Viper

82

San Giorgio a Cremano, La Baia di Napoli Freshly showered, smelling of apple and swaddled in a white towelling robe, Sylvia Tomms relaxed at her dressing table and dried her hair before going to bed. She'd always had a brutally honest streak and, as she glanced in the mirror, she had to concede she wasn't looking her best these days.

'You are a pig! Look at yourself! How did this happen?' She squinted at the lines beneath her eyes, then painfully tweezed hairs from a brow that she thought horses might have trouble jumping over.

Having chastised herself for going to seed, she determined to get as much beauty sleep as possible.

Unmade and unwashed for almost a month, her bed had never looked so good. She crawled in and curled up. Pulled the duvet tight so she created the illusion she was being held. Sleep came quickly.

It engulfed her. Wrapped itself around her like the warm musky arm of a man who'd just made love to her. She floated. Drifted far, far away. Floated back to when she was seven years old and with her father in his boat. It was her first sailing trip and she remembered almost crying when he made her wear that ugly orange life jacket. They were on Lake Starnberg. The Wetterstein Alps towered up in the background. Water, distilled from Ice Age glaciers, shone crystal blue beneath a high midday sun. A soft breeze stroked her face. Her father's hands guided hers up and down the ropes as the sail swung and the craft flew across the lake. She missed him. Missed him so much that she often dreamt that he was still alive. Just a phone call away.

And then the phone rang.

Her heart banged and her eyes blinked open.

Within two rings she answered, 'Pronto! '

It was eight a.m. The precious night's rest had already gone.

'Sylvia, it's Marianna. You'd better come by the labs as soon as you can. I have those ballistics and forensics reports you wanted – and I'm afraid they don't make easy reading.'