Albini stepped back, out of reach; Ercole too moved away, lifting his weapon and swiveling, thinking that perhaps his assessment had been wrong and that Albini was indeed connected with the Camorra, and that there were conspirators nearby.

But he saw that the shout had come from a civilian bicyclist, a young man pedaling a racing bike toward them quickly, bounding unsteadily over the rough terrain. Finally, the cyclist gave up and dismounted, laying down his bike and jogging. He wore an almond-shell helmet, and his kit was tight blue shorts and a black-and-white Juventus football team jersey, emblazoned with the stark sans-serif Jeep logo.

“Officer! Officer!”

Albini started to turn. Ercole growled, “No.” He lifted a finger, and the chubby man froze.

The breathless cyclist reached them, glancing at the gun and the suspect. But he paid neither any mind. His face was red and a vein prominent in his forehead. “Up the road, Officer! I saw it! It happened right in front of me. You have to come.”

“What? Slow down. Take your time.”

“An attack! A man was waiting at the bus stop. He was just sitting there. And another man, in a car parked nearby, he got out and, in an instant, he grabbed the man waiting for the bus and they began struggling!” He brandished his phone. “I called the police but the officer said it would be a half hour before anybody could be here. I remembered I saw your Forestry truck when I rode past. I came back to see if you were still here.”

“Any weapons?”

“Not that I could see.”

Ercole shook his head and closed his eyes momentarily. Jesus Christ. Why now? A glance at Albini, his face pouting innocence.

Well, he couldn’t ignore an assault. A robbery? he wondered. A husband attacking his wife’s lover?

A psycho, killing for pleasure?

The Monster of Florence’s cousin?

He scratched his chin and considered his options. All right. He would cuff Albini and leave him in the back of the Poker, then return.

But the counterfeiter had sensed a good opportunity. He sprinted to the truck and leapt into the seat calling, “Farewell, Officer Benelli!”

“No!”

The engine started and the tiny vehicle puttered past Ercole and the bicyclist.

The officer raised the pistol.

Through the open window Albini shouted, “Ah, would you shoot me over a truffle? I do not think you will. Farewell, Mr. Pig Cop, Mr. Cow Cop, Guardian of the Endangered Muskrat! Farewell!”

Ercole’s face burned with anger and shame. He shoved his pistol back into the holster and began trotting toward the Ford. He called over his shoulder to the bicyclist, “Come, get in my truck. Show me exactly. Hurry, man. Hurry!”

Chapter 10

The vehicles began to arrive at the bus stop.

Two officers from the Naples Flying Squad—in a blue Police of State Alfa Romeo—as well as several in a local commune police Fiat from the closest village. The Police of State officers climbed out and one, a blond woman with her hair in a tight bun, nodded to Ercole.