The Lizard's Bite by David Hewson

nod, nothing more. It was her opinion that the island did not dislike the Arcangeli anything like as much as the family imagined. Even the residents of Murano lacked the unhealthy enthusiasm needed to maintain a vendetta over the years. Ordinary people simply weren’t made that way.
    Then, before starting on the meal, she sat down with a glass of weak spritz and began to turn over the day’s events in her mind. The dead were buried twice, she thought. Once in the earth. A second, more important time, in the memory. Neither event seemed as close as the family deserved.
    The card was still in the pocket of her bag. She took it out and stared at the name there: Inspector Leo Falcone. With the address of a Questura in Rome and two phone numbers, one, the land line, scribbled out in a legible, firm hand, replaced with a number for Verona. She walked to the window and watched the fire dying on the lagoon, holding the card to her lips, wondering. The pasta was boiling: eight minutes to al dente. A decision had to be made. The Arcangeli rarely dealt with the police over the years. They shared the conviction of the community around them that it was best to avoid all contact, unless absolutely necessary. Problems were there to be solved in the old ways, by negotiation and bargaining, alliances and trysts.
    In normal times
, she whispered to herself.
    Raffaella Arcangelo turned down the pasta, then called the inspector’s mobile from the kitchen phone, speaking quietly, praying she would not be overheard.
    “
Pronto
,” said a firm, preoccupied voice on the other end of the line.
    “Inspector…”
    There was the sound of a vaporetto, the chatter of people close to the man. Police inspectors led ordinary lives too, she reminded herself. They were merely mortal.
    “Signora Arcangelo?”
    He sounded surprised. Flattered perhaps.
    “I was wondering…” she began, and found it difficult to phrase such a simple question.
    “Wondering?” he asked.
    There was the hint of amusement in his voice, which was quite warm, it seemed to her.
    “I didn’t find the keys,” he said pleasantly. “They weren’t in the furnace. That was the question, I believe?”
    “You’re a very perceptive man, Inspector. Are you sure?”
    “Absolutely. The only metal they found…”
    His voice disappeared. She wondered if the line had gone dead.
    “Yes?”
    “The only metal they found was gold,” he said flatly. “A small amount. Melted. Bella had a wedding ring?”
    “Yes,” she replied, in a quiet yet untroubled voice. These were practical matters. An Arcangelo knew how to address such things.
    “I’m sorry.” His voice sounded dejected. “These aren’t pleasant details. Perhaps you would prefer it if I discussed them with your brothers.”
    “I can speak for myself, thank you. And this
is
my business. More than yours in some ways.”
    There was a pause on the line again.
    “You didn’t find anything either then?” he asked.
    An intelligent man, Raffaella thought. One who didn’t miss much.
    “I’ve looked everywhere,” she answered. “Not a sign. To be honest with you, I never saw Bella and Uriel’s apartment looking so tidy. She was never one for housework.”
    There was the sound of voices, an attendant calling the stop.
San Zaccaria
.
    “Signora…”
    “My name is Raffaella,” she interjected with a sudden determination. “From listening to your men speaking when you’re not around, I believe yours is Leo. Do they normally call their superiors by their first name? No matter. We should. I want the truth now. You don’t believe this is as simple as it seems. Nor do I. You have professional reasons. I have personal ones. Are we going to work together? Or are you going to be some stiff and pompous policeman who does everything by the book?”
    He did laugh then. She could hear clearly over the crowd and the sound made her feel bold, more confident than ever that this was a man she could trust.
    “I’m not from around