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Rossi gave him the details.
"Kidnapping out here? Curious."
"I thought so too."
"Sir--" Ercole began.
Spiro waved a hand to silence him and said to the cyclist, Crovi, "The victim? You said North African. Not sub-Saharan?"
Before the man could answer, Ercole said, with a laugh, "He would have to be from the north. He had dinars."
Spiro, eyes on the ground where the struggle occurred, said in a soft voice, "Would not an Eskimo visiting Tripoli pay for his supper with Libyan dinars, Forestry Officer? Not in Eskimo money?"
"Eskimo? Well. I suppose. Yes, true, Prosecutor."
"And would not someone from Mali or Congo be more likely to find a meal in Libya by paying with dinars, rather than francs?"
"I'm sorry. Yes."
To Crovi: "Now. My question. Did the appearance of the victim suggest what part of Africa he was from?"
"It was not so dark, sir. I would say the features were Arab or tribal. Libyan, Tunisian, Moroccan. North African, I would say that with certainty."
"Thank you, Mr. Crovi." Then Spiro asked, "Scientific Police?"
Rossi replied, "On the way. Our office."
"Yes, probably no need to bother Rome."
Ercole knew the Naples headquarters of the Police of State had a laboratory on the ground floor. The main crime scene operation was in Rome and the trickier evidentiary analysis was performed there. He had never sent anything to either facility. Fake olive oil and misrepresented truffles were easy to spot.
Yet another vehicle arrived, a dark-blue marked police car with the word "Carabinieri" on the side.
"Ah, our friends," Rossi said wryly.
Spiro watched, chewing his cheroot. His face was devoid of any emotion.
A tall man in a pristine uniform climbed out of the passenger's seat. He wore a dark-blue jacket, and black trousers with red stripes down the sides. He surveyed the scene with a military bearing--as was appropriate, of course, since the Carabinieri, though it has jurisdiction over civilian crimes, is part of the Italian army.
Ercole marveled at the uniform and the man's posture. At his perfect hat, his insignias, his boots. He had always dreamed of being in their ranks, which he considered the elite of Italy's many police forces. Forestry Corps had been a compromise. Helping his father tend his ill mother, Ercole would not have been able to pursue the rigorous Carabinieri training--even if he'd been accepted into the corps.
A second officer, who'd been driving, lower ranking than the first, joined them.
"Evening, Captain," Rossi called. "And Lieutenant."
The Carabiniere nodded to the inspector and Spiro. The captain said, "So, Massimo. What do you have? Anything enticing, anything plump? I see you're first on the scene."
Spiro said, "Actually, Giuseppe, Forestry was here first." Perhaps a joke but he was not smiling. The Carabinieri officer, however, laughed.
Was this a contest to see who would seize control of the case? The Carabiniere might have pushed, and would probably win, having a political edge over the Police of State.
As for Dante Spiro, he might harbor a personal preference for working with the Police of State, on the one hand, or for the Carabinieri, on the other, but for his career it made no difference; the prosecution would be his, no matter which police unit took control.
"Who was the victim?" Giuseppe asked.
Rossi said, "No identification yet. Some local unfortunate perhaps."
Or an Eskimo, Ercole thought but, of course, didn't even consider saying.
