At that moment Rhyme was aware of a person striding into the room. He swiveled the chair around to see a lean man of slight build in a stylish jacket and slacks, pointy boots, balding and salt-and-pepper goatee. His eyes were narrow and tiny. The word “demonic” came to mind. He looked over Sachs and Rhyme and said, “No. No sounding boards. There will be no consulting, no assistance at all. That is out of the question.” His accent was thicker than Rossi’s and Ercole’s but his grammar and syntax were perfect. This told Rhyme he read English frequently but probably had not been to America or the UK often and watched little English-language media.

The man turned to Ercole and fired off a question in Italian.

Flustered, blushing, the young officer muttered defensively, obviously a denial. Rhyme guessed the question was: “Did you ask them to come?”

Rossi said, “Captain Rhyme, Detective Sachs, and Signor Reston, this is Prosecutor Spiro. He is investigating the case with us.”

“Investigating?”

Rossi was silent for a moment, considering Rhyme’s question, it seemed. “Ah, yes. From what I know, it is different in America. Here, in Italy, prosecutors function as policemen, in some ways. Procuratore Spiro and I are the lead investigators in the Composer case. Working together.”

Spiro’s dark eyes lasered into Rhyme’s. “Our tasks are to identify this man, to ascertain where he is hiding in Italy and where he is keeping the victim, and to marshal evidence to be used at the trial when we capture him. As to the first, you clearly cannot help because you have failed to identify him in your country. The second? You know nothing of Italy so even your expertise in evidence would offer little help. And as to the third, it is not in your interest to assist in a trial here, as you wish to extradite the suspect back to America for trial there. So, you see, your involvement would at best be unhelpful and at worst a conflict of interest. I thank you for the courtesy of providing us with your files. But now you must leave, Mr. Rhyme.”

Ercole started to blurt, “It is Capitano—”

Spiro shut him off with a glare. “Che cosa?”

“Nothing, Procuratore. Forgive me.”

“So, you must leave.”

Apparently prosecutors—or this prosecutor, at least—carried more authority than police inspectors when it came to investigations. Rhyme sensed no disagreement on the part of Rossi. He nodded to Sachs. She dug into the shoulder bag and handed the inspector a thick file. Rossi flipped through it. On the top were photos of the evidence and profile charts.

He nodded and handed them to Ercole. “Put this information on the board, Officer.”

Spiro said, “Do you need assistance getting to the airport?”

Rhyme said, “We’ll handle our departure arrangements, thank you.”

“He has a private jet,” Ercole said, still awestruck.

Spiro’s mouth tightened, approaching a sneer.

The three Americans turned and headed to the door, Ercole escorting them—as Rossi’s nod had instructed.