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J ulia drove with tears in her eyes. Gianluca had been in an accident on the way to the villa. He’d been taken by ambulance to a hospital. Marshal Torti didn’t know if he was seriously injured.

She fought to remain in emotional control. Rain screened the darkness, shrouding the road, vineyards, and farmhouses. Red lights blinked ahead. Traffic jammed in a line. It had to be the accident scene.

Julia reached the cars and joined them. Traffic started and stopped again. She craned her head and spotted black-and-white cruisers, their light bars flashing through the gloom.

The scene buzzed with official activity. Floodlights blasted the road with unnatural brightness. Uniformed carabinieri waved orange flashlights, detouring traffic onto the grass to the right. Smoking flares made a hazy perimeter.

More uniformed officers stood around parked cruisers, and the floodlights silhouetted their peaked caps and epauleted shoulders. Their cruisers idled, emitting plumes of exhaust. A flat-bed tow truck was parked on the scene.

Julia realized she hadn’t asked Marshal Torti how the accident happened. She’d been so upset after he told her that she’d hung up quickly and left. She didn’t know how Gianluca was hit or how many cars were involved.

Julia pulled over on the grass, parked, and got out into the rain. Two uniformed cops hustled toward her, but she got her phone from her pocket and called Gianluca’s number to reach Marshal Torti. “Hello, it’s Julia—”

“Ms. Pritzker, what is it?”

“I’m here, and I want to know—”

“Here? No, you may not breach the perimeter.”

“Marshal Torti says it’s okay. Let me pass.” Julia showed the cops the phone and barreled forward, and the carabinieri hurried after her. She charged through the wet grass and up the embankment. She crossed between the flares, wedged between more carabinieri , and reached the scene.

Floodlights blasted the road like a nightmare stage set. Gianluca’s Ducati lay on the street, its front end demolished and its bright red finish glistening like fresh blood. A tow truck’s hook-and-chain began to drag it past her, making a hideous scraping sound on the asphalt.

No. Julia’s hand flew to her mouth. She’d been on that motorcycle with him and could still feel her arms around his waist.

“Ms. Pritzker.” Marshal Torti appeared beside her, holding an umbrella over her head. He looked grim under his black cap, which had a plastic cover. His raincoat was black. “I’m sorry, I know you two were friends. Nevertheless, you are not permitted here.”

“How badly was he hurt?”

“I don’t know. I wasn’t here. One of my officers called an ambulance before I arrived. You must go.”

“Where’s the car that hit him?”

“There was no other vehicle involved.”

“There wasn’t?” Julia asked, confused. “Then how did it happen?”

“We believe he lost control of his motorcycle, coming around the curve. He failed to complete the turn and skidded off the road. That curve, you see?”

Stricken, Julia tried to see in the rain. The curve was a sharp left turn, obscured by trees and bramble along the roadside.

“On a night like this, caution is required. You can tell how long he skidded from the mark.” Marshal Torti pointed to the road, but Julia couldn’t see the skid mark in the rain.

“So how was he hurt? What injuries were there?”

“He skidded off the road and into those rocks.” Marshal Torti pointed again, and she squinted into the shadowy periphery of the floodlights, spotting large, jagged rocks on the other side of the road.

“Oh no.” Julia felt sick to her stomach.

“I don’t know the extent of his injuries. I believe he sustained a head injury.”

No, no, no. “So it’s serious?”

“I’m sorry, I don’t know.”

“Which hospital did he go to?” Julia asked, already in motion.