Cold morning fog still hung over the riverbanks when the detective climbed down the steep hill leading down to the Yarra. A dark uniform stood with his back to them, speaking to an animatedly gesturing woman.

A little way off, a white sheet covered the human shaped pile on the ground. Jack crouched down beside the body and uncovered the face. Phryne stared with a sinking feeling at the features. Despite the blue lips, the resemblance was uncanny.

"Alessandro's brother," she said quietly.

"I guess our friends picked a different target last night," Jack said, peeling the sheet further back and revealing two bullet wounds in the chest.

"They may have seen Alessandro leave my house," Miss Fisher said quietly.

"And executed the supposed traitor?" the Inspector asked.

"It is a theory," she said, straightening her back and shaking off the dark thoughts. "Let's see what else we know." With that she turned on her heels and stalked towards Hugh Collins who had just taken his leave from a shaken looking woman in a very plain dress.

"Good morning, Hugh," Miss Fisher beamed.

"Good morning, Miss Fisher."

The young Constable looked a little confused. Even on him her absence hadn't been entirely lost.

"What can you tell us about the victim?" Phryne asked. Hugh's eyes flickered briefly to the Inspector, who nodded. He pulled out his notebook.

"The dead man is one Marco Bricelli, 38 years old. His wallet, bare, but for his paperwork, was lying beside him when Mrs Fronner over there found him at about four thirty this morning."

"An odd time for a walk?" Jack enquired.

"She works in a bakery, sir, she begins her day early."

"I see."

Phryne felt little entertained by the turn of the conversation. If they were right and the Camorra had targeted Bricelli, a baker's wife would hardly be any help to their investigation. The flood of words washed over her without penetrating her ears, while she wandered back over to the body. She wasn't looking forward to breaking the news to Alessandro. The brothers must have been only a few years apart, Marco being the younger of the two. His hair was a little lighter, a thick scar on his neck speaking of a dangerous life. She traced it with her fingertips without touching the cold skin. What crimes may he have committed in his still young life? Had he been involved in any of the hideous things Jack had seen? It was odd that she should be crouching in the grass, feeling sorry for a criminal whose fate had finally caught up to – in the form of a handgun from very close distance, if she was any judge. Suddenly, her eyes focused on something else, half crushed in the grass.

Her gloved fingers peeled it free only moments later, held it to her nose to sniff.

"Inspector!" she called, rising to her feet. Jack was instantly by her side, accepting the small cigarillo bud from her hands. Then looked up at her with a single question in his eyes.

"It's the same tobacco," Phryne confirmed his suspicion. "He may be our man after all."

X

The temptation had been great to storm into Strano's restaurant and confront him, but the Inspector resisted. He would try and solve this case with a cool head. Which meant his first way had to lead him to the next of kin to inform him of Marco Bricelli's fate. Again, here his cool temper was challenged, because, of course, the next of kin was no other than Phryne's latest lover. The thought alone tasted like bile in his mouth, though his reasonable mind called him out on his hypocrisy even louder than Phryne's expression had last night. He had no more right to keep her from bedding Bricelli, than she had to stop his wedding. The thought was odd. It had first appeared when he'd spoken with Concetta about the guest list. They had come to the joined conclusion that there was no sober reason why Miss Fisher shouldn't be on it, politeness alone demanded it, with their friendship only adding weight. Concetta concurred. And yet, the moment the decision had fallen, visions had begun to haunt him. Miss Fisher racing down the aisle, her expensive gown fluttering in the wind, demanding the wedding be halted. Miss Fisher bursting through the door with her pistol raised, searching for a killer. Miss Fisher jumping up, objecting on grounds of his own divorce not being finalised. It was never the same picture twice, but he didn't need to study Freud to understand that he feared Miss Fisher's disapproval – and hoped for it just the same.

"Shall we?" a soft voice asked. She sounded amused. He must have been staring blindly out the windshield at the Bricelli's house for God knew how long. The Inspector cleared his throat.

"Not my favourite pastime," he said, for good measure. He had no hope that she didn't see right through him.

"I'd find it rather odd if it was," she said, climbing from the police car. He realised that she was still wearing the crumpled clothes from last night. He didn't often get to witness Miss Fisher in any less than an immaculate state and it was always oddly touching. Realising that he had drifted off yet again, he hurried to follow her. By the time he arrived at the door to the whitewashed cottage, she had already knocked. The house was neither rich nor poor, though well maintained. A neat row of flowers had been planted into the garden bed along the fence just recently. Jack looked somewhat sadly at the symbol of an idyllic little life. Things in this house would never be the same.

An elderly woman opened, dressed entirely in black, her white hair half-hidden underneath a scarf. Jack was momentarily taken aback. She couldn't know already, could she?

"Oh," she said. "Visitors? I was just on my way to the market.

As if to prove it, she waved the basket dangling off her arm.

"Buongiorno, Signora Bicelli," Phryne said. The older lady frowned, obviously little impressed with Miss Fisher's lingual talents. When she spoke, the Inspector realised that she herself had little accent left.

"Do I know you, my child?" she asked carefully.

Jack felt it was about time he made use of his badge.

"Mrs Bicelli?" he asked. "I'm Inspector Robinson from the City South Police. This is Miss Fisher. May we come in?"

If he had hoped to make things clearer for the woman, he was mistaken.

"You're Miss Fisher?" she asked. "So this is about Alessandro?" she asked. Phryne looked at her stunned before opening her mouth, but Jack was faster.

"What makes you say that?" he asked.

"Well, he's up and left in the middle of the night, the silly boy. Did not even leave a note."

The detectives exchanged a single look. It was enough to know that they were both considering the worst possibility.