Liquid Desires (41 page)

“A brown study, Countess?” Eugene asked, screwing up his face.

“Your former brother-in-law is thinking very deeply, Eugene. He's lost to us. Can't you see it as plain as day?”

“Oh, that funny look on his face! I know what you mean. Well, he's always been a thinker, Countess Barbara. Let's just hope he ain't thinkin' anything bad about
us
!”

The Contessa queried Urbino silently with her eyes.

“Why don't you have Milo drop you and Eugene off at La Muta,” Urbino suggested. “Rosa can have a nice light supper ready and we—”

“A ‘repast'!” Eugene broke in with a laugh. “That's the ticket. But forget about droppin' me off! I want to see Sylvester, too.”

“Silvestro?” the Contessa said in a choked voice, putting a hand to her throat.

“Yes, Countess Barbara, good old Sylvester! I want to say good-bye. Poor fellow wasn't lookin' all that good the last time I saw him.”

The Contessa gave Urbino a pleading look. She clearly feared that Urbino was about to pull down her secure little world of Asolo.

“Maybe I'll make some arrangements with Sylvester for next year,” Eugene said with a wink at the Contessa. “You might have more than one boy from New Orleans on your hands before you know it, Countess Barbara—but I promise you I'll be a lot more rambunctious than Urbino!”

The Contessa told Milo to go to Occhipinti's directly, despite Urbino's repeated suggestion that she be dropped off at La Muta. When the Bentley pulled up beside the arcade of the Via Browning, Urbino got out quickly.

“Hold on there, Urbino,” Eugene said. “Don't forget me and Countess Barbara.”

“I think Barbara will be more comfortable staying here.”

Urbino looked pointedly at the Contessa. She collapsed against the seat as if she no longer had any energy.

“You can go back to La Muta, Barbara.”

“I certainly will not. I'm staying right where I am.”

Despite her determined words, the Contessa's eyes were painfully vulnerable. Urbino didn't like to leave her like this but he had little choice. As it was, he had to deal with Eugene, who was probably thinking only of a fond, apparently temporary farewell to Occhipinti.

22

As Urbino and Eugene went under the arcade and up to the door of Occhipinti's building, an elderly woman was coming out. She glared at them suspiciously but let them go in. A dog was barking sharply.

Urbino hurried up the stairway to the third floor, Eugene right behind him. The dog's barking became louder and sharper, then was followed by a yelp of pain. There was no doubt that the dog's cries were coming from behind Occhipinti's door.

Urbino knocked as hard as he could.

“Sylvester!” Eugene called from behind Urbino. “It's Eugene and Urbino. Is your little dog all right?”

Eugene went up to the door and pounded on it. Urbino tried the doorknob. The door was locked.

“Let's see if we can break the door down,” Urbino said.

Without waiting for an explanation, Eugene pushed his shoulder against the door. It hardly budged.

“Let's get a good runnin' start,” Eugene said.

Urbino and Eugene went to the banister and then ran together toward the door. They both hit it with their shoulders at the same time. The lock gave way and they were carried by their own momentum into the room.

“What the hell!” Eugene said as he took in the scene.

Pompilia had resumed yapping and was circling the sofa. Sprawled on the sofa, flat on his back, was Silvestro Occhipinti. At least Urbino assumed it was Alvise's old friend, for the still, small figure's face wasn't visible. How could it be beneath its burden?

As he and Eugene ran to the sofa, Urbino wondered if the last words poor Occhipinti might have seen in his long life—if in fact it were now truly over—were,

Open my heart and you will see,

‘Graved inside of it “Italy.”

For these were the words embroidered on the silk pillow that Ladislao Mirko was holding over the face of the birdlike little man.

Footsteps clattered up the stairs. Three carabinieri in blue uniforms rushed into the room. Behind them, out of breath, was the Contessa, her eyes wide with worry.

EPILOGUE

Death over Gelato

The contessa insisted.

Five minutes later a matching
Coppa Duse
was placed in front of Urbino on the plant-screened terrace of the Caffè Centrale in Asolo. The Contessa, in a silk chiffon tea gown in an antique rose print, sat across from him in the filtered sunlight. The only sounds were the soft conversations at the other tables, the playing of the winged-lion fountain in the piazza, and
La Traviata
spilling out of an open window.

