Police Detective Luigi Lampani poked his head into Chief Inspector Laszlo’s office and found the big man sitting behind his desk. Looking up, Lazlo waved him in and pointed to a chair. “Entra, I’m just opening your email.”
This corner office of Venice’s police headquarters was always over-heated, and Luigi moved a chair closer to the open window that offered fresh air along with the saline scent of the rain that was falling out at sea. But most importantly, it allowed the faint noise of boat traffic to drift in, a sound that all Venetians found calming.
Luigi watched his boss open the file on his screen, but then without reading it, he sat back heavily in his chair. “I can tell by looking at you that I’m not going to like your report.”
“No, you’ll like it fine.”
“You look awful. Have you had breakfast?”
“A handful of Pocket Coffees.”
“Those are candy, not food. You know, when your father retired he made me promise I’d tell him if you weren’t taking care of yourself.”
“I’m thirty-eight years old, and if he was worried about me he shouldn’t have moved all the way to Sorrento the moment he hung up his badge.” Luigi pointed at Laszlo’s computer. “Go ahead and tell the media we presume Scortini’s dead.” Luigi felt a bulge of pressure beginning to build in the front of his head and reached in his jacket pocket for a tin of aspirin. “I just don’t happen to believe it’s true.”
“It’s reasonable.” Laszlo came forward in his chair with a look of impatience. “After a blow to the head, if a person falls into the water and doesn’t resurface for three weeks, we get to tell the public they’re considered dead.”
“Absolutely, I hear you. The coast guard does it after two days.”
“Right. I’m going to get Mayor Buonocore and the public off my back with this statement.”
“I understand.”
The inspector sighed and waved his hand dismissively at the computer screen. “Look, I’ve been patient long enough. Forget the official report for the moment, tell me what the hell happened?”
“I don’t have a motive, physical evidence, or witnesses, but I believe Scortini’s crime spree began before his recent rampage. I think he killed Reynaldo Falconetti weeks before.”
“Really? Why would Salvio Scortini kill a twenty-year-old marble artisan?”
“I don’t know, but I’m working on that. I had Scortini scheduled for questioning after Reynaldo’s body was found, but he never showed up. Instead he phoned uno-uno-due to report that Giancarlo Petrosino was planning to murder Count Gabrieli Verona.”
“Ridicolo!” Laszlo made a face. “Count Verona doesn’t have an enemy in the world.”
“I believe it was a distraction. I went to Salvio’s palazzo to question him, but his wife, Raphielli, told me I’d missed him. She’d just found a note he left saying he’d gone away on a religious quest. He didn’t say where he’d gone or when he’d return.”
“Convenient.”
Luigi pressed a knuckle above the bridge of his nose. “He took off to avoid being questioned about Reynaldo’s murder.”
Laszlo glanced over at the report on his screen. “Okay. So, right after Reynaldo’s murder, Salvio disappears to find God, and weeks later he secretively reappears in Venice and goes on a murderous rampage?”
“Right, three weeks ago he comes back with no warning. Even his butler didn’t see him enter his palazzo.” Luigi swept his hand while holding an aspirin tablet between two fingers.
“Did you question the Scortini staff?”
“It wasn’t hard. There’s only three domestics who work there, plus a part-time cook who works a few hours a day and a cleaning crew that comes in regularly, supervised by the butler.”
“All right, so the palazzo is basically empty, and nobody sees him when he returns from wherever he was hiding out.”
“I have a pretty good timeline of his activities on the morning of the rampage. Within less than an hour, he hung his wife, bludgeoned Vincenzo Verona, and killed Vincenzo’s bodyguard. Then he jogged over to the Verdu Mer construction site where he tried to attack Vincenzo’s wife, Giselle, until he was struck in the head and fell into the canal.”
“Uh huh.” Laszlo looked like he was trying not to smile. “Yvania Czerney, the little old Ukrainian lady who’s a houseguest of the Veronas.”
