BLUME KEPT HIS voice level. “Where was Alleva calling from?” he asked.

“I don’t know. He was being careful. He began by telling me one radio mast was all I’d get. He didn’t move position to make it difficult to trace. Also, he obscured the number.”

“What did he say?”

“Three things. One, that he didn’t pull the trigger. Two, that he never imagined anything like this would happen. And three, that he was sending the killer, Massoni, straight to us. He said to expect Massoni to come up the Via Casilina in an SUV in about half an hour. He also said he would call back when we had Massoni in custody. But surprise, surprise. Massoni never came driving up the road.”

“What did you say to him?”

“I said we would get him anyhow. And I told him he would probably not live long.”

“Then what did you do?”

“First I put out an alert to get Massoni picked up. I mentioned who the suspect was, just to make sure the cars got there on time. Then I called the Holy Ghost and asked him to take charge of any arrests that might result from the tip-off.”

“Did he ask who the tip-off was from?”

“No, he didn’t. He never does. Even you don’t always ask.”

“It’s so often better not to know,” said Blume. “Then what did you do?”

“I contacted the technicians in the Padua interception center immediately, gave them my number, gave them the time and date of his call, told them it was highest priority.”

“And they accepted all that, from an inspector?”

“I told them it was to do with the killing of Ferrucci. They got back to me in two hours. They had not managed to triangulate Alleva’s location because he never moved, and the phone number disappeared from the network immediately after, along with the IMEI code for the phone. So he must have removed the battery, probably smashed the device. He’s being careful.”

“Not so careful that he didn’t make a call. They got no information at all?”

“No, they did. I was going to tell you. The call was made north of Rome, near Civitavecchia. It connected to a base transceiver station at the end of the Autostrada Azzurra, just above Civitavecchia. The radius is huge. Too big to work. And it was two days ago. He probably made the call, then destroyed the phone there.”

“I see that,” said Blume. “And you acted as quickly as you could? You reported contact between you and Alleva to the technical team?”

“Yes. Same as after the shooting. I don’t care what happens to me as long as Alleva and Massoni get caught.”

“But you do care what happens to you if they don’t get caught,” said Blume.

“I don’t follow.”

“Sure you do. I believe you when you say you’ll come clean if it means catching Alleva and Massoni, but you’d prefer not to, if possible.”

“Only if possible,” said Paoloni.

“Right. But there’s a corollary. If they don’t get caught, then you don’t want to get caught, either.”

Paoloni was frowning in concentration, as if Blume’s reasoning were new to him. “I suppose you’re right.”

“I need to believe that you put getting them into custody ahead of your career. If news of the tip-off comes out, I don’t see how you can continue working with other police.”

“The phone calls I made. I came here and told you. I’m doing what I can,” said Paoloni.

Blume nodded. “OK. So, you got this phone call the day after the shooting. What time?”

“Morning, ten seventeen to ten twenty. Less than three minutes. That’s what the technical report says.”

“There’s a report?”

“Yeah. They prepared a report. When they called me back to give me the information, they wanted to know who they could send the report to. They need authorization from a ranking officer or magistrate. I was hoping you could see to that.”

Blume thought about it. The report was proof that Paoloni had done what he could to find Alleva.

“OK. Maybe I can intercept the report before it lands on the wrong desk. At least we know he was still in the country. Even if he was in a port city.”

“It was only Civitavecchia,” said Paoloni.

“You don’t think Civitavecchia makes a good escape route?” said Blume.

“If you’re escaping to Sicily or Sardinia and don’t feel like you need to hurry, it’s perfect,” said Paoloni. “I think it’s just sheer chance he called from there.”

“Maybe it was deliberate misdirection. Still, there are ships to South America from there. Some ferries go to France, Corsica, Barcelona, or you could board a cruise ship going anywhere.”

“Not anywhere fast,” said Paoloni.

“Which is why the police don’t watch seaports as closely as airports,” said Blume. “I don’t know. Maybe he sailed away an hour later. Say he got to Corsica or Nice, he could have flown from an airport there, especially if he’s changing passports.”

“They.”

“What?”

“You keep saying ‘he,’ but there’s two of them. Alleva and Massoni. And Massoni’s the one who pulled the trigger.”

“You’re right,” said Blume. “But I bet Alleva’s escape plan is made for one. Staying together makes them more conspicuous, anyhow. They’ll have split up. And if we find Alleva, then we’ll find Massoni. Alleva’s already shown he’ll give up Massoni easily.”

“Except he didn’t,” said Paoloni. “Massoni never came down the road in his SUV. We were watching other roads from the south and east as well. Nothing.”

“Again, you’re right. But if he can pretend to betray Massoni like that . . . I don’t know. I think he could. Maybe he tried, but Massoni didn’t fall into the trap. At any rate, I think they are now separated.”

Blume peeled back the strip of bandage holding the needle in his arm and started sliding the needle out with his thumb. “Jesus. You’d think they could put a needle in without causing so much fucking bruising.”

“Maybe you did that to yourself,” said Paoloni.

“What?”

“In the accident.”

“Oh, right.”

“Like your nose.”

“What about my nose?”

“It looks funny.”

“Beppe, go downstairs, buy me a razor and shaving cream.”

When Paoloni had left, Blume completed the removal of the intravenous feed, and stared at his arm with a look of disgust. He shoved the needle into the side of his mattress, took the keys, wallet, and phone Paoloni had brought him.

Paoloni returned, and Blume handed him the keys. “Go to my house, now. In the bedroom, there’s a white cupboard with a sliding door. You’ll see a suit wrapped in green plastic, or maybe blue. Anyway, take that. Get me a pair of socks from the chest of drawers and on your way out, next to the door, there’s one of those plastic shoe holder things. Open it, take out a pair of black shoes. Bring the lot back here. Shit, a shirt. I need a shirt—and a tie, too. Either you iron me one or you buy me a new one. White, collar size forty-two, and a nice dark blue tie. No designs. There’s a big menswear place down at Piazza Re di Roma, near the house. It should take you, what, forty minutes to get there and back. Less if you use a siren. Turn it off when you’re buying me the shirt and tie.”

“Are you leaving here?”

“I’m going to the funeral. We both are,” said Blume.