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"It's murder then?" Nico asked.

"Indeed. Strangled with a piece of curtain cord."

"Who is it?"

"I suspect the owner of this place, but the Englishwoman wouldn't even give me her name."

"Probably too upset. No one else here?"

Perillo shook his head. "We got the call at four-fifteen. All the woman said was Villa Salviati, morto, morto. She hung up before Dino could ask anything."

"Do we know who the owner is?" Nico asked.

"I looked it up on the way," Daniele said. He was Perillo's computer whiz. Scouring the net was his favorite hobby. "It's listed under Eleonora Salviati Lamberti, a widow. The house hasn't been ransacked, but we'll have to wait to find out if anything was stolen."

"My knees are collapsing," Perillo said. "Dani, please, find the kitchen in this mausoleum and see if you can get us some coffee." Daniele did a military turnaround and hurried back the way he had come.

"The woman has finally accepted a glass of brandy," Perillo said. "That's the only way I was able to convince her to leave the victim and wait in another room."

"Let me see the body first."

"This way."

Nico followed Perillo through a double door at the far end of the library.

The room was cold and in semidarkness. A predawn light from two windows on one side barely reached beyond the curtains.

"She turned the light off when we walked out," Perillo said.

Nico used his handkerchief to click the light switch, and a chandelier sparkled to life. In the center of the far wall was an ornate marble fireplace stacked with unlit logs. From there Nico's eyes traveled over two worn velvet sofas and a few armchairs before landing on the grand piano in the far end of the room. Something dark was covering a section of the piano keys. Nico walked closer. The victim was slumped over the piano, her head resting on one arm, her face turned away toward the wall. The hand of her other arm rested on the keys. She looked as though she had fallen asleep while playing. Her feet were bare, her slippers tossed behind the piano seat.

As Nico got closer to the body he saw two cut ends of a gold cord protruding from under the woman's thick black hair and running down the back of a yellow bathrobe.

"No one sits quietly while being strangled," Perillo said. "She's been posed."

"The killer has left a message."

"Not one I understand."

"We'll have to figure it out. Maybe the Englishwoman can help us. Where is she?"

"In a room she chose." Perillo walked back out into the library and opened a door between two stacks of books. "Signora, my American friend," he announced, and stepped aside to let Nico enter.

The only light in the room came from a small porcelain lamp on a side table. Its soft light revealed a light-blue wool lap on which rested a pair of thin, bare hands.

"Good morning," Nico said, and introduced himself.

"Hardly, Mr. Doyle. Under different circumstances I would say it's a pleasure to meet you, but today it is not. I am Laetitia Barron."

Nico took a step closer. "I'm sorry to disturb you at such a sad time, but we need your help to understand what has happened here."

"It's self-evident what has happened. Last night Nora and I said good night a few minutes before or after ten o'clock and while I slept someone strangled her."

Nico thought he heard a tremor of anger. "Finding her must have been a terrible shock, but Maresciallo Perillo needs your help."

"First, he needs to let Nora's daughters know their mother has been murdered. I don't know Adriana's or Clara's telephone numbers. Nora's address book will tell you."

Nico translated for Perillo, who had stayed by the door.

"Grazie." Perillo took off.