Storming Venice

by Anna E Bendewald

  “Okay, okay.” There was a significant pause, and then a deep sigh. “I’ll do what you ask. It’s not a hard thing to accomplish. Do you have a private jet?”

  “We have an account with a charter service.”

  “Bene. You won’t have to hire one, it’ll just be part of the story. You have Salvio’s passport?”

  “Sì.”

  “And have you been practicing his handwriting like I suggested?”

  “Sì.”

  “Good girl. You’re gonna write a note addressed to his valet.”

  “Guiseppe.”

  “Sì, Guiseppe. Fingerprints on the envelope don’t matter but use gloves to handle the paper you use for the note. This is what you’re going to write.”

  Raphielli copied down the message word for word and listened carefully as Gio laid out his plan.

  “I’ve got it. But seriously…sunrise tomorrow? You can do it that soon?”

  “Young lady, you wouldn’t believe how fast I can move.” He said it in a tone that was quite sexy, and she wondered if she was in danger of becoming promiscuous.

  He continued, “At three o’clock tomorrow morning, call Lampani and hand the envelope over to him. Let me give you a tip about dealing with the police. Even the smartest ones fall for a good ruse. Your best ruse is hysteria. Convince him that intercepting this note has you terrified. He won’t be able to see past it.”

  “Grazie, Gio.”

  “Prego, mi cara,” he said before disconnecting.

  As she opened the door to let Kate back in, she couldn’t tell if she was feeling a thrill because he’d called her his “dear,” or because she’d finally done what had been on her mind for days. Maybe it was the after-effects of her exploits with Alphonso.

  That evening when Alphonso came to pick her up, the rain was holding off and the clouds swirling around the glowing lampposts lent a dreamy atmosphere to their regular walk. Mist drifted up from the canals in cloudbanks that distorted the occasional bells or horn squeaks of boats, sounding vaguely like toy instruments being played by a child.

  Suddenly, she couldn’t hold it anymore. “Alphonso, I’m working on something that will have Salvio in police custody tomorrow morning.”

  He stopped walking, turned to face her, and took hold of both of her arms. “What have you done?” He looked scared.

  “Don’t be upset with me. I had to do this.”

  “I’m not mad, sweetheart. I know you’ve been thinking he should stand trial.”

  “I called Gio, and he’s going to put Salvio in a crypt tonight.”

  “A crypt? Like a grave?”

  “I don’t know, I didn’t ask. Apparently, it’s a location he can control.”

  “Hmm, a secluded spot.” Alphonso appeared to be thinking fast. “How will the police know he’s in a crypt for pick up?”

  She told him about the note and the call she was going to make to Lampani.

  “I know I can’t talk you out of this.” His voice was bleak.

  “No, and neither could Gio.”

  “A trial is going to be painful for you.”

  “I can take it. I’m tougher than I look.” Rain started to land heavy plunks of water on them, and he opened his umbrella as they started walking again. “Tonight, I’m going to be a very believable actress,” she said with absolute certainty.

  After a late dinner with business associates, Gio went back to his cliffside building to personally oversee Scortini’s transfer. He took Primo and a couple of associates down into the cistern. Scortini wasn’t sleeping, he was sitting up, blinking and alert. Gio handed the syringe of veleno to Primo. Scortini immediately jumped up, ran to the edge of his chain, and let loose a string of screamed pleas to God to save him.

  “You’re gonna take a little ride.”

  “Please don’t kill me! I’m ready to explain!” Salvio screamed.

  “Nah, I’m not in the mood to listen. But you should pay close attention to what I’m going to say.”

  “I’m sorry for killing Roberto! I had to get back to Venice! I’m sorry!” Spittle was forming at the sides of his mouth and his voice was shrill and high-pitched.

  “Shut up, or I’m gonna kick your teeth in.”

  Salvio fell silent but his breathing became shallower and his eyes went to the syringe that Primo held at the ready.

  “If you ever mention any dealings you’ve had with me, or being in this room, I’ll end you. There’s nowhere you can run that I won’t find you—especially in prison.”

