Jack was actually in no particular hurry to investigate Mr Geoffrey's death. He rather suspected that the kitchen knife had been driven through the man's ribcage by his wife, who he had established this morning was having an affair with the victim's brother. What surprised him was that Mrs Geoffrey had missed how very little her lover cared for her. Malcolm Geoffrey would leave his mistress before his brother was resting in the ground. A messy business, love.

No, none of this was currently the Inspector's main concern, though he headed obediently to the morgue to confirm the knowledge he already possessed with Dr Mac.

Despite himself, Phryne's suspicions echoed in his ears. Concetta involved with the Camorra? He couldn't imagine how. She had never made the impression that she cared for the Strano's 'family business' at all and decided to leave the restaurant and her father's house the minute they had gotten engaged. Now she lived in a small house with her brother Vincenzo, who was himself still reeling from the loss of his love and had as little desire to be involved in the feuds and criminal activities as his sister. Then again, leaving a connection like this behind wasn't easily accomplished and he suspected that only the fact that they were children of the Padrino saved them from the wrath of his fellow men. Things would change once they were married. She would live with her husband then, of course. The thought of having someone to come home to rendered Jack giddy with excitement, covering each and every doubt that might sneak through his mind in the dead of night.

The Inspector parked the car still deep in thought and took the stairs two steps at a time. He'd never been particularly fond of poking around in dead bodies, but today it seemed even more hassle than usual.

He found Mac at a side table, her back turned to him, staring down at something hidden from his view in full concentration. After a few moments he cleared his throat loudly. She flinched, but had caught herself before she'd turned.

"Inspector, so good of you to come."

He ignored her sarcasm, twisted his hat between his hands.

"I'm here for the results on Mr Geoffrey," he said calmly.

"Naturally." She gave him a searching smile and for the first time he wondered how much she knew of recent developments. And how deep exactly her disapproval ran.

"This should be a quick visit," Jack said, stepping towards the covered body on the table, resting his hand beside the lifeless head. "The cause of death seemed rather obvious in the knife sticking from his chest."

"I'm afraid you'd lose that wager," Mac said calmly, joining him. He looked up at her, his brows rising in astonishment. The doctor flicked back the sheet covering the body, causing him to blink at the sudden exposure of waxy skin. She pointed at a large stab wound in the chest, now sans the offending weapon.

"You may notice the acute absence of any kind of blood or bruising," she said, explaining her point.

Jack swallowed.

"So... he was stabbed after his death?"

"It appears so."

"So, what did he die of?"

Mac shrugged, while she gently pulled the sheet back up, then gestured at the hair.

"Have you noticed that our victim is follicly challenged?" she asked. Jack starred at the almost bold head.

"Naturally, but that seemed largely irrelevant at the time."

"Well, it's not."

To emphasize this, Mac pulled on a thin strand of remaining hair which came away without much resistance.

"Poison?" Jack asked.

"Thallium, I suspect. A highly toxic metal, odourless, tasteless. Can be absorbed through oral consumption, inhalation, even through the skin. It tends to lead to a painful, slow death."

Mac smiled grimly. Jack carefully retrieved his hand from the table.

"A single gram will do the trick," the doctor explained, slipping off her gloves.

"But why should Mrs Geoffrey stab her husband after she poisoned him?" Jack thought aloud.

"Maybe she wanted to make really sure he was dead?" Mac said dryly and measured him with a long side-glance that made him suspect she'd rather felt the urge to take a knife to him as well.

"Thank you," Jack mumbled, turning his hat between his fingers. It made no sense. Poison was the murder weapon of choice for people who tried to do away with their loved ones without making a scene. A kitchen knife to the chest, on the other hand, was bound to throw up some dust.

He realised that Mac was ignoring him again, having returned her attention to some jar or other. Without anybody to share his thoughts with, Jack quietly slipped his hat back on and trundled down the stairs, feeling the acute absence of Miss Fisher.

X

The elderly woman looked up from her soup pot as her son entered.

"Did you speak to her?"

He nodded. She waited while he sat down and poured himself a glass of water from the waiting carafe.

"Well, did you tell her the truth?"

"Of course not. She wouldn't help me if I did."

She mumbled something of which only the word 'codardo' was audible. Alessandro drained his glass and stood, slamming the kitchen door shut behind himself. Emma Bricelli sighed loudly and returned her attention to the Ribollita simmering away. In her experience, soup was easier to deal with than people. You just added the right ingredients and everything tasted good every single time. Whatever she had added wrong to her son's lives she wasn't entirely certain, but somewhere along the way she must have grabbed for the wrong container.