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as being unusual. There were more in an envelope, while another bag contained high-denomination chips from the Casino di Venezia. She put the memory sticks into an evidence bag but left the chips where she’d found them.
    The next drawer contained two boxes of business cards. One gave the address of the bank and Cassandre’s title of Senior Partner. The other set, which appeared to be newly printed, bore the words:
    Alessandro Cassandre
    3°
    Grand Lodge of the Venetian Order De la Fidelité
    Underneath was a symbol she vaguely recognised, a cross inside a circle, like a sniper’s sights.

    They looked like some kind of Masonic calling card: the first actual evidence she’d had that he really was a Mason. She slipped a few into the evidence bag as well.
    â€œMay I ask what you’re looking for?”
    She looked up. The security guard who’d unlocked Cassandre’s door had gone off to locate a higher authority; the man hurrying towards her now, buttoning up his expensive suit as he did so, was presumably the result. Without stopping what she was doing, she said calmly, “Carrying out a search to locate and remove Signor Cassandre’s computer equipment.”
    â€œI’m Hugo Speicher, the bank’s chairman. Do you need any help?”
    Surprisingly, he didn’t get angry or bluster at her, as many people might have done on finding a senior partner’s office being searched by the Carabinieri. But then, she reflected, the bank’s chairman was presumably no fool. He’d know there was little point in arguing with a warrant. Better to give the appearance of cooperation and hope to find out what she was after that way.
    â€œWhen did you last see Signor Cassandre?” she asked, opening the next drawer and methodically going through its contents.
    â€œThree nights ago, just before our last board meeting. Why? Is he in trouble?”
    â€œA body answering his description was found this morning at the Lido,” she said, looking up to catch Speicher’s reaction.
    â€œMy God.” His shock certainly seemed genuine. “And you think his death was connected to the bank?”
    â€œIt’s too early to say. But tell me, what exactly was the nature of Signor Cassandre’s work here?”
    â€œWell, he was . . .” Speicher frowned. “It’s quite hard to explain to a layman, actually. Essentially, he dealt with sophisticated financial instruments for off-setting risk. Along with tax planning for high-net-worth individuals, charitable institutions and so on. But he was on the brink of retirement. Most of his day-to-day work had long since been taken over by younger staff.”
    â€œHow old was he?” Kat asked, surprised. The man on the mortuary table hadn’t looked much over fifty.
    â€œFifty-four, I believe. But he had other interests besides banking.” Was it her imagination, or did she detect the faintest hint of distaste in the chairman’s tone?
    â€œYour receptionist seemed to know his daily routine quite well,” she pointed out.
    â€œShe’s got a very good memory,” Speicher said blandly. “I wouldn’t read too much into that, if I were you.”
    She recalled the name Dr Hapadi had given her as a possible member of the black Masonic lodge, and decided to do some fishing. “Did Signor Cassandre still deal with Count Tignelli’s accounts?”
    Speicher hesitated. “Unless your warrant specifically covers it, we can’t confirm any details of Signor Cassandre’s clients.”
    She noted that he hadn’t denied it. “I quite understand.”
    Back at Campo San Zaccaria, she took the bagged laptop and the memory sticks to Giuseppe Malli, the Carabinieri ITtechnician. Long ago, when the Carabinieri headquarters was a convent, this attic had been the novices’ dormitory. There was even a faded fresco depicting the Annunciation along one wall. Now the room was a