"I don't need to calculate the odds," said Dante. "I know for certain."

"But we don't. There's no evidence whatsoever, unfortunately, to corroborate your claims."

"You're wrong," Dante objected.

De Angelis's smile turned icy. "So tell me. How am I wrong?"

"There are no fingerprints. Do you think that the little boy who lost it simply never touched it?"

"Perhaps whoever found it cleaned off the mud."

"So thoroughly that they eliminated all traces? Erasing any organic residues, such as any traces of saliva? Or do you think that no one ever blew that whistle? You know, it is what people do with whistles."

Colomba felt a swell of admiration for Dante. He wasn't coming off like the fool she'd feared.

"The rain must have washed it clean, Signor Torre," said De Angelis.

Santini leaned forward, placing an elbow on the table. "Unless whoever placed it there wanted to make sure no one could tell who he was," he said. "Because he knew that we'd check it against his DNA before anyone else's."

"Are you accusing my client of something?" asked Minutillo. If De Angelis's smile was chilly, Minutillo's glare was burning hot.

"We're just talking," said De Angelis.

"Sorry to interrupt, Judge, your honor," Santini said, looking over at Colomba. "Deputy Captain, can you tell us that you never lost sight of him for even a second when you came downhill?"

"I don't have to tell you a fucking thing, Santini."

"She's right, Judge De Angelis," Minutillo broke in again. "And if the interview of my client is going to continue in this atmosphere, we'll leave immediately."

"All right, all right, let's all calm down," said De Angelis. "But I am obliged to ask the deputy captain, present here today, the same question."

"Who are you interviewing? My client or the deputy captain?" asked Minutillo.

"Your client. But I'd like to save some time, if you're in agreement."

"No."

"Excuse me, counselor, but let's just cut this short," Colomba broke in. "There's no way I lost sight of him."

"Now are you satisfied?" asked Dante. "Or do you think that the deputy captain is lying, too?"

"Signor Torre, you can understand that any skeptical observer would find the coincidence highly suspicious?"

"There's no coincidence," said Dante. "He put it there on purpose."

"Your kidnapper."

"Yes."

"But what motive would he have for doing it? To send a message? Lay down a challenge? Establish his signature?"

Dante hesitated, and Colomba had the distinct impression that he wasn't telling the whole story. "I don't know what he might be thinking. I didn't know thirty years ago, and I don't know now."

"Mightn't it have simply gone unnoticed, your whistle? Stayed there until it rusted? Wound up in the trash?"

"I'm hardly the best person to judge his intentions. I'm . . . influenced, I'd say, by the fact that he taught me to think of him as God as long as he held me prisoner. And it's difficult to understand the mind of God."

Another glance between De Angelis and Santini. "All right, Signor Torre . . . I thank you. I'm done," said De Angelis.

Until that moment Dante had spoken in a low voice, without moving, practically. Suddenly he lunged forward, and De Angelis shot back, pressing his shoulders against the back of his chair. "Do you know what's going to happen to that child now?" said Dante. "Years of imprisonment, if not the rest of his life. Psychological violence, physical violence. And the risk of being killed if he fails to learn or disobeys."

De Angelis scrutinized him. "Just like what happened to you, isn't it?" he said.

"Yes. Just like what happened to me."

"You do see, then, why that makes you a witness who can easily be influenced by events?"

"Is that another way of saying unreliable?"

"I'm very sorry."

Dante nodded slowly. "Well, I had to try. Can I go?"

"Yes, we're done," De Angelis announced. "You'll be asked to sign the transcript when your interview is typed up."

"Let us know, and we'll come in," said Minutillo, getting to his feet along with Dante.

Colomba stood up, too.

"Do you mind waiting for a minute, Deputy Captain?" said De Angelis.

"As you like."

Minutillo and Dante left. De Angelis rubbed his chin, then took Santini and the lieutenant in at a single glance. "I need to have a private chat with the deputy captain."

The lieutenant shut the screen of his computer and stood up. Santini reached out to shake hands with De Angelis. "Well, I'll just swing by police headquarters and then back to the office, if you don't have anything else for me."

"No, go right ahead. I'll call you tomorrow."

Santini headed for the exit; the lieutenant went over to an open window and lit a cigarette.

"You know what I want to ask you, don't you?" said De Angelis once they were alone.

"No. Give me some help."

"If you really want to make it as hard as possible . . . What were you doing on the scene of an investigation you're not involved in?"

"I wanted Signor Torre to see the place," she replied impassively.

"For what reason?"

"He's an expert consultant on missing persons."

"He's an unhinged individual, and law firms hire him to muddy the waters so they can make money."

"That's your opinion. It's not mine."

"Is Maugeri Torre's client?"

"No."

De Angelis put his fingertips together. "If he was, you might not know it. And this thing with the whistle could be the first brick in their defense theory."

"I came to him. Torre isn't working for anybody right now."

"In what capacity, seeing that you're on leave?"

"As a private citizen. I happened to come into contact with the investigation, I tried to offer my small contribution . . ."

De Angelis let himself slump back in his chair, looking her in the eyes. Colomba held his gaze.

"You aren't under oath right now, but I demand you tell me the truth, given the position I occupy. And you're lying. It was Rovere who sent you. He didn't like being shoved aside, proving once again how right I was not to involve him in the first place."

