It felt as if he were bitter. Resentful. Accused of something he hadn’t done.

She halted as if the thought was a giant hand blocking her progress but Gerardo had plainly said your man …

But when had Gerardo proved himself so reliable?

Knees trembling, she hurried to her apartment on the end of the house and searched the contacts on Lucia’s phone, which was still in her custody. She shared the Gerardo Costa contact to her own phone, picked it up and, not giving herself time to chicken out, pressed call.

He answered cautiously. ‘Pronto.’ There were a lot of voices in the background. It sounded like a bar.

‘This is Zia. Can I talk to you again?’ About to suggest tomorrow, she hesitated. If he’d had a couple of beers, he’d be less guarded. ‘Are you in town? I’ll pop down.’

‘OK.’ He sounded sluggish and surprised. He told her the name of the bar, Antiche Mura, which translated to ‘Old Walls’.

Antiche Mura wasn’t in the centre of town, she found when she googled it, but was more of a neighbourhood place. She picked up her car keys and followed her sat nav to the given address in Corso Mescolini and pulled up outside a tavern of aged, uneven stone. She locked the car, and, holding onto her keys and phone, thrust her hands in her pockets. Judging by the scene of dilapidated houses and beaten-up cars the neighbourhood wasn’t a great one.

At one of the tables scattered on the broad pavement she saw Gerardo lounging amidst a group of men, beer bottle in one hand and cigarette in the other. He caught sight of her as she crossed the ill-lit dusty street and waved the bottle, which looked empty. ‘You can buy a drink inside,’ he called genially.

She wondered if he was hoping she’d buy him one while she was at it. ‘I’ve brought no money,’ she said truthfully, halting on the pavement several yards short of him. ‘I just want to talk to you.’

All his table-mates were men of a similar age and appearance to Gerardo. They turned to gaze at her but he made no introductions, just pulled himself to his feet and joined her, leaving the bottle on the table but bringing the cigarette.

Zia maintained a small smile and spoke in Italian, deliberately making herself non-threatening so she could feel her way towards the information she wanted. ‘I’m guessing Piero gave you money so that you’d make that offer to help me with the authorities today. As I’m not going to take you up on it, I’m afraid you’ll need to give it back to him.’