The Lizard's Bite by David Hewson

turned. Why do you think I packed
him
off to Verona?”
    Falcone smiled, which further infuriated the commissario.
    “That seems a little harsh, sir,” the inspector commented cheerfully. “By our standards we’ve been exceptionally well behaved.”
    “By your standards.” Randazzo let loose the ghost of a smile then. “Which is why I’ll release you the moment you finish this inquiry. That could give you an extra three weeks’ paid vacation if you add it up. You can go back to Rome where you belong. You can do what the hell you like. Provided…”
    He reached down to the walnut cigarette box that sat on the table between them. Randazzo knew this boat, Costa thought. He was familiar with the Englishman, who had sat in silence throughout this entire interlude, an amused expression on his striking features.
    “… you deliver what I want. A report, a
thorough
report. From a team that’s experienced in murder. A report that says what we know to be true. That Uriel Arcangelo murdered his wife and then died, possibly by his own hand. You’ve got a week. That’s plenty of time. Don’t rush it either. I don’t want anyone saying this was slipshod. I don’t expect you to be working your balls off. You two might even get some extra time with your girlfriends.”
    Peroni punched his partner lightly on the shoulder. “See! So that’s why it’s us. Get it? We’ve credibility.”
    “We get it,” Falcone grumbled. He looked at Hugo Massiter. “And you?”
    The Englishman opened his arms in a gesture of innocence. They were at the quay now. For all the damage and mess left by the firemen, it was an impressive sight. From the first floor of the house, which was more in keeping with the Grand Canal than the backwater of Murano, the feature Costa had noticed earlier was revealing itself to be something like the stern of a medieval galley, a great glass eye curving out over the lagoon.
    “What the hell is this place?” Peroni asked, amazed.
    “Fairyland gone wrong, I fear,” Massiter said quietly. “This is all a great tragedy, gentlemen. But do understand. I’m simply the concerned benefactor in these proceedings, as Commissario Randazzo will readily confirm. Without me, the island is lost. And if the island is lost, so are several million euros of city money that could have been better spent.”
    “Meaning… ?” Falcone insisted.
    Massiter sighed and glanced at the blackened warehouse. “The Isola degli Arcangeli is bankrupt, Inspector. It’s been bankrupt for some time and only two things have been keeping it afloat. Some considerable, and in my view unwise,
investment
, shall we say, on the part of the city and the regional authorities. They need the tourists, you see. In theory anyway, this is a prime leisure location. Plus there has been some weekly generosity from me in renting the palazzo, that glass exhibition hall. If all this works out, I plan to turn it into a gallery. If I can finally fix the thing. It was designed by a lunatic, but you can probably see that for yourselves.”
    Costa thought about the man, with his old-fashioned film-star looks, his fancy boat and something lurking in his past too. Costa was sure of that. On the way from the station to Castello, Massiter had pointed out his “home,” partly to impress Emily, Costa thought. It was a large, palatial motor yacht moored conspicuously on the waterfront near the Arsenale.
    “Why is the city involved?” he asked now. “You look like someone who can afford it.”
    “Appearances can be deceptive,” Massiter replied. “Wealth and debt go hand in hand. None of this is without self-interest, naturally. Six months ago, certain people in the city and the regional authority approached me to help. There’d been potential buyers before, but none of them met the Arcangeli’s approval. There is a limit to how much good public money can be thrown after bad. The Arcangeli aren’t the easiest of people to deal with, but eventually I managed