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Rhyme began to speak.

‘No, let me finish. If you had come to me and said you wished to offer suggestions to the defense, suggest forensic advice, I would have understood. But you didn’t do that. To add insult to this travesty, you enlisted into your service our own officer, that young man, who until a few days ago investigated the condition of goat barns and issued citations for trying to sell unwashed broccolini. You used police facilities for unauthorized defense investigations. That is a serious breach of the laws here, Mr Rhyme. And, frankly, worse, in my opinion, it is an affront to the country that is acting as your host. I will be drawing up charges against you and Ercole Benelli. These charges will be lodged formally if you do not leave the country immediately. And I assure you, sir, you will not enjoy the amenities of the prison that I will recommend for your incarceration. That is all I have to say on this matter.’

He turned and walked to the door, pulling it open.

Rhyme said, ‘Truth.’

Spiro stopped. He looked back.

Rhyme said, ‘There’s only one thing that matters to me. The truth.’

A cold smile. ‘Do I suspect an excuse is about to wing my way? That’s something else Americans love: excuses. They can do anything, then excuse away their behavior. We kill thousands wrongly, but it was because we were blinded by a higher cause. How your country must feel shame. Day and night.’

‘Not an excuse, Prosecutor. A fact. There is absolutely nothing I will not do to arrive at the truth. And that includes going behind your back and anyone else’s if I need to. What we did here, I knew it was against procedure, if not against the law.’

‘Which it is,’ Spiro reminded sternly.

‘Garry Soames could very likely be guilty of raping Frieda S. I don’t care. I honestly don’t. If my line of inquiry proves him guilty, I’ll give those details to you as happily as if I found exculpatory evidence. I told Garry’s lawyer as much. But what I can’t do is allow any uncertainty to remain. Has this piece of evidence told us everything it possibly can? Is it being coy? Is it being duplicitous? Is it pretending to be something else entirely?’

‘Very clever, Mr Rhyme. Do you use that personification in your courses, to charm your students?’

He did, as a matter of fact.

‘I found your investigation into the rape case well done—’

‘Condescension! Yet another quality you Americans so excel in.’

‘No. I mean it. You and Inspector Martelli have done a fine job. But it’s also true that your case is lacking. I identified threads of investigation that I thought it was a good idea to pursue.’

‘Ach, these are just words. You have my ultimatum. Leave the country at once or face the consequences.’

Again he turned.

‘Did you know about the break-in at Garry’s apartment?’

He paused.

‘Someone wearing latex gloves broke the window of his bedroom and hid the break-in, covering the cut-out window with dirt. And it was the room where the date-rape drug traces were found on his clothing. And the window frame and sill – outside the building – contain traces of drug too.’

Rhyme nodded to Thom, who found the yellow pad, the mini chart. He handed it toward Spiro, who waved his hand dismissively.

He continued to the door.

‘Please. Just take one look.’

Sighing loudly, the prosecutor returned and snatched the pad. He read for a moment. ‘And you found evidence linking someone at the, as you say, smoking station with the scene where the victim was attacked. The trace, the detersivo per il bucato – the soap – and the spices.’

So he recognized the ingredients in the detergent. Impressive.

In a firm voice, he said, ‘But that proves nothing. The source for that trace would be the hostess, Natalia. She went to the victim’s aid. And her boyfriend, Dev, is Indian. Explaining the curry.’ The prosecutor’s face softened. He cocked his head as he said to Rhyme, ‘I myself was suspicious of him at first. I took his statement at the school and while doing so I observed that he frequently would look over women students as they passed. His eyes seemed hungry. And he was seen talking to the victim, Frieda, earlier that evening. But every minute of the party he was accounted for. And his DNA did not match that which was inside the victim.’

Rhyme added, ‘And a CCTV at a nearby hotel had malfunctioned.’

‘As they will do.’

‘Yes, you’re right: The evidence at Natalia’s isn’t helpful. But what we discovered at Garry’s is. The footprint at the scene.’

Spiro’s eyes now revealed curiosity. He read. ‘Small man size, or woman’s. And it was a woman who called to report that Garry was seen adulterating Frieda’s wine.’

‘Ercole collected soil from where the perp walked. It’s being analyzed now. By Beatrice. That might be helpful.’ Rhyme added, ‘It might have been the actual rapist. But it might have been someone just wishing to get him into trouble – the woman who called. Garry’s lawyer told us that he was quite the ladies’ man. A player, you know?’

‘I know.’

‘And maybe didn’t treat them the way they would like to have been treated. There’s a woman in Florence who might—’

Spiro said, ‘Valentina Morelli. Yes. I am trying to locate her myself.’

