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rolling himself a cigarette when she called out, “You work with the Germans?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œDidn’t you ride in a German car on Sunday?”
    â€œIt had nothing to do with work.”
    She looked over from her chair, her hungry little face pinched like a young fox’s. “I bet you got information on all of us before you moved in.”
    Guidi sat back, choosing not to smoke. Antipathy for the Germans was palpable not only in this house but in the streets, and even at the police posts. Only those whose immediate power depended on their presence still played the pro-German game, Caruso first among them. Guidi disliked the Germans, too, and resented being identified with them. Politics was only part of the reason. History, national character, behavior had more to do with it. In that sense Bora was a strange animal, so familiar with things Italian as to somehow cross over. Tonight Guidi could excuse the major’s battered idealism, and yet resent him, and be envious of his flair and self-assurance without any desire to emulate him.
    12 JANUARY 1944
    On Friday morning, while Westphal and Bora read glum reports on the second raid over Brunswick that week, Guidi found a parcel of papers on his office desk.
    â€œWhat’s this?” he asked his right-hand man, an eager policeman named Danza.
    â€œIt came from the German Command, Inspector.”
    Quickly Guidi freed the papers from a criss-cross of rubber bands. “Anything else?”
    â€œYes, sir. The NCO who brought it said you’ll get to report to the German Army.”
    Guidi felt himself blush. “The hell I will.”
    Danza nodded toward an envelope on the desk. “That also came for you.”
    In the envelope, bearing Caruso’s signature, was a typewritten note. While you will keep me regularly apprised of developments concerning the Reiner case, my German counterpart will be General Maelzer. Report to him through General Westphal’s office, and specifically to —
    Guidi didn’t need to read further to know that Bora’s name followed. Friendliness and car rides and the tour of Roman sites: it all made sense now. Angrily leaning over the parcel, Guidi turned pages until he met the first and only name in the list of suspects: the Secretary General of the National Confederation of Fascist Unions, now heading its “detached office” in the city. “My God” escaped him.
    Next he called Caruso’s office in Piazza del Collegio Romano.
    â€œThat’s right,” the head of police said coolly. “That’s why we need a newcomer. The suspect doesn’t know you , and you don’t have to be as discreet as others have to. Keep looking in the dossier, there’s plenty about His Excellency’s goings-on. The Germans will want his neck, so prove he killed her.”
    â€œI understand, Dr Caruso. What then?”
    â€œThen we’ll show our Germanic allies that we’re as good as they are when it comes to administering justice. His Excellency might be the token we must turn in to them. I ordered that you be issued your own car, Guidi.”
    Guidi stared at the dossier, uncomfortably reminding himself that Caruso had just finished playing his role of headhunter at the great show trial in Verona. “What happens if we find out that Secretary General Merlo has nothing to do with it?”
    â€œYou had best have someone else in hand by then.”
    *
    The Parioli district, on this side of the Tiber due north of the great Villa Umberto Park, had for the past decade been favored by the upper class and the nouveau riches. SS Colonel Ott’s house sat at the corner of Viale Romania and Via Duse, hugging it with its sleek lines over the manicured boxwood of the garden. When Bora arrived, several guests were already assembled in the spacious living room. Ott met him at the entrance, handed him a cognac and introduced him to his wife, who’d just flown in