Luigi popped the aspirin into his mouth and swallowed it dry. “Sì. The guard at the construction zone identified a photo of Scortini and said he’d run onto the site about a half hour before a man’s screams were reported. I ordered a search of the Verdu Mer canals, but there’s been no sign of his body.” Luigi squeezed his eyes shut momentarily.
Laszlo made a cage with his hands and looked disgusted. “There’s a chance his body is hung up in the underwater pilings of those old buildings. It’ll be one ugly discovery when he bloats to the surface.”
“In my opinion, that’s an ugly discovery we’ll never see. I’m betting he got away and somehow slipped out of Venice again without anyone seeing him. I don’t think he’s done with his crime spree. I think he’s in hiding again.”
Laszlo looked disturbed. “Luigi, I’ll allow you to keep looking into this case, but keep it secret. Officially this case is closed.”
“Grazie, Inspector. I believe your statement to the media will make Scortini think he’s safe. When he makes a mistake, I’ll be ready for him. In the meantime, I’m gonna build a case against him for Reynaldo’s murder.”
“Yeah, you do that.” He was now scrolling through the report on his screen. “Got a motive?” Laszlo tapped the desk with impatient fingers.
“When I capture him, I’ll ask.”
“I’d like to know why he targeted Vincenzo’s wife. And what about his own wife?” Laszlo leaned back in his chair again. “Was he estranged from her?”
Luigi closed his eyes and felt sick for failing to protect that girl. “No. Raphielli waited for him to come home from his spiritual quest and bang! he appeared in her bedroom and tried to kill her.”
“Was she having an affair that he discovered?” He got an inspired look. “With Reynaldo?”
Luigi almost laughed out loud, but his flowering headache prevented it. “Not a chance. Raphielli’s an innocent. She’d be wearing a burka if it were a Roman Catholic tradition.”
Laszlo placed his hands firmly on his desk blotter. “Let me know when you’ve solved this. At least the crime spree is over.”
“I don’t think it is,” Luigi said as he got up to leave.
Markus stopped kissing Giselle and pulled back to admire her as he slid his hands inside her open shirt. When he was with her, he felt alive.
“Remember those long days working together on Star Fall?” He recalled the warm afternoons assembling her sculpture in France.
“Mmm, oui.” She nibbled his shoulder and closed her eyes.
“Back in France, I knew you loved me. We were planning a beautiful life.”
“Let’s forget we’re in Venice.” Giselle ground herself against him and stroked her fingertips along the back of his neck. “Hurry up and get your clothes off.”
She sounded desperate for him, and it fueled his desire. Without taking his eyes off her, he stepped back and undressed. “Every day we are in Venice, I feel what we have together is slipping away.”
“Don’t say that.” She shimmied out of her pants.
“You feel it, too. I want us to leave for France when you submit your last Verdu Mer blueprint. We will work on a new sculpture. We can leave Vincenzo and Leonardo to come out of the closet on their own. What do their religious problems have to do with us?”
She groaned. “We don’t have much time. I’ve got an hour before I have to be back at Verdu Mer to meet with my…” Giselle fell silent when he tossed his pants onto a chair. He loved the way she looked at him. Naked, he walked over and took her in his arms, put his lips to her ear, and whispered, “I have waited too long for you. I am a little afraid of what I will do when
we get you undressed.”
“Afraid?” She shivered, sounding delighted.
He growled as his lips touched her neck. She ripped off her shirt and tossed it over Markus’ head. He closed a hand over one of her high, firm breasts, and then froze when he heard sounds on the other side of the door. Leonardo was home, and he was speaking to someone. This had never happened before. Giselle placed a finger to her lips in warning, and they both listened.
“I’m sorry for this inconvenience. If I’d known, I’d have delivered the financial documents…” Leonardo said.
“Do not apologize. It is no inconvenience.” A cultured voice replied.
The countess! He put his lips to Giselle’s ear. “What the hell?”
“Shh!” Giselle hissed. “Get dressed!”
“Answer me,” he whispered. “This is Vincenzo’s plan, for us to get caught. To make it look as if you are cheating on him.”
“He would never do that, and keep your voice down,” she mouthed, looking terrified.