“It will help soothe you,
caro
, as you give me the rest of the grim and grisly details.”

It was Wednesday afternoon, two days after Urbino and Eugene had burst in on Ladislao Mirko holding the Browning pillow over Occhipinti's face. Alvise's old friend was recuperating at La Muta with his faithful Pompilia, and both should soon be walking up and down the streets of Asolo together again.

“You know the worst of the details now,” Urbino said, his spoon poised over the whipped cream soaked with blue syrup. He had already told her on Sunday about Lorenzo and Violetta's affair, their plot against Regina, and Lorenzo's sexual abuse of Flavia—his own daughter, as they now knew.

He had never seen the Contessa so stunned—so stunned, in fact, that she hadn't immediately registered that she could stop worrying about Alvise.

“I feel abominably guilty,” the Contessa said now, already well beyond her whipped cream. She was looking considerably better than she had. The deep rose of her print dress was complemented by a gentle glow in her cheeks. “I've gained so much”—Urbino's eyes couldn't help but flick in the direction of her
coppa
as she said this, which wasn't lost on her—“and it's all been at poor Flavia's expense.”

Urbino knew what she meant. It was the turmoil and ghastly events of Flavia's life, ending in her death at Ladislao Mirko's hands, that revealed the young woman's accusation for what it actually was—a desperate attempt at denial and evasion, at remaking her life.

“Of course, Barbara, Brollo denies that he ever was anything but the perfect father to her—denies that she ever broke down the last night of her life and accused him, once she no longer had the illusion that he actually
wasn't
her father, of all the terrible things he had done to her.”

“Oh, we've turned over a rock, haven't we? Such repulsive white squirming things under it! I definitely feel more revolted than enlightened.”

“There are things we'll never know for sure.” Seeing an apprehensive look come into her gray eyes, he quickly added, “But I don't mean about Alvise.”

“You're sure?”

He reached out and touched her hand.

“Absolutely. Brollo and Violetta admit that Flavia was their daughter but Brollo denies that he ever touched her in any but a fatherly way. Although he admits that she made those accusations—he can hardly deny them since Annabella heard them—he says that they're one more indication of how disturbed she was.”

“And disturbed she well might have been, being brought up in that atmosphere! She couldn't trust anyone, could she? Not the schizophrenic Regina whom she loved as her mother, not Annabella who hated her, and certainly not Lorenzo! And not even her real mother, Violetta. Flavia
thought
she could trust her, but Violetta didn't tell her the truth until the night of her death. And then there was Ladislao Mirko.”

Yes, Ladislao Mirko had ended up confessing everything to the police, admitting that Flavia had made not one but two visits to the Casa Trieste on the fateful Thursday evening. She had come back to the pensione after leaving the Palazzo Brollo, distraught over Lorenzo's corroboration that she was definitely his daughter and that Violetta was her mother. She told Mirko everything she had learned since leaving him two hours earlier.

It was then that Mirko betrayed Flavia the first time that night by getting carried away as he tried to console her in the manner he had always wanted to. All the years of holding back, of pretending to have only a brotherly feeling for her, had become too much for him. What had been smoldering for so long finally burst out into flame. His attack on Flavia was also consistent with his earlier attack on the drugged-out girl from Verona that Corrado Scarpa had mentioned to the Contessa.

The second time that night that Mirko betrayed Flavia's love and trust—this time irrevocably—had been near the water steps of the Ca' Volpi. He had pursued her there after she left the Casa Trieste, revolted by his advances. There he had murdered her.

“When Flavia ran out of the pensione into the thunderstorm and he went after her,” the Contessa said, continuing her decorous demolition of the
Coppa Duse
and leaving Urbino far behind in his own efforts, “Silvestro saw them, right? Part of his recuperation seems to be to tell me over and over again about his first visit to the Casa Trieste. He feels terribly guilty about it.”

