Ercole ordered something from the waitress and a moment later an orange juice appeared.

Rhyme said, “Well, we have another situation we need help with.”

“You have more developments about our musical kidnapper?”

“No. This is a different case.”

“Different?”

On the small table before them Sachs was spreading out documents: copies of the crime scene reports and interviews regarding the rape Garry Soames was accused of, provided by the lawyer he and his family had retained.

“We need translations of these reports, Ercole.”

He looked them over, shuffled through them. “How does this connect to the Composer?”

“It doesn’t. Like I said, it’s another case.”

“Another…?” The officer chewed his lip. He read more carefully. “Yes, yes, the American student. This is not one of Massimo Rossi’s cases. It’s being run by Ispettore Laura Martelli.” He nodded at the Questura.

Rhyme said nothing more and Sachs added, “We’ve been asked by a State Department official to review the evidence. The defendant’s lawyer’s convinced the boy is innocent.”

Ercole sipped his orange juice, which—like most non-coffee beverages in Italy, Rhyme had observed—had been served without ice. And Coca-Cola always came with lemon. The Forestry officer said, “Oh, but, no. I cannot do this. I am sorry.” As if they’d missed something blatantly obvious. “You do not see. This would be un conflitto d’interesse. A—”

Rhyme said, “Not really.”

“No. How is that possible?”

“It would be, no, it might be a conflict of interest if you were working for the Police of State directly. But you are, technically, still a Forestry officer, isn’t that right?”

“Signor Rhyme, Capitano Rhyme, that is not a defense that will be very persuasive at my trial. Or will stop Prosecutor Spiro from beating me half to death if he finds out. Wait…who is the procuratore?” He flipped through the pages. And closed his eyes. “Mamma mia! Spiro is the prosecutor. No, no, no. I cannot do this! If he finds out, he will beat me fully to death!”

“You’re exaggerating,” Rhyme reassured, though he admitted to himself that Dante Spiro seemed fully capable of a blow or two.

Difficult, vindictive, cold as ice…

“Besides, we’re simply asking you to translate. We could hire someone but it will take too long. We want to look over the evidence quickly, give our assessment and get back to the Composer. There’s no reason for Dante to find out.”

Sachs added, “This is very likely a case of an innocent American student in jail for a crime he didn’t commit.”

Ercole muttered, “Ah, we had a case like that a few years ago. In Perugia. It did not go well for anybody.”

Rhyme nodded to the file. “And the evidence may very well prove Soames is guilty. In which case we will have done the prosecution and the government a service. At no charge.”

Sachs: “Please. Just translation. What’s the harm in that?”

With a resigned look on his face, Ercole pulled the papers forward and, with a glance around, as if Spiro were hiding in the shadows nearby, began to read.