“You do not think Leonardo will open that door to reveal us?”
“No!” she mouthed, but the color drained from her face.
Still naked, Markus backed her up against the wall. He put his hands on either side of her shoulders, then leaned close and said softly, “I am not afraid of your mother-in-law.” He nipped her earlobe with his teeth. “I am not afraid of your husband, and I am growing tired of this sneaking around. He is controlling us, choking our bond, and you are letting him do it.”
She wriggled away from him and tiptoed across the room to retrieve the clothes she’d just tossed away in a fit of passion. As she dressed, she spoke almost soundlessly, mouthing the words with a pitiful expression. “You have to be a little more patient. Now get dressed!” She yanked her pants up and grabbed her boots. “I’ve got to warn Leo that we’re here.” From the depths of her oversized handbag, she produced her phone and began furiously tapping a text.
In a matter of seconds, he heard Leo say, “You know Juliette, it’s going to take me a while to pull the documents together. Why don’t you go on to the homeless shelter, and I’ll deliver them?”
“No, I have time. I am here now, and I never come to your apartment. You have done a beautiful job with it, quite modern. I will make us a little macchiato while you gather the documents. You have fresh espresso beans? Ah. Here, I found them…and milk in your refrigerator?” After a short pause the sound of a coffee grinder buzzed intermittently.
Markus finished dressing but was doing a poor job of summoning patience. He willed himself to relax. “Talk to me,” he said soto voce.
“Not now. We have to get out of here.” Giselle looked around for an escape route. They were on the third floor with a sheer drop two floors down to the canal. But at the far window, she apparently liked what she saw. She tiptoed back to him and whispered, “We can reach the fire escape from the plant balcony.” She returned to the window and opened it, letting in a blast of cold air.
Fighting to control his irritation, he stayed rooted to the spot.
She mouthed, “Please, honey, don’t be mad.” She got down on one knee, reached out the window, and grabbed a flowerpot. “Help me move these.”
He walked over, accepted a pot of red ivy, and whispered, “You know Vincenzo is dragging his feet so you will forget how you feel about me.” She shook her head and handed him another pot. He whispered, “He is playing a sick waiting game.” She shook her head again and he took a bigger pot of red flowers. “The Vatican will survive the scandal of a homosexual Verona. He has no real reason to keep stalling.”
She shrugged her coat on, slipped her purse strap over her head, threaded her arm through it, and then returned to him. Throwing her arms around his neck she pleaded quietly, “No, this could cause a scandal with global repercussions that you and I don’t understand. Now climb out this window with me and we can talk when my mother-in-law isn’t a hair’s breadth away from catching us!”
He watched as she took hold of the window frame, extended one long leg out, shifted her weight across the balcony, and tested to see if it would hold her. Then she was out, leaning as far forward as she could stretch, before she grabbed the railing, and climbed onto the fire escape. Giselle reminded him of a gymnast just then as he followed after her.
Together they descended the metal stairs to the paved calle that dead-ended at the canal. When Markus stepped off the ladder, it smoothly retracted upward and snapped back into place above them.
He pulled his collar up against the wind and raised his voice over a gust. “It is a good thing the Paris paparazzi do not follow you in Venice. You would be all over the media. ‘Bad girl of modern art seen leaving strange apartment with a man who is not her husband.’”
“Thank God the Venetians respect the Veronas so much. The paparazzi here may hound film stars, but they would never prey on Gabrieli’s family.” As they walked she kept her distance in case anyone who knew her should see them. “I know how you feel about our current situation, mon amour. I’m infuriated, too.” She glanced at her watch. “I should get back to Verdu Mer.”
Markus pulled his hat from a jacket pocket, put it on, and turned his back against the wind as it blew a soaking mist across the calle. He said nothing as they walked toward the jetty to find a taxi acqueo and she texted Leonardo to close the bedroom window.
“What are you going to do now?” she asked as she dropped her phone back into her bag.
“I am going to find a realtor.”
“Why?”
“I cannot live with your in-laws anymore. It is a deception I do not wish to continue.”