“And he should, although I doubt he could have prevented Flavia's death. Even if he could have kept up with them that night, he wouldn't have been able to follow them into the Ca' Volpi. But he should have mentioned it to the police or to me. By comparing the times we would have known that Flavia had been to the pensione twice that night.”

“But Silvestro says he never thought that Mirko had killed Flavia. He thought that Mirko was going after her to calm her down and that she killed herself later,” the Contessa said. “Otherwise he would have been too frightened to go back to the pensione afterward and take those clippings from the scrapbook. He never would have let Mirko into his apartment. Mirko told him that he was looking for me. Silvestro only wanted to help me—and Alvise. That's all he ever wanted to do.”

“And all Mirko wanted to do was to get him out of the way—once he realized that Silvestro was the man he had rushed past outside the Casa Trieste the night he murdered Flavia.”

The Contessa shivered and put down her spoon, eyeing Urbino's own rapidly melting
Coppa Duse
.

“Did you ever suspect that Silvestro might have killed Flavia?”

“The finger certainly seemed to be pointing at him on various occasions. He was in Venice at the time of the murder, he knew where Flavia was staying, he had a motive—to protect Alvise and you—and he was not being completely honest. He says he didn't mention being outside the pensione the first time—the night Mirko murdered Flavia—because he didn't want us to think that he could have done her any harm. Silvestro wasn't thinking very clearly, was he? And he was acting very suspiciously because of it. But he became less and less of a suspect as facts about Mirko started to fall in place. There was the scratch on his face that Mirko said he got from his cat. There were the pills that Flavia apparently never took, pills that we now know Mirko planted in her room, knowing their reputation and hoping that they would make suicide seem more probable. Then Mirko, starting to run scared as I got closer to the truth, asked Annabella the name of the man she had sent to the Casa Trieste. And the biggest thing of all was the death of Mirko's father. I had no way to prove it, but I had a hunch that something wasn't right there. Vladimir Mirko had physically abused his son, and his son decided not to take it anymore. Gemelli says that Mirko is now whining and telling them the whole sordid story. He killed his father and made it seem like an accident from freebasing cocaine.”

“Obviously Mirko could see murder as the only solution to his problems. He would probably have eventually gone after you!”

“Yes, and maybe even Bernardo Volpi for fear of what he might have seen.”

“Did Bernardo see anything?”

“I thought he might have, but apparently not.”

“But why did Flavia go back to the Ca' Volpi after her second encounter with Mirko?”

“Maybe she wanted to have it out with Violetta—or be consoled by Bernardo whose affection was untainted with anything suspect. Mirko was right behind her. He says he passed an old man at the end of the
calle
by the Casa Trieste when he rushed out after Flavia, but he didn't pay him much mind until later, as I've said. Flavia went to the Ca' Volpi where she used her own key to get in. Violetta wasn't there. She had gone to see Lorenzo.”

“Leaving Bernardo all alone?”

“Yes, but he was asleep. Flavia went to the studio, telling Mirko to stay away from her. When she didn't find Violetta, she tried to get away from Mirko by going into the garden. They argued. Flavia was shattered. You can imagine how she must have felt about what she learned that night! Mirko still couldn't seem to understand how his sexual advances back at the pensione had almost pushed her over the edge. He tried to put his arm around her, this time in the kind of closeness they used to share, and she shoved him against the water gate. He almost crashed through it into the Grand Canal. It was either then or earlier that she scratched his face. He doesn't remember. The thunder was very loud, and there wasn't much water traffic because of the storm. Some lights had recently burned out by the water steps. I noticed that the gates had been forced out toward the Grand Canal from the garden, not the other way as might have happened if someone had broken in from the water side as Violetta thought.

“Flavia let Mirko know in a big rush what she thought of him now—how much she despised him—how he had left her with nothing to believe in, not even friendship—how she had stood by him when everyone had said he was bad and made fun of him because he was ugly—how he should understand her feelings more than anyone else because of the way his own father had treated him—how she had always understood why he had killed his father, but that now she saw him for what he really was and maybe she would tell someone else if he didn't leave her alone. In a rage he picked up one of the stones from the pile near the water steps. He hit her several times and pushed her into the Grand Canal. Then he ran from the Ca' Volpi.”