Silence for a moment. Then Spiro’s face took on an expression that said: Against my better judgment. ‘Allora, Capitano Rhyme. I will pursue this aspect of the investigation. And will temporarily put on hold my complaint against you and Forestry Officer Benelli for misuse of police facilities and interference with procedures. Temporarily.’

He took a cheroot from his breast pocket and lifted it to his nose, smelled the dark tube, then replaced it.

‘My reaction to your presence, you might have perceived, was perhaps out of proportion to your, if I may, crime. You came here at great risk to your personal safety – one in your condition cannot have an easy time traveling. There are dangers.’

‘That’s true for everyone.’

He continued without comment, ‘And there is no guarantee that even if the Composer is captured you would be successful in your attempt to extradite him back to America. Remember—’

‘The Wolf Tits Rule.’

‘Indeed. But here you came anyway in pursuit of your quarry.’ He tilted his head. ‘In pursuit of the truth. And I resisted at every turn.’

A pause as Spiro regarded the Composer evidence pads. Slowly he said, ‘There was a reason for my resistance. A personal reason, which is, by its very definition, unacceptable in our endeavors.’

Rhyme said nothing. He was pleased for any chance to continue to pursue the two cases – not to mention pleased to remain out of an Italian prison – so he let the man talk.

The prosecutor said, ‘The answer goes back a long time – to the days of the Second World War, when your country and mine were sworn enemies …’ Spiro’s voice softened. ‘… and yet were not.’

CHAPTER 43

‘You will not have heard of the Esercito Cobelligerante Italiano.’

‘No,’ Rhyme told Spiro.

‘The Italian Co-Belligerent Army. A complex name for a simple concept. Another fact most Americans do not know: Italy and the Allies were antagonists only at the start of the war. Both sides signed an armistice in nineteen forty-three, ending their hostilities long before Germany fell. True, some fascist soldiers fought on, in league with the Nazis, but our king and prime minister joined with the Americans and British and fought against the Germans. The Co-Belligerent Army was the Italian wing of the Allies.

‘But, as you might guess, war is complicated. War is sciatta. Messy. After September ’forty-three, although the armistice was in full force and we were supposed to be fighting together, many of the American soldiers did not trust the Italians. My grandfather was a brave and decorated infantry commander who was in charge of, you would say, a company of men to assist the US Fifth Army and break through the Bernhardt Line, halfway between Rome and Naples. A very stubborn defense on the part of the Nazis.

‘My grandfather led his men behind the line, near San Pietro. They attacked from the rear and achieved a gorgeous victory, though suffered heavy losses. But when the US troops moved forward, they found my grandfather’s unit behind the lines. They hadn’t heard about his operation. They disarmed the thirty or so survivors of my grandfather’s company and rounded them up. But they did not bother to talk to their headquarters. They didn’t listen to my grandfather’s pleas. And threw them all together in a PoW camp, populated with three hundred Nazis.’ He gave a chill laugh. ‘Do you want to imagine how long the Italians lived, at the hands of their “colleagues”? About ten hours, the story goes. And the report was that most died very unpleasant deaths, my grandfather among them. The Americans merely listened to the screams. When the truth came out, a major with the Fifth Army issued an apology to the six survivors. A major issued the apology. Not a general, not a colonel. A major. He was twenty-eight years old.

‘I will add this: War is not only messy but it has consequences we cannot foresee. Now, my mother was a little girl when her father died in that camp. She barely knew him. But something about his loss affected her mind. This, my grandmother believed, in any case. She was never quite right. She married and gave birth to me and to my brother but began to have episodes just after I was born. They grew worse. Depression then mania, depression then mania. Disrobing in public, sometimes when she had arrived to collect my brother and me from school. Sometimes in church. Screaming. She received treatments, extreme treatments.’

It’s rare that someone knows the raw ingredients of electroconductive gel.

‘Those did nothing more than destroy her short-term memory. The sadness remained.’

‘And her condition now?’

‘She is in a home. My brother and I visit. She sometimes knows us. New medications, they have stabilized her. It is, they say, about the best we can hope for.’

‘I’m sorry to hear it.’

‘Can I blame your country for this, too, in addition to her father’s death? But I have chosen to, and for some very unfair reason that relieves the burden. Allora, that is what I have to say. All I have to say.’

Rhyme nodded, acknowledging the oblique apology, which, he knew, was heartfelt nonetheless.

Spiro slapped his thigh, signaling that the discussion on this topic was at an end. ‘Now, we are agreed that our goal is the truth behind the Garry Soames case. What approach do we take now?’

