No, he believed not. Nothing that he could whip up quickly.

Perhaps he would have a pizza at one of the places on the Via Partenope. A mineral water.

Then, the short walk home.

A coffee.

His pigeons.

Isabella was nesting…

Ercole jumped at the loud rapping to his left.

He turned fast and saw Rossi’s face, eyes peering at him. The inspector’s head seemed oversize, as if viewed through thick glass or a depth of water. Ercole eased down the window.

“Inspector.”

“Did I startle you?”

“No. Well, yes. I have not forgotten. I will prepare the report for you tomorrow. You will have it in the morning.”

The inspector began to speak but his words were obscured by the growl of the Moto Guzzi engine firing up. De Carlo turned the large machine and sped off, lifting a small rooster tail of stones and dust behind him.

When the sound had faded, Rossi said, “My assistant.”

“Yes, Silvio De Carlo.”

“I asked him about the noose. And he knew nothing of it. Knew nothing of the case in America, the Composer.” Rossi chuckled. “As I knew nothing about it. And Prosecutor Spiro knew nothing about it. But unlike you, Forestry Officer. Who knew very well about the case.”

“I read reports, notices. That’s all.”

“I would like to make some temporary changes in my department.”

Ercole Benelli remained silent.

“Would you be able to work with me? Be my assistant? For this case only, of course.”

“Me?”

“Yes. Silvio will take over some of my other investigations. You will assist on the Composer case. I will call your supervisor and have you reassigned. Unless you are involved in a major investigation at the moment.”

It was surely his imagination but Ercole believed a smell wafted past, not unlike the fragrance of truffles.

“No. I have cases but nothing pressing, nothing that can’t be handled by other officers.”

“Good. Whom should I call?”

Ercole gave his superior’s name and number. “Sir, should I report to you in the morning?”

“Yes. The Questura. You know it?”

“I’ve been there, yes.”

Rossi stepped back and looked at the field, then focused on the bus stop. “What does your instinct tell you about this man? Do you think the victim is alive?”

“As long as there’s no video posted, I would say yes. Why should he change his MO because he’s in a different country?”

“Perhaps you could contact the authorities in America and ask them to send us whatever information they might have about this fellow.”

“I already have done that, sir.”

The email he had just sent was to the New York Police and copied to Interpol.

“You have?”

“Yes. And I’ve taken the liberty of giving them your name.”

Rossi blinked, then smiled. “Tomorrow, then.”

Chapter 12

See Naples and die.

This was a quote from some poet.

Or someone.

The actual meaning, Stefan knew, was that once you had seen the city and had sampled all it had to offer, your bucket list was complete. There was nothing more to experience in life.