‘How can you tell?’

‘It has that feel about it, the work of professionals. They appeared out of nowhere, executed him, and disappeared.’

‘So what does that tell you about them?’

‘That they’re familiar with the city.’

She gave him a questioning glance, and he elaborated, ‘To know which way to leave. Also to know where he was.’

‘Does that mean Venetian?’

Brunetti shook his head. ‘I’ve never heard of a Venetian who works as a killer.’

Paola considered this and then said, ‘It wouldn’t take all that long to learn at least that much about the city. Some of the Africans are pretty much always there, in Santo Stefano, so all they’d have to do is walk around for a day or so to find them. Or ask someone.’ She closed her eyes and considered the geography of the area and finally said, ‘Afterwards, getting away would be easy. All they’d have to do is go back towards Rialto, or up towards San Marco, or over the Accademia.’

When she stopped, Brunetti continued, ‘Or they could go into San Vidal and then cut back towards San Samuele.’

‘How many places could they get a vaporetto?’ she asked.

‘Three. Four. And then they could have gone either way.’

‘What would you do?’ she asked.

‘I don’t know. But if I wanted to leave the city, I’d probably go up towards San Marco and cut in towards the Fenice and then to Rialto.’

‘Did anyone see them?’

‘An American tourist. She saw one of them, said he was a man about my age and size, wearing an overcoat, a scarf, and a hat.’

‘Half the city,’ Paola said. ‘Anything else?’

‘That there were other people from her group there and they might have seen something. I’m going to talk to them tomorrow morning.’

‘How early?’

‘Early. I have to leave here before eight.’

She leaned forward and poured him another small glass of grappa. ‘American tourists at eight in the morning. Here, take this: it’s the least you deserve.’