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"So, Evaristo, the murderer would not be in the throes of sudden raptus, but carefully prepares his crimes."

"If my idea that the dog was poisoned is true, I would agree."

"It’s bad luck that the animal's body is no longer available for an autopsy."

"That's right."

The fourth murder took place on Sunday, between midnight and 2:00 am according to the coroner. It had been carried out with the usual method of the ice pick jabbed in an ear, but the victim had been a man, a certain Alessandro Cipolla, sixty-six years old, retired, and he had been killed in the street.

My colleague Carla had found out from her deputy, who had had picked up a press release at Police Headquarters, that the dead man was a homeless drunk who in recent years had been living as a vagrant, sleeping under packing boxes in some corner of public galleries or doorways, and that he was already known to the police because of a call from a mobile phone to 113 a couple of months earlier from a woman who was very old but still clear-headed, and had previously been an English teacher. He had pestered her under the colonnade of Via Roma with a surly request for money and when he got nothing from her, he had spat at her. As soon as a patrol car had arrived, the grim teacher had asked the agents to take the particulars of her harasser, who in the meantime had continued to walk around her making raspberries and, alternately, belching foul-smelling effluvia at her.