Death in a Serene City (32 page)

Grossi came to a stop by a cluster of spiky bushes against a slight rise in the ground. He stood there waiting for Gemelli and Urbino to catch up with him. Gemelli got there first and stood looking down at the ground. When Urbino got to the spot a few moments later he saw what Gemelli was looking at.

Initially his eyes registered only the same scramble of bones that were Sant'Ariano's distinctive blanket, the only difference being that these bones were piled a little higher than the others.

But gradually he perceived there was something beneath the bones that they didn't quite conceal. It wasn't the true earth of Sant'Ariano but a mass of what looked like tattered clothing.

Grossi, without any direction from Gemelli, bent over and started to handle the bones, picking them up and tossing them aside as if they were so many rocks and stones at a construction site. Urbino wondered at the years—probably several decades of service on Sant'Ariano before it stopped being the bone depository—that could be read in the dispassion with which Grossi did his work.

Urbino watched the mass beneath the bones being exposed as small lizards darted away for cover. Finally Grossi's labors subsided.

On the ground against the hummock was a form about five feet long wrapped in a piece of cloth that was faded, threadbare, and rotted at many spots. It was obviously a body in an unconventional shroud.

Gemelli looked from the form to Urbino.

“What are we supposed to do now?”

It was a question that came more from annoyance than confusion.

“We take it back. It should be examined for arsenic poisoning.”

“After thirty years?”

Urbino quickly explained how large quantities of arsenic had been discovered in Napoleon's body twenty years after it was buried on St. Helena and brought to Les Invalides.

“But what's the point of looking for arsenic? It's on record that Beatrice Galuppi died of arsenic poisoning, self-administered.”

“But what if this body shows no traces of arsenic?”

“Then well have to assume that Signor Grossi made a mistake. It's quite likely after all these years.”

“He could have but I don't think so. But there's no point in arguing something we can't prove now one way or the other. Why don't we take a closer look?”

“And what will that prove?”

“Possibly nothing but I think we should, don't you?” He turned to Grossi. “Would you remove some of the material from around that end?” He gestured to what he assumed must be the head.

The gravedigger looked at Gemelli, who nodded; then Grossi bent down and unwrapped the cloth as best he could. Some of it came apart in his hands. He stood up.

They stared down at what looked like a heavily tanned face with a lot of black hair but no teeth. Beneath the head was once-white material, torn, soiled, rotting, but bearing a striking similarity to the yellowed gown covering the body in the Church of San Gabriele. Although they didn't remove the shroud from the bottom of the figure, Urbino was sure the feet were shod in little scarlet slippers. But the telling details as far as he was concerned were the prominent nose and receding chin that had so recently haunted his dreams.

Before Gemelli said anything, Urbino started talking. He had to convince the Commissario to take the body back to Venice.

He pointed out that technically speaking the body had been illegally removed to Sant'Ariano, since the boat of bones that used to plow between San Michele and the island had not been in operation at the time. And there was no point in worrying about next of kin since both Maria and Carlo were dead and had left no relatives. Besides, by the nature of Sant'Ariano, the bones and remains of the dead were anonymous and actually belonged to no one unless it was the city of Venice itself. And since there was a possibility that an examination—

“But papers, Macintyre,” Gemelli interrupted him impatiently. “Papers, papers, papers. You know how our system works. You know how
your
system-works. Things must be done in the proper way—special forms, signatures, stamps, seals, and then more signatures.”

“You'll just have to make the decision yourself and take the responsibility.”

It might have been this appeal to his position and authority, or the prospect of taking a gamble that might pay off handsomely in a professional way, or the realization that it was somewhat ridiculous to consider either decorum or due process in the middle of a field of bones. Whatever it was, Urbino could tell from the way Gemelli sighed and put his hands on his hips that he had decided to take back the body.

After covering the exposed face as best he could, the Commissario helped Grossi lift the shrouded figure and carry it back to the wall. Once again Urbino walked behind them.

It was no easier going back. He only hoped that Grossi, who was in front, had the good sense to take the same route. That way Urbino could console himself with having disturbed and crushed the smallest number of bones possible.

Once again they had little to say on the trip back to San Michele where they left Grossi off, Gemelli assuring him there was nothing to worry about.

As the boat headed for the Fondamenta Nuove, Urbino pointed out that Gemelli would have to trouble the old gravedigger again after tests on the body showed no trace of arsenic.

“There you go again, Macintyre. I've gone this far with you but I don't intend to go much beyond that. I can't. It will give me a great deal of satisfaction when that poor body is found to be riddled with arsenic. Maybe then you'll be finished once and for all.” Urbino thought he had no more to say, but then he cleared his throat and added, “As I said back at the Questura, your theory proves nothing. Even if there's no arsenic in this body, it wouldn't prove anything.” He looked at Urbino with something close to an appeal in his eyes. “I would need proof, you see.” Then in a more official manner he said, “You've been snooping around a bit too much as it is. I'd suggest staying in your palazzo for a change.”

When the boat pulled up to the Fondamenta Nuove, he offered one final piece of advice: “Don't do anything rash.”

19

BENEDETTA Razzi lived only a short distance from where the police launch had left him but first he went to a café and had several
tramezzini
and a glass of wine. From the phone in the corner he called the Ca' da Capo-Zendrini.

“She came back with her friends an hour ago, Signor Macintyre, but then they went out again right away. Milo took them to the Giudecca to Signora Borelli's. The Signora called after the Contessa left this morning. She sounded very upset. The Contessa said that you might go there too if you could.”

Urbino could imagine what the problem was at the Ca' Borelli. Oriana and Filippo had a tempestuous relationship filled with extramarital affairs, separations, and passionate reconciliations, all conducted with operatic excess and, if possible, with a large audience. It therefore wasn't unusual to have the Bellorinis, Adele Carstairs, and Christian Kobke accompanying the Contessa to the Giudecca for the latest crisis in their lives.

