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police apartments, in a narrow street of cottages hung with washing and painted in bright, peeling shades of blue and ochre. There’d been scant time to change and explain to them the household arrangements. Randazzo was outside, glancing constantly at his watch, waiting to hurry back to the waterfront.
    “We have two weeks’ leave booked,” Peroni grumbled. “Signed for. On the line. As of tonight.”
    “You’re still on duty now, aren’t you?” Randazzo snapped back.
    Costa reflected on the fact that he’d heard the commissario utter more words that morning than at any time in the past nine months. Nothing the stiff, sour-faced man had said so far, though, explained why Falcone had been recalled from Verona, and why they’d been dragged from normal street duties and pulled out of uniform, all for the apparent benefit of this odd foreigner, who was now staring at Randazzo with a look that spoke of disapproval and a kind of ownership.
    “That’s no way to talk if we’re to get these chaps on our side,” Massiter complained to the commissario. “Look. I’m sorry about this. If there were an alternative, we’d be taking it. Also, I owe you all something by way of compensation. It’s best we get to know one another a little. Tomorrow night. There’s a reception at what I trust will one day be my gallery. Meet and greet. Keep some potential backers sweet. You get the idea. The place is still undergoing restoration, but in Venice what isn’t? You will come, I hope, all three of you. With your dates.”
    Peroni and Falcone looked at each other, said nothing, then looked at Costa. He sighed. He got the message.
    “I’ve seats for La Fenice,” he replied. “But thanks anyway.”
    Massiter’s eyebrows rose. “You have the tickets with you?”
    Costa pulled the envelope from La Fenice out of his jacket pocket. They were the most expensive tickets he’d ever bought.
    “Hmmm.” Massiter frowned at the pair of
biglietti
, topped by the house’s phoenix crest. “I can’t say I know that part of the house. But I suspect you’d need binoculars. That is if there isn’t a pillar in the way. I’ve a company box. One of the best there is. Eight people. Bring along some friends. Any time you like.”
    Peroni coughed hard into his fist and gave Costa a terrified glance.
    “Just let me know the dates.”
    “I’m not sure…” Costa objected.
    “This week’s sold out entirely, you know,” Massiter continued, scarcely listening. “I’ve a contact who can get you twice what you paid for these. Here…”
    He reached into the pocket of his slacks, took out a fold of money set inside a silver clip, withdrew a couple of two-hundred-euro notes, reached over and let them fall in Costa’s lap, then took the tickets for himself.
    “I don’t mind running the risk. If they fetch more, I’ll pass it on.”
    Costa said nothing, waiting for one of the two men next to him to intervene.
    “Good,” Massiter went on. “Tomorrow it is. Seven p.m. Nothing fancy. Just some decent food and drink. A little music. It’ll be pleasant to have some real human beings there instead of the usual hangers-on. And—”
    Leo Falcone leaned forward and stared into Massiter’s face. The Englishman looked affronted. He wasn’t accustomed to being interrupted.
    “Why are we here?” Falcone demanded. “Why are we in some fancy private boat, going God knows where? And who the hell are you anyway?”
    Randazzo glowered at the three men opposite him. “Falcone…” the commissario warned. “You’re not in Rome now. I want some respect here.”
    “They’re reasonable questions,” the Englishman objected. “I’d be surprised if he didn’t want to know. Disappointed, frankly. We don’t want idiots for this job, now, do we?”
    Peroni issued a low grunt of disapproval, then demanded, “So what
do
you want?”
    Massiter leaned back on the old brown leather, let his arm wander over to the tiny fridge built into the cabinet at