Free The Lizard's Bite by David Hewson

smells of smoke around here at the moment.”
    She wasn’t put out by his actions. Or offended either.
    “It does,” she agreed. “Were you… looking for something, Inspector?”
    He smiled, an expression Nic Costa rarely saw, one that, at that moment, seemed remarkably genuine. “Just a bad habit, I’m afraid. Who else would have keys to this building? I’m sorry. I imagine you’ve been asked all this before.”
    “No,” she replied, thinking. “I haven’t been asked that question at all. Only the family keep keys. Myself. Michele, Gabriele. And Uriel and Bella, of course.”
    “Hugo Massiter?” Costa asked.
    A brief cloud of distaste crossed her face. “Why should he have keys?”
    “I thought he was working on the hall next door.”
    “His men are working on the hall. Massiter visits from time to time. The men are allowed in only during the day. Michele opens the gates for them. There’s no need for anything else. Not yet anyway. Signor Massiter…” There was an unmistakable note of bitterness in her voice. “… has not acquired us. Not yet.”
    Falcone considered this. “You and your brothers. You’re not married.”
    “Michele is divorced. Gabriele and I never married.”
    “And no one else lives on the island?”
    She gave him a cautious look. “It’s been a while since we could afford servants, Inspector. I thought they might have told you that too.”
    “We’re not local. But I’m sure you noticed. And this night watchman? He had no keys?”
    “Piero? No. There was no need. He just brings material to the lower warehouse by boat. We don’t even bother to lock that. There’s nothing of great value and it doesn’t allow access to any other part of the buildings.”
    “And,” Falcone persisted, “Uriel and Bella? They would have a set each?”
    “Yes,” she answered. A small note of testiness started to appear in her voice. “Bella worked in here a little too. Is all this important?”
    “Probably not,” he replied, shaking his head, smiling. “You must understand. These days we’re tied in regulations, from head to toe. In cases like this we have to account for every last piece of evidence, however unimportant. It’s just paperwork really. Oh…”
    He withdrew the evidence pouch from his pocket and held the transparent bag in front of her. “I do need you to identify this set for me, please. Yours has a green sash on it, I see. This has a crimson one, mostly burned by the heat but recognisable nonetheless. These were Uriel’s?”
    She gazed miserably at the object in the bag. “That’s correct,” she replied.
    “And Bella’s? They had a sash too?”
    “Yellow.” She was thinking. “And before you ask, Michele’s is black and Gabriele’s blue. We’re an organised family. Michele likes to know who to blame if there’s carelessness about.”
    “It would be useful for the records if we knew where Bella’s keys are,” Falcone said, as if it were a matter of small importance.
    Raffaella’s eyes wandered towards the furnace. “Surely… She was found there. Wouldn’t that be the place to look?”
    Falcone nodded. “Probably. I gather there’s an abundance of material back at the Questura. This is an awkward time, signora. I really believe the police should intrude on a family’s grief as little as possible. You’ve been pestered enough already. We may not know why this tragedy occurred but it seems clear it is… self-contained, shall I say?”
    Raffaella Arcangelo’s strong, handsome face became stern and determined. “It’s inexplicable, Inspector. Uriel was my brother. He had a temper from time to time. All the Arcangelo men have. But to kill someone. His wife… No. I don’t believe it. All I can think of is that there was a terrible accident of some kind.”
    Falcone’s eyes sparkled. “Possibly. And Bella? What was she like? Had they been married long? Were they a… loving couple?”
    Raffaella grimaced. “They’d been married for twelve years