CHAPTER EIGHTEENPetrus Berry paced restlessly. Lindsey sprawled on a sofa, tracing the gold and orange floral pattern in the upholstery. The third-floor living room of Zaffira Lazarini Fornari’s flat overlooked a small garden in the rear of the brownstone. A set of French doors and a tiny balcony overhung the open area. A pair of trees stood in the garden; they had lost their leaves and stood stretching skeletal fingers into the night sky. Lower shrubs were coated with snow and the snow-covered ground reflected the moonlight, creating a spectral image.
“Look at that, will you?”
“At what?” Lindsey sat up straight.
“Never mind.” Berry raised his head. “I thought I saw a little bird in the tree. It’s too late in the year. A robin. They’ve all flown south by now. Maybe this one got left beh
