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you were a little distracted. And I’ve noticed you hook your hair over the back of your right ear when you’re using a phone. Your hair was still pushed back when you sat down here.”
    Caterina brought her hand up to her ear.
    “No. It’s fallen back in place now,” said Blume. “Here’s the thing: I like to know who my investigators are talking to while we’re at work.”
    “My son.”
    “Oh, right. I didn’t know you had a son. Or maybe I did, but I’d forgotten. I didn’t know you were married either. Or are you?”
    “I was. My son’s just turned nine. I don’t like people knowing. It’s hard enough being a woman and getting taken seriously, but being a single mother, well, you can imagine.”
    “Well, no. I can hardly imagine being a single mother, can I? You should have reminded me the other day when you came in asking for fieldwork.”
    “Would knowing that have influenced your decision?”
    “I don’t know,” said Blume. “I’d like to think not. But let’s do a test. Tell me what we have so far. Give me a hypothesis. Go on.”
    Caterina cleared her throat and said, “Well, not much . . .”
    “Good start,” said Blume. “Never forget the law of parsimony, Inspector. Whichever theory needs fewest assumptions is the best.”
    “The tourist mugger, hearing him singing in English, decided to rob him. A struggle ensued, the mugger hit him over the head. Or pushed him down.”
    “That’s short enough,” said Blume. “Most reports of the mugger speak of one man acting alone, which is a bit odd since they usually work in twos or threes. That’s not a core issue now, but keep it in mind all the same. More importantly, the reports all mention him having an unusual thin knife, like a stiletto or something. So if he is going to kill, why not use that?”
    “He hasn’t used it yet,” said Caterina.
    “There’s always a first time,” said Blume.
    “Except, this wasn’t it, obviously,” said Caterina, surprising herself as she heard annoyance creeping into her voice. “Seeing as he wasn’t stabbed.”
    “So let’s rule out that hypothesis and think of one even likelier and simpler,” said Blume. “Like this: The man had been drinking. He was in his early seventies . . .”
    “Wait . . .” She double-checked her arithmetic. “He was in his early sixties. Not his seventies.”
    “Yeah?” Blume looked skeptical, then spent some time counting on his fingers. “You’re right. Jesus, that’s terrible.”
    “What’s terrible?”
    “It’s not so long till I’m that age.”
    “You’ve still got a fair bit to go,” said Caterina, smiling at him.
    “I don’t drink. I suppose that’s a plus,” said Blume. “I gave it up eighteen months ago, don’t even miss it. Alcohol intoxication lessens muscular protective reflexes, and makes the brain more vulnerable to concussive trauma. This is Treacy I’m talking about now, by the way. So, the old fellow falls down, bangs the back of his head, manages to get up, and struggle on for a few meters, perhaps on his knees. He crawls a bit, but his brain is hemorrhaging, so he lays the side of his face on the street, pisses his pants, and dies a drunkard’s death. End of story.”
    “Oh,” said Caterina. “This isn’t going to be my first murder investigation, is it?”
    “I doubt it. The magistrate has lost interest already. Expect a lot of disappointment in this work,” said Blume.

Chapter 5
    As they recrossed the pedestrian bridge to the piazza, Blume’s phone rang.
    “Excellent. Well done, Linda.” He turned to Caterina, “She’s the young blond . . .”
    “Yes, I know her,” said Caterina.
    “Linda’s just done her first piece of investigative work and got us an address for Treacy.”
    “You mean she looked it up in a telephone book?”
    “She did, bless her. Now as for the address, it’s just a three-minute walk from here. Treacy had almost made it home.”
    They reached Blume’s car, which sat in the middle