“An old Sicilian custom. How much?”

“Oh, it was modest enough. Twenty-five thousand dollars.”

“Did he go to the police?”

Burke shook his head. “Apparently he’s spent enough time in Sicily to know that doesn’t do much good.”

“Wise man. So he paid up?”

“That’s about the size of it. Unfortunately this Serafino took the money then told him he’d decided to hang on to her for a while. He also indicated that if there was any trouble – any sign of the law being brought in – he’d send her back in pieces.”

“A Sicilian to the backbone,” I said. “Does Hoffer have any idea where he’s hanging out?”

“The general area of a mountain called Cammarata. Do you know it?”

I laughed. “The last place God made. A wilderness of sterile valleys and jagged peaks. There are caves up there that used to hide Roman slaves two thousand years ago. Believe me, if this Serafino of yours is a mountain man the police could chase him for a year up there without even seeing him and helicopters don’t do too well in that kind of country. The heat of the day does funny things to the air temperature. Too many down-draughts.”

“As bad as that?”

“Worse than you could ever imagine. The greatest bandit of them all, Giuliano, operated in the same kind of territory and they couldn’t catch him, even when they brought in a couple of army divisions.”

He nodded slowly. “Could we do it, Stacey? You and me and the heavy brigade?”

I thought about it. About the Cammarata and the heat and the lava rock and about Serafino who might already have handed the girl on to the rest of his men. When I replied, it wasn’t because the thought made me sick or angry or anything like that. From the sound of her, the Honourable Joanna might well be having the time of her life. I don’t honestly think I was even thinking of my end of the money. It was more than that – something deeper – something personal between Burke and me which I couldn’t have explained at that moment even to myself.