The driver wasn’t permitted to take the private channel that led directly inside the hotel, so he’d stopped at the jetty on the north of the island, where Roberto disembarked and strode up the steps. A uniformed bellboy, stationed just inside the enormous glass double doors, rushed across to help, but Roberto Gallo irritably waved him away.

Detective Gallo found himself wondering about the lives of the people who would stay here. They would be in complete contrast to his own, mostly unremarkable existence as a country policeman solving unremarkable crimes. Except this one.

He’d seen photographs in the paper of Lucia de Santis arriving earlier that week, and knew that the Hollywood actor Brad Redford was also staying at the White Palace while he worked on a new film in the city.

Still, Roberto mused, if he could resolve the case that had been plaguing him for a decade, it would bring its own rewards.

The inside of the hotel was even more impressive than the outside, with a polished marble floor and ornately carved pillars, frescoes decorating the walls and chandeliers made from handblown glass. A pianist played gentle background music on a grand piano, and the entire building had an astonishing air of calm and sophistication that Roberto had never experienced before.

He approached the long, polished-wood reception desk, where the woman greeted him with a practised smile.

‘Good afternoon, welcome to the White Palace Hotel, how may I assist you?’

She wore a name badge that read ‘Vittoria’, and she had dark hair pulled back into a neat chignon at the nape of her neck. She wore a white shirt beneath a navy waistcoat, and discreet gold jewellery at her ears and neck. Detective Gallo stared at her for a moment before ruling her out; her face was rounder, her nose wider.

‘Good afternoon,’ he smiled shortly, pulling out his ID card and pushing it across the counter. ‘My name is Detective Roberto Gallo, and I’m looking for a missing person. I wondered if you’d seen her before.’ He pulled a photograph from his inside pocket and slid it across the desk towards her, taking back his ID.

It was a passport-style photo, a head-and-shoulders shot showing a young woman of around fifteen or sixteen years old, with long dark hair and a pretty face. She had green eyes and an innocent expression.

Vittoria picked up the photograph, stared at it and frowned.

‘Yes, she does look familiar,’ she said finally. ‘But we have so many people pass through here, I couldn’t place her. I’m sure you understand.’

‘Her name is Maria Monti,’ Detective Gallo pressed. ‘Does that mean anything to you?’

Again, Vittoria paused for a moment, clearly thinking hard, then shook her head. ‘No, I’m afraid not. I could look through the guests’ records if you give me some time – perhaps come back another day when I’ve had time to check?’

Detective Gallo smiled politely but without warmth. ‘And you have no employees of that name?’

‘I don’t think so, although I can’t be certain. We might have had someone in the past. We have a lot of seasonal workers in the summer, and for Carnevale. But we do keep scrupulous records,’ she said proudly.

‘Naturally.’ Detective Gallo inclined his head. ‘Well, thank you for your help, Vittoria. Here’s my card if you do happen to remember anything. It has the details of my station and department. While I’m in the city, you can contact them; they can get a message to me if needed.’

Vittoria took it without glancing at it and put it in a drawer behind the desk. ‘I understand.’

‘Perhaps, while I’m here, I’ll stay for a coffee. Could you point me in the right direction?’

‘Of course, Detective. Our lounge is just across the lobby and to your right.’

‘Thank you for your time. You’ve been very helpful,’ Detective Gallo said, as he turned and walked away. Before he took the boat back across the lagoon, he would take a good look round the White Palace Hotel. It wasn’t that he distrusted what Vittoria had told him, but it never hurt to check everything thoroughly for himself.

The detective settled himself into a quiet corner seat in one of the lounges and ordered a black coffee from one of the waiters. He took out his notebook, and looked once more at his notes.

Of facts there were few, but they were straightforward.

Lorenzo Mancini had disappeared ten years ago, and now his body had been found. The relative isolation of the ledge, its aspect out of the sunlight and the detritus that had accumulated over the decade had meant that the body was remarkably well preserved.

The boy’s watch was still on his wrist, and caught up in the strap had been a cluster of hairs. They had been lucky to be able to identify some of the DNA, and it was tracked down via a family member to the Montis in Cannegia. This was where he had met Maria’s mother. Wizened and crippled by arthritis, she had no doubt about her daughter’s culpability.

‘The only thing I can tell you is that Maria was always going to be trouble. Her father worshipped her, but I knew she had something bad in her, il diavolo.’ The old woman glared out at him from her chair in her small, one-bedroomed apartment, handing him a photograph of a teenaged girl. She was smiling; her dark hair circled her face in long curls.

‘But she was only fifteen years old?’

The flat was filled with pictures of her other children at various moments in their lives, but her mother had no pictures of Maria on display.

‘What has that got to do with it? I was made a young widow because of her, causing her poor father so much grief!’

Inspector Gallo sighed as he looked out over the Lido. Was he just a foolish old man? Why wasn’t he out fishing on the lake back home, instead of chasing the shadows of the past?

‘A penny for them?’

He was awakened out of his reverie by a warm English accent, and turned to look at the woman who had seated herself at the next table.

‘Do forgive me, you looked quite lost in thought,’ she said to him.

The woman was attractive, and in her fifties, though her lively eyes could have been those of a curious child. Inspector Gallo thought that there wouldn’t be very much that those eyes missed.

‘È un piacere conoscervi, my name is Roberto. You are English?’

‘Oh yes, very.’ She laughed and Gallo couldn’t help smiling too. ‘I’m Olivia. Are you on holiday here, Roberto? Venice is a wonderful place, isn’t it?’

‘Oh yes, I have never been to Venice before, it’s even more impressive than I was led to believe, but I am … how shall I put it, it’s not exactly a holiday as such … maybe you’d call it a working holiday.’

Olivia rubbed her hands, ‘Oooh I do like a mystery. Now let me guess, you’re having a madly passionate affair … No, you look too honest for that. I know, you’re a secret agent from Interpol looking for public enemy number one. He’s in disguise and you have to work out which guest he is?’

Gallo hesitated, thinking that this English lady was closer than she thought.

Olivia clapped her hands, ‘Oh, I am right, how marvellous!’ Her voice dropped to a stage whisper. ‘I mustn’t give the game away!’

Gallo smiled reassuringly, ‘Don’t worry, I’m not from Interpol, but I am trying to get to the bottom of an old case.’

‘You’re a detective?’

‘Inspector Roberto Gallo at your service.’

Olivia was thrilled with this, and her eyes sparkled with delight. ‘I knew there was something special about you, Roberto.’

Gallo didn’t normally fraternize with the public, but there was something about Olivia that was making him reveal more than he would normally. She was rather charismatic.

‘And what about you? You are here for pleasure?’

She told him all about her upcoming wedding. ‘I truly believe that this is the most perfect place in the world to get married.’

‘You have been married before?’

Olivia told him about the loss of her first husband and meeting Max for the first time in the White Palace.

Her eyes took on a faraway look. ‘Losing Simon was the worst thing that ever happened to me. And I never thought I’d get over it, but Max – and Gina – made sure that my convalescence in Venice could also heal my soul. They showed me that learning to live again was possible.’