  Gio nodded for Primo to administer the veleno, and Scortini sang full-throated high notes while thrashing his arms. Two associates stepped in, caught his arms and legs, and flipped him over. Primo plunged the needle into Salvio’s thigh, and Salvio arched almost into a backbend as he fought with all his strength, then dropped onto the floor like a limp fish. The last scream echoed down through the rocks in the drain, and then the cistern was silent.

  “This dose’ll have him senseless for about four hours. Let’s get him to the monastery.” The group, plus one, went back up the stairs and outside. They tossed Salvio into the trunk, then piled into the car, and drove off in the direction of the Capuchin Monastery. Even though it was late, there were a few people still sitting on front steps. Without exception, they each offered small signals of respect as the don’s car passed.

  It wasn’t long before the dilapidated-looking Monastery appeared in their headlights. Avoiding the well-lit main entrance, they turned and followed the exterior of the building. As soon as they pulled up to the side door, one of the associates got out and disappeared into the shadows to knock on the door.

  There was a brief conversation with the man who’d answered, then the guard scrambled to open a side door leading to the catacombs. Gio and Primo went inside while the associates retrieved Salvio and brought him in. The guard bowed his head quickly, saying, “Don Petrosino, it’s an honor.” He lead the way past macabre rooms of preserved bodies until they reached an empty closet where they dumped Salvio. Gio pulled on gloves, took a brown bag from his inside jacket pocket, opened it, and scattered the contents next to Salvio. He folded the bag and put it back in his pocket, then took off his gloves. Gesturing for the guard to lead the way, he said, “I never forget a favor.”

  The man looked relieved that allowing this charade to be played out at his place of employment would be worth his while. “Grazie, don Petrosino, grazie,” he said, and then ushered them all back out the side exit.

  As they got back in the car, Primo asked, “What was in the bag?”

  “Some bread crusts, and black market prescription drugs with the same chemical derivative as veleno. The cops’ll think he’s been self-medicating because of his head injury.”

  As Gio’s car pulled away, he saw the guard lock the gate and disappear inside. This part of the plan was complete, and he would learn about the police pickup in a few hours. He watched the sleepy neighborhood slide past his window and thought about Raphielli. Talking to her had put him in the mood to visit Elisabetta, his current goomare. She wasn’t as young and innocent as the curvaceous little church girl, but he could fantasize.

  He said to the driver, “Drop me off at Via di Cristofalo before you take the crew back to the office.”

  CHAPTER

  16

  Luigi hadn’t heard his phone ringing, but he came awake when his wife tapped him on the cheek and handed him his cell phone. “Che cosa?” he said. His voice sounded raspy and perturbed to his own ears.

  A young woman’s voice wailed, “Oh! Grazie a Dio! Detective!” She was yelling so he held the phone away from his ear. “It’s me! Raphielli Scortini! Salvio is alive!”

  He jumped out of bed, causing his wife to fall off the other side. She climbed right back in, saying, “I heard that! Salvio’s alive!”

  He mouthed, “Stop! You know better!” His wife was always more interested in his cases than running the household.

  He said, “Raphielli, calm down. Where are you?”
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  “I’m at home. I found a letter. It’s his handwriting! Dio mio! Dio mio! What do I do? What do I do now? Detective? Are you there?”

  “I’m here! Calm down and take a breath.”

  “Calm down? Did you tell me to calm down? How can I calm down? Salvio sent a note to my home!”

  “What does it say?”

  “You said to call you first thing! I just found it! I haven’t opened it! Do you want me to open it? Oh! I dropped it! I almost dropped it in the fire. It’s so cold in this damn palazzo! My fingers are shaking!”

  “Put the letter down and get a hold of yourself!” He raised his voice. “You’re going to be fine, I promise.”

  “He’s going to come and kill me, finish the job! I know it! You were right!”

  “Raphielli!” he yelled, and she went silent. He continued in a firm tone. “I’ll be right there, and I’ll open the envelope.”

  “Sì, okay.” She said something to someone else, probably her maid, that sounded like, “My robe isn’t warm enough.” Then into the phone, she begged, “Detective, please don’t hang up. Please stay on the phone with me on your way over here.”

