The Lizard's Bite by David Hewson Page A

here,” he answered. “I don’t know what passes for a book in Venice.”
    “Leave that to me. I must make it clear, Leo. No one must know about this. Not my brothers. Not your officers either. This city has a very poor record of keeping secrets. I want to make an exception.”
    “Of course. So what do you want me to do?”
    She hesitated. “Tell me what you think.”
    “I have to have some limits,” he warned. There was caution in his voice.
    “I understand that.”
    “When?” he wondered.
    “Not with my brothers tomorrow, Leo. We’ll act as if this conversation has never taken place.”
    A small rush of excitement and pleasure ran through her veins. Raffaella Arcangelo was aware she was blushing, and the thought made her feel deeply guilty.
    “After that…” she continued.
    “Massiter has this party in your exhibition hall tomorrow.”
    “He does?”
    Another detail kept from her. Michele must surely have known.
    “I thought you would have been invited.”
    “We’re not the sociable kind. Not normally. A party?” It was inconceivable. Should she wear black? Or what? “That wouldn’t be right, Leo. Not in the circumstances.”
    “Right or not,” he said, “I think you should go. I
want
you to go. This is important. Besides…”
    His voice was firm. But not like Michele’s. There was no coercion, no threat in it. Leo Falcone had a reason to ask this, she believed.
    She waited before answering, trying to imagine what he was doing now, on that busy portion of waterfront close to La Pietà, where the fast boat to Murano departed every hour.
    “There’s something I must ask,” Falcone added, rapidly changing the direction of the conversation. “Did Bella or anyone else in the family own a mobile phone?”
    “No,” she answered. “Why do you ask?”
    “No reason.”
    A policeman never asked questions without some point.
    “I don’t believe you, Leo. We’ve never needed a mobile phone. None of us.
Why
?”
    “I’m fishing in the dark, I’m afraid,” the voice on the line confessed, and sounded a little weary. “Do you have any suggestions?”
    “No.” It was a family matter, she thought. Not something to be shared with strangers.
    The inspector would keep pressing, though. In the end…
    “There is one thing you ought to know, Leo,” she said. “You’d doubtless find out in any case. The police never forget anything.”
    “If only…”
    She could sense his anticipation.
    “There was trouble. Many, many years ago. With Bella and her brother. I’m not saying any more. I’d never have told you this if I didn’t think it would come out anyway. I believe you’ll find the Questura knows Aldo Bracci. I’m pleased to say I don’t, not well anyway.”
    “I’ll make some inquiries.”
    “Do that. Is there anything else I can tell you?”
    “You can tell me what you know about Hugo Massiter.”
    The question surprised her. “You mean you haven’t heard of him?” she asked.
    “Not till today. Now I know that he’s very rich. Very influential. And that, for a few years anyway, he was very much persona non grata in Italy.”
    “It was in all the papers, Leo!” she objected. “Surely you must remember. There was a terrible scandal. A piece of music — a wonderful piece of music by the way, I’ve heard it — was peddled as something it wasn’t. First Massiter was responsible. Then he wasn’t. Some Englishman and his girlfriend hoodwinked him, apparently.”
    “So I understand,” said the implacable voice on the line. “And people died.”
    She’d forgotten that part somehow. It was the music that stayed in her head. The small professional orchestras playing for the tourists now made it a centerpiece of their repertoire, one that was almost as popular as the Seasons. Just as memorable, and fresher somehow.
    “People died. It was nothing to do with Hugo Massiter. The papers all said that in the end. Why would he have returned to Venice otherwise? You’re a police