Jeffery Deaver The Burial Hour

To the memory of my friend Giorgio Faletti.

The world misses you.

The winter wind blows and the night is dark;

Moans are heard in the linden-trees.

Through the gloom, white skeletons pass,

Running and leaping in their shrouds.

— Henri Cazalis, ‘Danse Macabre’

Author’s note

While the Italian law enforcement agencies I refer to in this novel are real, I do hope the fine members of these organizations, many of whom I’ve met and whose company I’ve enjoyed, will forgive the minor adjustments I’ve made to their procedures and locales, which have been necessary for the timing and plotting of the story.

And I wish to offer my particular thanks to musician and writer, translator and interpreter extraordinaire Seba Pezzani, without whose friendship, and diligence and devotion to the arts, this book could not have been written.

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