“He spends hours of every day on the pavement below,” Anna answered calmly. ” Annabel gave a little gasp. The sun was setting when she carried the metal garbage can to the curb with their remains in it, where they sat underneath the stale chocolate cake that Sheila had thrown away and a pile of mildewy lettuce. She didn’t trust Gianfrancesco, you know, she called him a ‘bad husband’. It's a long time since we met, eight years and more. Huge trees obscured the view of it. Melusine—the real Melusine—evidently did not see him immediately, for her attention was on her descent from the high vehicle. Then Anna spoke more seriously than usual. There were too many kills, too many unsolved files in too many cabinets.
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