I

Caponnetto was up early. He could hear the birds singing. The air smelled of spring.

If you don't live by the sea and only spend a few days there once in a while, you might not notice that the sea smells different in spring. It's fresh, invigorating, and less salty than in winter. Sometimes it even smells slightly earthy, with a sweet note reminiscent of flowers. This is due to the algae, which multiply as temperatures begin to rise, and to the spring breezes, which transport their different fragrances from the sea to the coast.

Spring is Caponnetto's time. It's the season when he has always felt particularly inspired, full of energy and drive.

Three weeks ago, he had got on his new sports bike early in the morning for the first time. Since then, he had been leaving his apartment at the port of Savona every day at around 8 am. This morning routine was good for him.

But today, he started his tour earlier than usual. That was the only reason the men in the black SUV missed him. They would wait for him – that was their job.

After his accident on the Via Aurelia eight months ago, Caponnetto had gone through various phases. At first, in hospital, he was in denial about how his injuries would affect his service with theCarabinieri. Then, with his artificial knee, came the certainty that things would never be the same again. And with this realisation came anger: 'Why me? Why now?'

Back then, he was convinced that he'd simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time. He wanted to believe that the collision on the coastal road between Finale Ligure and Noli had been a tragic hit-and-run accident.

During the rehabilitation phase, Caponnetto thought about how he could continue his work investigating theAgromafia despite his limited fitness for duty. He came to the conclusion that he didn't want to do things by halves and decided to quit altogether. Then, when hisZia Antonella died unexpectedly, his grief for his aunt eclipsed his grief for his old life.

On the very day of his retirement, Caponnetto had become involved in a new case with his friendCommissario Bonfatti. Together they had solved the murder of an old man. They hadn't expected to be showered with praise, but neither had they expected to be mired in controversy.

Caponnetto didn't want to find himself in such a situation again. Especially not now in spring. He had ideas, he had plans. His life was almost perfect – if it hadn't been for the matter with Stefania. But there was always something!

*

Commissario Bonfatti was sitting behind his desk on the third floor of theQuestura in Savona, leafing through the local section of La Stampa in a