  He was struggling to get his pajamas off with one hand. “Listen to me. I’ll get there a lot faster if you let me hang up.”

  She made a sound like a scared puppy whining, and then she relented. “Okay, I’ll have Dante at the front door waiting for you. Come right away.”

  He hung up and looked at his wife, who was pulling on her own robe.

  She gave him an impatient look. “Can’t you move any faster, Luigi? The poor girl’s in fear for her life. Maybe I should come, too.”

  “Not a chance,” he said over his shoulder on his way to the bathroom.

  By the time he bounded up the Scortini Palazzo steps he’d informed Inspector Laszlo of the new development. When Dante opened the door, he was flanked by Guiseppe. Both men appeared as panicked as their mistress had sounded.

  “The front bell rang, and when I opened it, the note way laying on the step. I saw at once it was Signor Scortini’s handwriting!” Dante said. “I woke up la signora to show her!”

  “Take me to her.”

  Luigi expected to find Raphielli in the dark old bedroom, but was led into a different side of the wing. When the maid unlocked the door, Raphielli charged forward, grabbing his lapel with one hand and waving an envelope with the other. She’d practically crushed the thing, so fingerprints on the outside were not going to be useful. He took it from her, walked over to her desk, and smoothed it out. It was addressed to Guiseppe. Luigi took a letter opener out of her organizer and slit the top of the flap open. Catching the note by the corner, he pulled out a sheet of paper that was so common, it could be found in any store. Holding it by the edges he read:

  November 15th

  Guiseppe, you’re the only one I can trust. Bring me the passport from my left-hand desk drawer. I’ll meet you in the crypt of the Capuchin Monastery in Palermo today at sunrise. You can get here in two hours, so leave right away. Charter a Sky Limo jet and put it on our house account. Tell no one.

  –Salvio

  Guiseppe cleared his throat. “Sir, you won’t make me go to Sicily for him, will you?”

  “Absolutely not, but we have to move fast. It’s been the fifteenth for over three hours now.”

  Lampani whipped out his phone and called Inspector Laszlo, who answered with a curt, “Is the wife credible? Is Scortini alive?”

  “It appears so. I need two officers standing guard at the Scortini Palazzo, and two more outside the Verona Palazzo.”

  “We’ll dispatch them right away. So, where’s Scortini?”

  “He’s hiding out at a monastery in Palermo, waiting for his valet to bring him his passport.”

  “You were right. When we announced him dead, he figured no one was looking for him anymore. Go to Sicily and get him. I’ll have a tactical team meet you. You run everything and make sure paperwork is followed to the letter. We don’t want Scortini getting off on a technicality. Everything by the book!”

  By the time he arrived at the Marco Polo airport, they were cleared for an emergency flight to Palermo. Luigi called Count Gabrieli Verona to tell him police were being sent to guard his home as a precaution, but it went to voicemail. Well, the officers would handle everything. When they touched down, local police and a tactical team were waiting to take them to the monastery.

  Luigi had been to the crypts once on a tour, and it was the eeriest place on earth as far as he was concerned. Capuchin monks had carved the catacombs back in the 1590s. Many of the dead they’d interred were posed like they were still alive, wearing their everyday clothing, and they’d been washed with vinegar to preserve their skin. The result was a macabre mummification of people of all ages standing, sitting, and lying about with their skin polished, and even their lips intact. Inexplicably, some of the interred children never decayed at all, provoking frightening explanations for their timeless appearance. Why had Scortini chosen this as a hideout?

  The drive was short because the streets were empty at this hour. They parked in front of the main entrance and everyone hopped out ready for action. Guns drawn, the team moved up against the main door and knocked. With any luck, Salvio would open it. Instead, it was opened by a guard who yawned. His mouth stayed open as he stared at them in shock.

  Luigi flashed him a picture of Salvio. “Have you seen this man?”

  The guard looked at it carefully and shook his head.

  “Is anyone in the monastery right now?”

  “No, not till we open for tours at ten.”

