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tongue torn out, for example – that hasn’t been part of the official oath for decades.”
    â€œSo having that done to him might suggest that our victim was indeed a member of a black lodge?”
    â€œI suppose it might, yes,” he said reluctantly.
    â€œAnd how would I set about finding such a lodge, if there is one here in Venice?”
    Dr Hapadi shook his head. “I don’t know anyone who would have dealings with something like that.”
    Just for a moment, she thought she saw a flash of fear inhis eyes. “But you might have heard gossip?” she pressed him. “Rumours? Anything would be useful at this stage.”
    He seemed to come to a decision. “I don’t know whether it’s relevant. But there’s a man, a wealthy man, who collects Masonic memorabilia. I’ve heard he can be quite . . . pushy.”
    It seemed to Kat a fairly small transgression, but since she suspected Hapadi might have other reasons for mentioning this individual, ones he’d rather not divulge, she said only, “And his name?”
    â€œTignelli. Count Tignelli.”
    Kat raised her eyebrows. “The one who bought La Grazia?”
    Count Tignelli was a well-known figure in the Veneto. As the title suggested, his family were old money, the makers of a well-respected brand of prosecco . More recently, under his leadership, the once-staid family firm had through a series of daring expansions succeeded in turning itself from a mere wine label into a fashion brand to rival the likes of Armani or Benetton. These days you could buy Tignelli luggage, Tignelli sunglasses or Tignelli cologne; she herself owned a cashmere Tignelli scarf that she brought out every winter. The man behind all this, meanwhile, had gradually moved from the business sections of the newspapers to the front pages, his opinions sought on everything from the latest corruption scandal to the failings of the politicians in Rome – not least because those opinions, and his vociferous calls for reform, were rarely watered down for publication. Not long ago he’d bought the lagoon island of Santa Maria della Grazia from the cash-strapped city council; the sell-off of several islands being, it was rumoured, part of the deal struck over the endless government bailouts for the MOSE project.
    â€œThank you,” she said, mentally tucking the name away for future reference. There would be little point in going tospeak to Tignelli at this point. Interviewing someone with that kind of influence was hard enough even when you had some evidence. “And if I wanted to know more about Freemasonry in general? Who could I ask?”
    â€œI’ll give you the name of our archivist,” Hapadi said reluctantly.
    â€œCaptain?” It was Spatz, calling from the morgue.
    They went through to the larger room. On Spatz’s computer screen were half a dozen images from local newspapers. All showed the same middle-aged man in a variety of expensive-looking suits. She leant forward to read the captions: “Signor Alessandro Cassandre at the inauguration of the new Mestre arts centre . . .” “Alessandro Cassandre, Senior Partner of private bank BCdV, alongside donors to the Save Venice fund . . .” “Alessandro Cassandre hands a cheque for one million euros to the children’s home . . .” “Alessandro Cassandre and his wife were among the honoured guests at the gala evening, which was sponsored by BCdV . . .”
    â€œAlessandro Cassandre.” She glanced at Hapadi. “Still sure you don’t know him?”
    He shook his head. She pulled out the official list of Masons he’d given her and checked. No Cassandre there either.
    She typed “BCdV private bank” into Google and clicked on the first result.
    Welcome to Banca Cattolica della Veneziana.
    Who we are. What we do. Meet the team.
    She clicked on “Who we are.”
    Banca Cattolica della Veneziana is the