“Can we talk about this?”
“Da. But in any case, I must find a studio so we can get back to creating art. That is one of the reasons we are so out of sorts.”
“Amazing idea! I could begin work on one of the sculptures I’d planned for this year. I’ll have the sketches sent from France.” She looked like she’d cheered up. So mercurial, from lusty to terrified to happy in almost no time.
“Promise me no deadly chemicals on this one,” he said.
“I promise.”
“This weather is almost as good as a cold shower,” he mumbled to himself as the storm clouds rolled toward them and a fresh gust of mist sprayed them.
Reaching a commuter jetty, she stopped, and he hesitated at her side. He felt himself softening and wanted to take her in his arms, kiss her, and hold her. Instead, he gave her a little wave and walked off as she climbed aboard the next boat.
Raphielli was excited as she and Alphonso climbed the left side of the quirky three-sided bridge that straddled the two canals that came together in front of her women’s shelter. She felt a sense of pride that melted away the last of her vague apprehension. A new brass plate was fastened next to the door that read “Porto delle Donne” and while she’d been recuperating, the mismatched exterior paint had been blended into a soft patina of burnished pumpkin. The blue shutters had been refurbished and building looked great.
It was a secure facility because the residents had been removed from violent situations, so everyone had to be buzzed in. Raphielli and Alphonso approached the guard vestibule and inside his security cage, Alexi hopped off his stool.
“Signora!” He ran his hands over the brass buttons of his uniform coat as if making sure they were all accounted for. “You’re back!”
“Sì.”
“And you’re talking!” His eyes widened and he grinned.
“Sì, grazie a Dio.”
He put both hands up to the metal cage and they touched palms through the grate. Then he looked over her shoulder and tipped his chin. “Ciao, Alphonso.”
“Ciao, Alexi,” he said.
She turned to Alphonso. “Thank you for walking me to work.”
“My pleasure. I’ll be here to walk you home. Seven-thirty?”
“I’ll text you if it’s going to be later.” A strong wind buffeted them, loosening hair from her bun, and long tendrils wh
ipped her face.
“Okay, you’d better get inside. Ciao,” he said as he walked off.
Alexi pressed the intercom button and announced her as she went to the front door. When she heard the lock click, she walked inside. The moment she stepped into the reception alcove, Raphielli felt grounded. In such a short time, she’d taken this neglected building and turned it into her life’s work. It wouldn’t have been possible without the support of important people like Mayor Buonocore, and Genero Tosca, formerly the head of the Brotherhood of Venetian Ironworkers, now the new head of the Venetian Builders Guild. Juliette Verona, the most powerful woman in Venice, and Cardinal Negrali, the head of the College of Cardinals, had encouraged her, and Kate had resigned her helmsmanship of the state welfare board to become the shelter’s director.
Kate looked over her glasses as Raphielli walked into their office. As always, she was the personification of beauty and efficiency, with her soft blonde hair in perfect natural waves and her no-nonsense business suit worn with understated flair. As usual, she was chewing on a Mentos, which she consumed like energy pills. Her fingers were a blur, typing one of the endless reports she had to submit to the city. They paused over the keys.
“Ah! Here you are! Come let me give you a squeeze.” Kate moved the stack of files off her lap and came over to wrap her arms around Raphielli. “Don’t worry, I’ll be gentle. What can I get you? Mia’s made some coffee. She makes the smoothest coffee. If there’s anything that woman can’t do…well, I don’t know what it is.”
“I can’t wait to meet her. She knows not to mention my position here, right?”
“Mia’s a sharp cookie, and she knows your wishes. She’s really raised the bar on the offerings to our residents.”
There was a knock on the open door, and a pretty woman with dark blonde hair and perfectly applied makeup walked in carrying a cup of coffee. “Glad to have you back, Raphielli. I’m Mia. I’ve brought you a little something to keep you warm while we get our newest resident settled.”
“She’ll get you hooked on her coffee,” Kate said, and went back to typing. “Now go on and see how the rest of the renovations turned out.”
Storming Venice Page 3
