‘Not at all. We were just passing.’ Weiss turned to the woman and she nodded at him. ‘But you might say this is a fortuitous meeting. You see, things have happened, Rebecca. Events, you might say. I think it would be a good idea if we had a little chat.’

‘About what?’

‘What you’ve been up to.’ Weiss cocked his head towards Itchy. ‘What you’ve both been up to.’

‘Riddles don’t do it for me, Mr Weiss.’ Silva bent to her coffee. Tried to catch Itchy’s attention. ‘Perhaps you could be more specific?’

‘The Italian Job. You know the movie? Turns out real life is similar. The crooks almost get away with the crime, but not quite.’

‘No idea what you’re on about, mate.’ Itchy coughed out the denial. ‘We’ve been on holiday in Wales.’

‘Wales?’ Weiss looked incredulous. ‘What sort of holiday destination is that?’

‘Snowdonia.’ Itchy was continuing with the alibi they’d come up with but the words were coming out as if he was reading from a script. ‘Camping.’

‘Camping?’ Weiss raised an eyebrow. ‘What, you mean tea in plastic mugs, corned beef hash and ten quid a night for one dodgy shower and a stinking toilet block?’

‘No, not on a site. Up high. Wild camping.’ Itchy was warming to the task but Silva wanted him to stop. ‘We did the Carnedds and Tryfan and—’

‘You and Ms da Silva cosying up together in little tent?’ Weiss smiled. ‘Only I thought you were married, Richard. Playing away, were you?’

‘We were practising,’ Silva said, taking over. ‘For a race.’

‘I see.’ Weiss bit his lip as if weighing the truth was a challenge. Finally he nodded. ‘So you wouldn’t happen to know anything about the Amalfi sanction?’

‘The what?’

‘There was a shooting in Italy yesterday. The wife of a businessman who was attending a party in the town of Positano.’

‘I’m sorry to hear that.’

‘I’m sure you are. The businessman was a high-ranking Saudi national. As you can imagine, the Saudis are not best pleased. The diplomatic fuss is considerable.’

Silva shrugged.

Weiss raised his right hand and used his forefinger to scratch the corner of his eye. ‘One interesting fact to emerge is that the bullet used was a .338 lapua magnum. I’m sure you’re familiar with that type of ammunition since it is precisely the calibre you would have fired hundreds of times yourself.’

Once more Silva kept silent. Itchy shifted his position, nervous. He tapped his fingers on the table.

‘The sniper must have been a crack shock because he… or she… was out on a boat off the coast. Hitting the target at that range while on a moving platform was quite an achievement.’ Weiss looked pointedly at Itchy’s fingers as the nails drummed out a rhythm. ‘The Italian authorities believe the attack was some sort of internal dispute among Saudi factions.’

‘There you go, then. Case closed.’