table and caught the waitress’s eyes.

Ercole sat and took a glass of red wine. “Once again, Prosecutor Spiro, I must apologize for my error the other day. I know there were…conseguenze.”

“Consequences. Oh, yes. Without the evidence there can be no case against the American spy and her psychotic musician. But I did not ask you here to berate you. I would not hesitate to do that, as you know, but not under these circumstances. Now, let me explain why you are here. I will say this up front, bluntly, for if you are going to make your way in the world of law enforcement, you cannot shy, like a colt, from the truth—unpainted?” He looked at Rhyme and Sachs.

She said, “Unvarnished.”

“Sì. You cannot shy from the unvarnished truth. And that truth is this: You have done nothing wrong. Even if the evidence against Stefan Merck and Charlotte McKenzie had been properly logged in, it would still have gone missing.”

“No! Procuratore, è vero?”

“Yes, sadly it is quite true.”

“But how?”

“I am sorry to have to tell you, and our guests here, that it was Inspector Massimo Rossi who arranged for the disappearance and destruction of the evidence.”

The young officer’s face was the epitome of shock. “Che cosa? No. That cannot be.”

Rhyme and Sachs shared a surprised look.

“Yes, it is the case. He—”

“But he was managing the case, he is a senior member—”

“Forestry Officer.” Spiro lowered his head toward the young officer.

“Mi perdoni! Forgive me.” He fell silent.

“You have learned quite a bit about the nature of police investigation in the past few days.” Spiro leaned back. “Forensics, tactical operations, body language, interrogation…”

A wry expression on his face, Ercole glanced toward Sachs and whispered, “High-speed pursuit.” Then back to Spiro, who fixed him with a glare for interrupting again. He repeated, “Mi perdoni. Please continue, sir.”

“But I think you have yet to master one other important, no, vital aspect of our profession. And that is the politics within law enforcement. Is this not true, Captain Rhyme?”

“As certain as fingerprints are unique.”

Spiro said, “We have more police officers per capita than any other country in the European Union. More police forces too. So, logically, we have more law enforcement individuals to…what is the word in English, ‘game’ the system.”

Rhyme said, “‘Game’ is a noun. I don’t accept it as a verb. But I will concede that many people use it. The Jargonites, I call them.”