A new investigation for Rocco Schiavone forced to investigate a case of medical malpractice from a hospital bed. And in the meantime, the deputy detective is almost fifty years old, certain hardships are lessened, perhaps a love affair appears. In the background the private affairs of the team take on more prominence. And invariably a shadow of that darkness that never leaves him, watches from a street corner out there.

Rocco Schiavone, Deputy Police Chief in Aosta, is hospitalized. A bullet hit him in a firefight, he lost a kidney, but that does not make him any less anxious to move, any less restless. In the same days, during a surgery similar to the one he underwent, another patient lost his life: Roberto Sirchia, a wealthy self-made entrepreneur. An unforgivable mistake, a resounding scandal. Sirchia's widow and son (she is a profligate rich woman, he is highly ambitious but utterly lacking his father's energy) point the finger at malpractice. But, a transfusion bag with the wrong blood type, in the eyes of Rocco who is bored and cannot suppress his cop instincts, is too gross a carelessness. He also feels a deep gratitude toward the one who would be the number one culprit for the mistake, namely the chief medical officer Dr. Negri; he seems to him a good person, a man as melancholy and disenchanted as he is. In the brusque, irreverent style that is part of his identity, the deputy detective begins to lead the investigation from the corridors of the hospital that he clandestinely fills with smoke of various kinds.

If it is murder, there must be a motive, and it must be sought outside the hospital, in the folds of the victim's life.

Inside the hospital rituals, the smells, the inedible food, the harassing neighbors, Schiavone feels like a caged lion. But he is a wounded lion: it is exhausting to gather clues, difficult to direct his men from a distance, he can only rely on intuition, impressions of people, data on the workings of the health care machine. And the author gives a lot of space to psychology and atmosphere. Rocco Schiavone is almost fifty years old, certain hardnesses are softening, perhaps a love affair is appearing. In the background the private affairs of the team take more prominence. And invariably a shadow, of that darkness that never leaves him, watches from a street corner out there.