  “We need to check the premises.”

  “Come this way.” He eyed the tactical team. “But please, everything here is very old, be careful not to touch anything.”

  Luigi nodded, and the guard led them through the old monastery. True to his word, it was empty. They stood at the back, shining flashlights around. Luigi asked, “What about the catacombs?”

  “The crypts?” The guard’s brows drew together and he looked uneasy.

  “Sì, we need to search them.”

  “Cosa certa.” He nodded, but then eyed the group. “I’ll lose my job if there’s any damage, and it’s really tight in some places.

  “I’ll go down alone,” Luigi said.

  “I should go with you. You could get lost.” The guard moved forward.

  The guard swung the gate open with a shriek of metal that set Luigi’s teeth on edge and then pushed on a tight-fitting wooden door that gave with a scraping sound. As Luigi moved along, he searched behind furniture and other possible hiding places.

  After they’d exhausted the entire awful-smelling catacomb, Luigi turned to the guard. “This is it? We’ve searched all of it?”

  “Sì.”

  Luigi’s eyes moved to a slim door in a wall. He’d missed it on the way in because it was next to a tall display case of skulls. “What’s that?”

  “An old storage room, but it hasn’t been used since I’ve worked here.”

  “Do you have a key?”

  “If it’s on this ring, I’ll get you inside.” He started flipping through keys as Luigi tried the handle. It turned easily in his hand.

  “It’s unlocked.”

  Luigi pushed the door open, hoping to catch Salvio unaware as he waited for his valet. He almost tripped over Salvio sprawled out face-down on the floor.

  “Stand back,” Luigi hissed at the guard, who was doing just that.

  The body didn’t move, so Luigi gave the leg a sharp kick. Salvio flinched, and he groaned. Luigi said to the guard, “How would he get in here?”

  The guard moved his flashlight around in confusion, illuminating a scrap of bread and pill bottles on the floor. “I have no idea.”

  “Go upstairs, and tell them to bring a stretcher.” He felt around Salvio’s body, searching for a weapon, but found nothing. After a quick investigation of the pills near Salvio, it appeared he’d taken a strange combination of sedatives.
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  When the team arrived, they handcuffed Salvio and strapped him onto the stretcher. They carried him back through the catacombs, with Luigi following close behind listening to Salvio’s slurred partial words.

  When they came out the front door of the monastery, the sun was up. A medic lifted Salvio’s eyelids and flashed a light at the pupils. “He’s got a poorly healed head injury, and he’s definitely taken drugs.”

  “Based on the bottles we just found, can you make a guess?”

  “No way to know what he’s actually taken. You won’t know till you do a toxicology.”

  “Do I need to get him into the hospital here, or can he wait till I get him back to Venice?”

  “He’s stable. Looks like he’s sleeping something off.”

  The police convoy headed toward the Palermo airport, where a plane was waiting to take Luigi and his prisoner back to Venice. En route, he called Inspector Laszlo.

  “Do you have Scortini?”

  “Sì. We’re on our way to the airport. We’ll touch down in Venice before noon.”

  “What did he say when you showed up instead of his valet?”

  “Nothing, he’s out of it.”

  “What do you mean ‘out of it?’”

  “The medics couldn’t tell what’s was wrong with him. He’s stable, but they suggested we find out when we get back. I can see where Yvania Czerney whacked him in the head. She did some damage. It’s healing, but it’s ugly.”

  “Everything here is moving forward by the book, and you’re going to do everything in your power to avoid a lawsuit or him getting off on a technicality.”

  “I’m following every procedure.” Luigi tried not to sound defensive.

  “Va bene. When you touch down here, get him straight to the hospital to find out the extent of his head injury and what he’s on. I don’t need him going into seizures in a jail cell.”

  “Okay. I’ll get his head X-rayed, and have blood drawn for toxicology. We’ll be at the hospital in Venice in about two hours.”

  “We’ll call ahead to have them on standby.” Before Laszlo hung up, Luigi heard him say, “Lydia, call the hospital and tell them Scortini’s being brought in for an X-ray.”