The air outside the villa was much cleaner than the air inside.
Victor walked to the edge of the garden, took off his gloves and bent down to remove his shoe covers. He casually balled them up and tossed them into the nearby evidence bag. It was only when his feet touched solid ground again that he felt as though he had stepped a little way out of that cold, blue glow. But the images in his mind hadn’t faded yet. The trail of blood smeared across the floor, the dark stains in the corner and the bloodstained message on the back of the picture frame were lodged in his mind like nails — impossible to remove and deeply unsettling.
Dante stood beside him, watching his pensive expression, and handed him two file folders.
“Look at the one on the bottom first.” He tilted his chin. ‘I’d bet this
