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was only a vast storage area. Until our recent renovations, people rarely went down there.”
    The waiter brought their meal, and they began to eat.
    “By the way, Lucia said that a number of reporters have called to see if they can interview you.”
    “I expected that. I’d prefer not to be involved.”
    “Lucia will run interference for you, but all this attention isn’t good for the Academy. We operate in Rome on the goodwill of the Italian government so we have to be careful. The embassy reminded me of that as well.”
    Caroline looked at her watch. “I expect Eric’s parents have landed and are probably on their way to the Academy right now. I need to get back.” She signaled the waiter for the check. “The memorial service for Doc is tomorrow at four in the afternoon at the Protestant Cemetery. You’ve been there before, haven’t you?”
    “Several times—a beautiful place. Of course I’ll be there,” Tom said.
    As they walked back to the Academy, Tom asked, “Do you know the director of the Swiss Institute?”
    “Reasonably well,” she replied, “Georges Lundell. Quiet guy. Good scholar. Oddly enough, he loves to polka. Why do you ask?”
    “Call me crazy, but this work order has me intrigued, and I’d like to read their records of the time.”
    “I’d be happy to call him to set up a meeting for you when I get back to my office. Lucia will let you know.”
    “Thanks. Good luck today, with Eric’s family.”

4
    I t was late afternoon. Tom was back in his apartment, working on his book, when his cell phone rang.
    “Dr. Stewart, it’s Lucia. Dr. Sibelius asked me to tell you that you have a meeting with Dr. Lundell at 10 a.m. tomorrow at the Swiss Institute.”
    “Thanks, Lucia. I’ll be there.”
    Taking a break, he checked his NYU e-mail. There was a message from Alex asking him if there was any news and, if there were, to call her. He took out her card and called.
    “Pronto.”
    “Alex, it’s Tom Stewart. Just got your e-mail.”
    “Thanks for calling. I was wondering if there were any new developments.”
    Tom told her that he’d spoken with Gabrielli and that Stefano Pulesi of the Laboratory of Communicable Substances would be taking over the investigation.
    “That’s unusual.”
    “Yes. It seems it’s all superconfidential. He would not give us any information.”
    “Not surprising. That agency is very secretive. Did they mention anything about precautions about the remains, like cremation?”
    Tom was surprised at Alex’s remark. “In fact they did. How did you know?”
    “Standard procedure for containment, but it seems strange in this situation.”
    “That’s what I thought when I heard it.” Tom had to admit to himself that he didn’t have anything else to say about the Roman Forum incident, but the idea of seeing Alex again appealed to him, so he plunged ahead. “Are you by any chance free for dinner tonight? Maybe at eight?”
    “Yes, if we can make it a bit later. I’ve got a paper to finish.”
    “Perfect. Say around nine?”
    “That’s fine. Why don’t you come to my place for a drink, and then we’ll go to a little place around the corner.”
    “Via del Pellegrino, right? Near the Campo dè Fiori?” he said, looking at the card.
    “Yes, that’s right. See you then. Ciao.”
    He returned to working on his book, and became so engrossed that he lost track of the time. It was 8 p.m. when he finally looked at his watch. Tom quickly showered and changed. He got a taxi to take him to Alex’s address.
    When the cab let him off on Via del Pellegrino, he walked through a stone archway into a courtyard. Diagonally across from the arch, Tom saw Alex’s house, a three-story stone building painted a Roman burnt red color. He rang the buzzer, and Alex appeared at the little balcony one floor up. She waved and then buzzed him in. Entering on the ground floor, Tom passed through the kitchen where he saw an Italian woman bent over a stove. She looked up when he