He left no message for her except to say he would call again.

He went to a small gift shop near San Zanipolo with a good selection of contemporary glass. The shutters were partway down. Although it was almost an hour before the shop usually reopened, he knocked insistently on the shutter. He frequented the shop, having bought numerous Christmas gifts for his aunts back in New Orleans. The owner and his wife, well into their seventies, usually took their midday meal and siesta in the back room. The shutter was raised slowly and the husband looked out with a frown, blinking rapidly at the brighter light.

“
Cbiuso.
” Then, seeing who it was, the frown was replaced with puzzlement. “It's you, Signor Macintyre. But we're still closed as you see.”

“I'm sorry to disturb you, Signor Falco”—he smiled apologetically at the portly man and his wife, who was now peeking through the curtain that shut off the back room from the shop—“but it's something of an emergency.”

He went inside to the window display and took a small glass swan from the shelf.

“I'll take this. There's no need to wrap it,” he said, putting it in his pocket. He took out a twenty-thousand
lira
note and handed it to Falco. He apologized again for having disturbed them and started to leave.

“But a whole
famiglia
is only ten thousand, Signor Macintyre.”

His wife nudged her husband aside as she went up to the window.

“How very nice two or three
famiglie
would be for your Palazzo Uccello, Signor Macintyre. Would you like to look at our other
ucctllini?
We have ducks, flamingos, chickens, peacocks, and owls. They're all made over on Murano. We have nothing from those Chinese countries here in the shop.”

“No, thank you, Signora Falco, this is all I need.”

20

BENEDETTA Razzi didn't seem surprised to see him when she opened the door of her apartment fifteen minutes later.

“You see I didn't come empty-handed this time,” he said when she led him into the parlor. A small white porcelain face with slanted eyes, black hair, and an elaborate headdress peered at him from the pocket of her robe.

“How lovely! I adore swans. Such graceful feminine creatures, don't you agree?” He followed her as she brought it over to the oval table. “I'll put it right next to their other little animals. It's their first swan.”

Urbino looked down at the collection, wondering how many of the objects were from recent visitors.

“But you didn't come by just to make my sweethearts a little gift, did you?”

It was more a statement than a question.

“I hoped it could be something nicer,” he said evasively. “Unfortunately I couldn't find exactly what I wanted.”

“What was that?”

“A lovebird.”

“A lovebird?” A flush began to show beneath her heavy makeup before she turned away to rearrange some dolls on a nearby shelf. “But swans are romantic too. I saw a ballet many years ago in Milan. It was about swans and was very romantic.”

As she continued to handle the dolls on the shelf, Urbino picked up and examined a glass elephant, one of the porcelain masks, and a chess-piece knight. Benedetta Razzi was looking at him out of the corner of her eye.

“Your dolls have many admirers. So many interesting things here. Who was kind enough to give them this?”

He held up the miniature candelabra.

She finished with the dolls before answering with an uncharacteristic coolness.

“You should understand that I make no distinctions. Everything is part of their collection. People give what they can. It makes no difference who gives what. You wouldn't want me to go telling everyone who comes here that it was you who gave them the swan, would you?”

“Why not?”

“Someone might not think it was as fine a gift as you could give—who knows? But as I say I make no distinctions. The important thing is that my visitors bring my sweethearts something—anything.” She stared at him for a few moments and then surprised him by saying, “You still want to know about that room, I think. But as I told you yesterday, it was locked when she was there. I hardly ever open it.”

“I'm not concerned about the locked room anymore. I believe you.”

“We're so glad to hear you do. I wish I could say the same for others.”

“What do you mean?”

“So you are still concerned about it! I had an argument about keeping the room locked and it's no one's business but my own. When I suggested sending someone over about the apartment, Signor Macintyre, I didn't mean a
veneziano
, I meant a
forestiero
”

“I didn't send anyone over.”

“Well, that mask maker from San Gabriele came by yesterday evening—the one who used to be a priest.”

“Did he say I sent him?”

“No, but when I told him you had been to see me earlier and also another time he didn't seem surprised.”

“What did he want?”

“An apartment, a better one than the one he has in the Ghetto Nuovo. He asked specifically about the Casa Silviano. I'm surprised it took him so long to come by if you weren't the one to tell him. Most people hear about a death and come before the funeral arrangements are even made.”

“Is he going to take the apartment?”

“Over my dead body! Even if he could afford it—which I doubt from the way he was dressed—I would never rent any part of the Casa Silviano to anyone but
forestieri
. Once you get the Italians in they never leave. You might as well just give them the building outright! And even if this Cavatorta wasn't Italian I'd still not rent it to him. He's not a very nice man, completely ignored my little ones and started to insinuate that the police might like to know that I keep a locked room at the Casa Silviano. It's not really illegal, you know. He obviously thought I'd get frightened and agree to let him rent the apartment cheaply, but we sent him right on his way, almost pushed him out the door. I was sure you had sent him.”

“He came here on his own, I assure you, Signora Razzi.”

She was looking at him so suspiciously that he felt uncomfortable asking her what he had originally gone there to find out.

“When I was here yesterday, you said something about other people being interested in Signorina Quinton's writing. What others did you mean?”

A guarded look came into her small eyes with their long artificial lashes.

“Did I say anything about so many others? Other than yourself there was Signor Voyd.” She still showed no sign that she knew of his death. “Also the young niece.”

When she mentioned Adele Carstairs, she shifted her eyes away from him and surveyed the gifts crowded on the table.

“She didn't always come alone, though, not the last time. She had that good-looking young man with her. My sweethearts fell in love with him as soon as they saw him.”