Page 13 of An Inside Job

“Was the woman from Bar Dogale wearing a similar pendant?”

“No,” replied Gabriel. “She was wearing the exactsamependant.”

They had reached the Campo San Bartolomeo. The children paused to take their bearings, then disappeared around a corner. Chiara returned the phone and asked, “What makes you think that she was waiting for someone?”

“Professional instinct.”

“And which profession is that, Maestro Allon?”

“Forensic sketch artist, it seems.” They rounded the corner into the Salizzada Pio X. Gabriel searched the crowds for Irene and Raphael. “It appears we’ve lost our children.”

“This is Venice, darling. It’s impossible to get lost. Besides, they know the way.”

“Where are they going?”

“Venchi, I imagine.”

It was a gourmet chocolate shop and gelateria in the Rialto. “Since when do our children carry money?”

“The children of Maestro Allon don’t need money. The shopkeepers know that you’ll settle their debts.”

“Some life.”

“Yours or theirs?” Chiara held his hand as they walked past the stalls lining the Rialto Bridge. “Let’s say for argument’s sake that you’re right about the woman from Bar Dogale.”

“I am.”

“In that case, it shouldn’t be too difficult to determine who she was. Who knows? We might even be able to learn the name of the person she was planning to meet there.”

“Not to put too fine a point on it, but isn’t that the job of the authorities?”

“They were the ones who came to you for help.”

“They asked me to produce a forensic sketch, not to solve the case.”

“Who said anything about solving the case? All I’m suggesting is that we have coffee at Dogale tomorrow morning after we drop the children at school.”

They had reached the San Polo side of the bridge. Irene and Raphael were nowhere in sight.

“Speaking of the children,” said Gabriel.

“Follow me.”

They made their way through the Rialto Market to the Ruga dei Spezieri, where they found Irene and Raphael eating chocolate gelato outside the entrance of Venchi. Chiara pulled a banknote from her bag and handed it to Gabriel.

“And a chocolate gelato for me as well, Maestro Allon.”

The laughter of the children echoed along the narrow street. “And butter cookies, Maestro!” shouted Irene. “Bring us butter cookies for the walk home.”

6

Bar Dogale

Shortly after three o’clock the next morning the apartment shook with an explosive clap of thunder. Gabriel lay in bed for another hour, listening to the rain lashing against the windows overlooking the Grand Canal, until the first stirrings of a caffeine headache sent him into the kitchen in search of coffee. He carried his first cup to his studio and drank it while working on the Florigerio. Chiara poked her head through the doorway a few minutes after six.

“You’re supposed to be wearing a mask when working with those awful solvents.”

“I forgot.”