It would have been fair to put the blame on Rovere after what he'd forced her to do, but Colomba wasn't the type to go over to the other side. "Absolutely not," she replied. "He knows nothing about what I'm doing in this context."

"I don't believe you, Deputy Captain. You're intimate, the two of you, aren't you?"

"What do you mean by 'intimate'?"

De Angelis threw both arms wide. "Don't take it the wrong way! I only mean to say that he was your boss for many years. And that he was very close to you during your convalescence. And he did a great deal for you; he didn't turn his back on you when many others would have, after what happened to you."

Colomba dug her fingernails into the palms of her hands. "Is it really necessary to talk about it?"

"Only to explain to you why I don't believe you. You'd never operate behind Rovere's back. Behind my back and Santini's, no doubt. And you wouldn't betray his trust by revealing the fact to me."

"If you know it, what's the purpose of this interrogation?" she asked.

"I just wanted to give you a chance. I'm sorry you didn't take it."

"Can I go now?"

De Angelis dropped his eyes to the papers lying in front of him. "Have a good evening, Deputy Captain."

Outside, in the meantime, with the excuse of a cigarette, Dante was waiting to say good-bye to Colomba after having strategically sent Minutillo to make a phone call in the parking area. After that night, he'd never see the green-eyed policewoman again, and he was sorry about that. Partly because she was an attractive and unconventional woman-and he'd seen far too few attractive women for quite some time now-and partly because he'd feel even more alone now in the presence of his phantoms and specters. Just then, Santini emerged from the restroom, wiping his hands on his trousers. He saw Dante standing alone, and in an instant his expression turned predatory. He galloped the few yards separating them and grabbed Dante by one arm.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" said Dante, dropping the pack of cigarettes. Santini clapped one hand over his mouth and shoved him into one of the bathrooms. It was small and windowless. It reeked of shit.

Santini closed the door behind him. It was dark. Dante could only see the black outline of the other man against the gray background and the eyes that appeared to glitter. The darkness seemed to weigh on his consciousness, beginning to crush it. Santini took his hand off his mouth, but Dante didn't yell. His voice stuck in his throat. It seemed as if the walls were wrapping around him, and his legs gave way beneath him. He'd have fallen if Santini hadn't held him up by the collar of his raincoat.

"You're afraid of being in confined spaces, aren't you? And I'll bet you're afraid of the dark, too. Do you keep a night light on your bedside dresser? Shaped like a ducky?"

Dante said nothing and concentrated on remaining conscious. Now the past was gleaming like a lightning bolt and echoing. Santini's voice reached him, muffled, as if from behind a cement wall.

The cement wall of the silo.

"Let go of me," he tried to say again, but his voice stuck in his throat.

"Me is who you need to be afraid of. If you come around busting our chops again with this fairy tale about the whistle or anything else that has to do with the investigation, I'll dig a hole and throw you down it. A hole in the ground. So you have to breathe through a pipe. You understand?"

Dante did not understand. The Father's voice drowned out everything else. It came down from on high and dictated the Law to him. It told him that he had once again made a mistake in parroting back what he'd been taught and that he would therefore need to punish himself. And that he must take the club and beat his bad hand with it. Keeping time with the Father's count.

Dante grabbed a wooden club made of air and tried to lift it, but Santini gripped his arm. "Stop flailing around. Just tell me that you understand. Tell me!"

In the darkness of the silo, Dante found a window into the present and hooked onto it, bringing himself back into that foul-smelling bathroom standing face-to-face with the cop. He came back there, or a small part of him did, just enough to let him move his lips and say that he'd understood. Even if he didn't know what that was. Or he'd forgotten it. He felt light. Rarified.

Santini released him and threw open the door as he left. The burst of light whipped Dante like a jolt of electricity. He fell to his knees on the wet tiles, then threw himself on all fours and slithered through the filth to the main door.

Outside, Colomba saw Santini get into his car, his tires spraying gravel. She wondered what had happened until she saw Dante crawling out of the bathroom.

Colomba kneeled down to lift his head; at the same time, Minutillo interrupted his phone call and came running toward them, cursing himself for his carelessness.

"Are you all right? What happened?" asked Colomba.

"Nothing. Just leave me alone," Dante murmured.

"You heard him, leave him alone," said Minutillo, behind her, pushing her aside none too gently. He leaned over Dante. "Can you get to your feet?"

"Give me a hand."

Minutillo pulled him up, practically lifting him bodily. Dante's trousers and raincoat were dripping and filthy. Minutillo took off his coat and wrapped it around him. "I'm taking you home now."

"Signor Torre," said Colomba. "Wait a second."

Dante turned his eyes toward her.

"I saw Santini running away. Did he do something to you?"

Dante shook his head. "It doesn't matter."

"It does to me."

"Just words and without witnesses." Dante pointed at the restaurant from which De Angelis was emerging at that exact moment, pretending not to see them. "Considering the way they reacted today, do you think that anyone would believe me?"

"I believe you."

"But not about the most important things, apparently."

Dante let himself be dragged off by his lawyer. Colomba kicked a rock, but it did nothing to rid her mind of bad thoughts. Which increased, if anything, until she finally decided to get them off her chest and jumped into the car. Alberti snapped out of it.