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fourth oldest bank in Italy, one of only a handful of surviving privatebanks. Originally a self-help organisation, lending money in ways compatible with religious principles, it now manages over thirty billion euros on behalf of a range of private clients and institutions.
    In 1904 a minority stake in the bank was acquired by l’Istituto per le Opere di Religione, formalising an alliance dating back over two centuries.
    â€œThe IOR,” she said aloud. “The Vatican Bank. Our man had some serious connections.”
    Clicking on “Meet the team” brought up photographs of the senior partners. Under each one was their name and a short description of their specialisms. Cassandre’s was listed as “Wealth management and tax planning”.
    She looked across at the corpse, comparing his face with the photograph on the screen. “What do you think?” she asked Bagnasco.
    The second lieutenant had barely spoken a word since they’d been in the morgue – trying to make sure there was no repeat of that morning’s mishap, Kat suspected. “I’m not certain,” she said hesitantly. “He looks different, somehow. Younger.”
    â€œThat’s because he’s dead. And he was lying in seawater. The skin starts to tighten within a few hours. Like a facelift, only more temporary. It’s definitely him, although we’ll need a formal identification from his wife.”
    â€œSo we go and speak to her now?”
    Kat looked at the dead man again. Now that he was cleaned up and lying on his back, the likely cause of death was clear – not the gaping wound in the throat, but a small, neat puncture beside the left nipple. The blade had been perfectlypositioned above the heart. But then, she reflected, Cassandre would have been kneeling, bare-chested, blindfolded by those peculiar goggles. The killer would have been able to take his time, getting the spot exactly right.
    Even so, there were no hesitation wounds; no second blow just to make sure, or to vent a killer’s anger. This was a cold, precise death, inflicted by an expert.
    So: a professional killer. A dead Freemason who was not a member of the official local lodge, left on display at Venice’s most crowded beach. And now a Catholic bank . . . Already this case had all the hallmarks of one of those crimes that were never solved, the ones people talked about for years with shrugs and knowing looks; just one more instance of the spider’s web of corruption and influence that still, after so many scandals and clean-ups, plagued her country.
    And for some reason, she – the least experienced investigator in the Carabinieri – had been assigned to it, along with this joke of an assistant. For the first time she wondered if that could have been deliberate.
    â€œNo,” she said. “We go to the prosecutor and apply for a warrant.”

SIX
    HOLLY SPENT THE rest of the day on the internet, reminding herself about the strange episode in Italy’s history codenamed Operation Gladio. Although she’d only been a child when it had first come to the public’s attention, the main facts of the story were already familiar to her.
    In 1990, pre-empting the efforts of a determined prosecutor, the Italian prime minister, Giulio Andreotti, had made a statement to parliament revealing the existence of a secret army of Italian civilians, recruited, trained and equipped by NATO, which had been intended to act as a paramilitary resistance in the event of a communist invasion; or, for that matter, a communist victory at the ballot box. It seemed extraordinary now, but she knew that in the paranoia of the Cold War, when the Italian communist party routinely polled more than thirty-five per cent of the vote, such a scenario had been considered quite possible.
    The outrage that greeted Andreotti’s revelation had been compounded when it subsequently emerged that some of the “gladiators”