‘The results of the date-rape drug analysis in Rome should be expedited. We must find out if the samples in his apartment are the same as what was in Frieda’s system.’

‘Yes, I will look into that.’

‘And Beatrice is completing an analysis of the soil outside Garry’s window.’

‘Bene.’

‘But I have another idea. I’d like to run one more analysis. Ercole can talk to Beatrice about that.’

‘Ah, the Forestry officer. I had forgotten about him.’ Spiro walked to the door. Stuck his head out and barked a command.

Ercole stepped inside, looking consummately awkward.

‘You are not being dismissed, not yet, Ercole.’ Spiro glowered. ‘Captain Rhyme here has saved your bacon. An American expression, well suited for a Forestry officer.’

Ercole was smiling, albeit without a splinter of humor.

Spiro’s face turned even colder. ‘But if you ever try to run an end—’

End run, Rhyme nearly corrected, though he decided not to.

‘— your career will be over.’

‘But what are you speaking of?’

‘Isn’t it obvious? And I don’t mean that nonsense of enlisting Detective Sachs to translate Arabic, though the transparency of that ploy was laughable. What I am speaking of is the reporter at the Capodichino Reception Center: Nunzio Parada. The man pelting me with questions the night Dadi was killed. He is a friend of yours, is he not?’

‘I … well, I am somewhat familiar with him, yes.’

‘And did you not, after you saw me arrive, slip away and coach him to ask me about my brilliance in inviting the Americans here?’

The officer’s cheeks glowed bright red. ‘I am so very sorry, Procuratore, but I thought we could benefit if Detective Sachs assisted, and you, with all respect, did not seem willing to allow her to do so.’

‘La truffa, your scam, served a purpose, Ercole, and so I played along, even though I saw it as such. It was a chance for the investigation to save face, while allowing the talented Detective Sachs to work on the case directly. But your plan was, in English, cheap. And most embarrassing for you, it was pathetically inept.’

‘Why do you say that, Procuratore?’

‘Did it not occur to you that rather than being lauded for my choice, I might be ridiculed for inviting to Italy detectives whom the serial killer managed to elude in New York?’

Rhyme and Thom smiled.

‘Thank the Lord that the press are sufficient idiots that they missed that contradiction too. But in the future you will be straightforward with me. Do I not have the persona of a purring kitten?’

‘Allora, Procuratore, the fact is …’

‘You behave as if you are afraid of me!’

‘I think many people are afraid of you, sir. With all respect.’

‘Why is that?’

‘You are stern. You are known to bark, even scream at people.’

‘As do generals and artists and explorers. Of necessity.’

‘Your book …’

‘My book?’

Ercole looked down at the man’s pocket; the gilt-edged, leather-bound volume was just visible.

‘What of it?’

‘Allora, you understand.’

He snapped, ‘How can you assert I understand something if I have just asked you to explain?’

‘Sir. You write down in it the names of people who offend you. Who you wish to get even with.’

‘Do I now?’

‘I have heard people say that. Yes, I have.’

‘Well, Forestry Officer, tell me how many names you see, names destined for the pillory.’ Spiro handed the book to Ercole, who took it timidly.

‘I—’

‘Read, Forestry Officer. Read.’

He cracked open the pages and Rhyme could catch a glimpse of dense and very precise Italian script. The lettering was minuscule.

Ercole frowned.

Spiro said, ‘The title. Read what is at the top of the first page. Aloud.’

Ercole read: ‘La Ragazza da Cheyenne.’ He looked toward Rhyme and Thom. ‘It means The Girl from Cheyenne.’

‘And below?’

‘Capitolo Uno. First Chapter.’

‘And below that, please continue. Translate for Capitano Rhyme.’

Ercole puzzled for a moment. He cocked his head and read in a halting voice, as he translated, ‘“If the four twenty-five train to Tucson had not been attacked, Belle Walker would have married her fiancé and her life would have settled into the same dull, predictable routine as that of her sisters, and their mother before them.”’

Ercole looked up.

Spiro said, ‘It is a hobby of mine. I like very much American cowboy stories and I read many of them. I have from the time I was a boy. You know Italy and American Westerns are inextricably linked. Sergio Leone. The Clint Eastwood movies. A Fistful of Dollars. The Good, the Bad and the Ugly. Then there is the masterpiece Once Upon a Time in the West. Sergio Corbucci’s Django, which starred Franco Nero. And of course there are the scores for so many of those films by Ennio Morricone. He even scored a most recent movie by Quentin Tarantino.