Death of a Butterfly

by Simon Brown

  After Ruby left, I opened my computer and booked cheap tickets to Venice. Excitement and apprehension blended into mixed emotions as I instigated a new step into the unknown.

  That night when I undressed for bed I noticed how much slimmer I had become. I was close to my art school figure. My skin felt smooth. The dry patches around my elbows and knees had gone. My nose and chin no longer felt greasy. I ran my hands through my hair and enjoyed the soft lustre. I felt healthier inside. My digestion worked well and I was regular. Somehow my new lifestyle and eating had rejuvenated me. Perhaps I was slowly transforming myself physically, mentally and emotionally.

  A few days later I packed for Venice. The Internet predicted cold, wet weather, so my case was bulging with sweaters. I was ready to investigate Mathew’s past. I wanted to discover how he was with Veronica. I wondered what his ex-wife knew of Mathew’s early years. I travelled by bus from Finchley Road very early in the morning. The streets were empty, just me and three other people trundling our suitcases along the pavement. I became caught up in the rhythmic clunk as the wheels of my case hit the cracks in the pavement; a sound of the times.

  CHAPTER 17

  I arrived at Marco Polo airport and boarded the Alilaguna airport boat. We glided across the calm water towards the San Zaccaria vaporetto stop. I watched Venice come into view and marvelled. I slowly made out the details as we approached. This was my first visit to Venice and my excitement rocketed as I saw the façades of the buildings. It was a bright, sunny day and the water across to San Giorgio Maggiore sparkled in the sunlight. A cold wind blew across my cheeks. I climbed onto dry land and felt the ground of Venice beneath my feet.

  With a map in one hand and pulling my case with the other I walked through the maze of narrow streets leading to my temporary home in Calle della Madoneta, to the west of St Mark’s Square.

  I found the large, black iron gates leading to a small courtyard. A moment’s panic as the key did not seem to work and then the latch slid open. The second key opened a bare wood door that led to my flat. My first instinct was to get out and look around. I unpacked, showered and changed into warm clothes. I set off for a day’s sightseeing with my camera, map and guide.

  Within an hour I was lost. Some of the streets were so narrow it was hard to get my bearings. I mostly walked looking at the buildings, water and bridges. I ate dinner in St Mark’s Square listening to Vivaldi’s “Gloria Magnificat” as Dorothy had instructed me and paid with the money she had kindly given me for the trip. The rising and falling choral harmonies over what seemed to me to be his trademark violin phrases leant a kind of spiritual or even religious atmosphere to the evening. I returned home with aching feet. It was a relief to pull off my long, black boots and let my toes spread out on the stone floor.

  My last information regarding Veronica was that, according to Inspector Pride, she was in hospital in Venice. I had located Ospedale Civile di Venezia as the main hospital. It was close to Francis’ apartment and I walked round in the morning. I was told that Veronica Blake had been discharged two months ago. Naturally they would not give me her address. Back at home I searched for Veronica Blake, Venice, Italy on my computer. Using an Internet phone directory, I managed to get her phone number and called.

  “Hello, my name’s Amanda. Can I speak to Veronica?”

  I heard a woman’s voice with a strong Italian accent.

  “Veronica is not well and will not speak to anyone.”

  “I am sorry, and I know she had a stroke, but I have some important information about her ex-husband, Mathew, and would like to tell her in person.”

  “Wait.”

  I heard the phone being put down and footsteps.

  “You may visit Mrs Blake at five this afternoon. Give me your email and I will send you directions.”

  I spelt out my address. Just as I started to say how I was looking forward to seeing Veronica, the phone disconnected.

  I realised I could walk to Veronica’s house taking in the Ponte di Rialto and on towards the train station. The weather had clouded over and the air was now quite cold. I wore my wool coat, hat and gloves.

  I found the address I was sent. I was just over an hour early and walked back to an interesting restaurant I had passed earlier for a very late lunch. I had no particular plan. Dorothy advised me to just ask questions and listen. Allow my intuition to guide me. Nevertheless, I could sense some anxiety as I sat eating my pasta and salad. The woman who answered the phone sounded unfriendly. I suspected Veronica still harboured ill feelings towards me.

  I rang the bell for apartment C at exactly 5 p.m. The buzzing of the electronic lock instigated some frantic pushing of the heavy, green door that scraped across the warped stone floor. I walked up the dark stairway aware of the uneven wooden steps creaking under my weight. When I reached the second floor, I met a tall woman with long, greying hair, who I placed in her early fifties. She held herself as though she was a dancer. Introducing herself as Claudia, she turned to lead me into a beige hallway. Claudia knocked sharply on an old wood door, opened it and ushered me in without speaking. I saw a slim woman dressed in a white wool sweater and blue jeans sitting in a large maroon chair by the window. The natural daylight lit her face. She looked beautiful with pale skin, wavy brown hair, dark eyes and long, thick eyebrows.

  “Hello, I am Amanda.”

  Veronica lifted her left arm. I shook her hand gently.

  Claudia carried a small chair and placed it opposite Veronica. She waved for me to sit in it.

  “I am Amanda and I married your ex-husband Mathew.”

  I paused, looking for a reaction. The right side of her face moved slightly.

  “I have some bad news. Last September Mathew was shot dead. As yet the police have not found his killer.”

  Veronica looked straight ahead to my right. There was no movement in her face. Claudia stood behind Veronica and put her hands on her shoulders. Veronica raised her left arm and placed her hand over Claudia’s. Claudia turned to me.

  “Veronica had a stroke about the same time that Mathew died. She is making progress, but as the stroke was on the left side of her brain she finds talking difficult.”

  I looked at Veronica who remained passive.

  “I am very sorry to hear about your stroke.”

  Claudia spoke again.

  “It is very kind of you to come and tell Veronica in person, but I am sure a letter would have been sufficient.”

  I waited and felt my breath before I spoke.

  “I want to tell you some more. Since Mathew was shot I have received several threatening letters and was later attacked in London. As part of the investigation, the police tried to learn more of Mathew’s past. They could only trace him back to your marriage in Barcelona. I realised that I knew little of the man I married and shared my life with. I am hoping that you could fill in some of the gaps.”

  Claudia stiffened.

  “Where are the police with their investigations?”

  “They have one suspect, my neighbour.”

  “How did you find us?”

  “The police located Veronica in the hospital.”

  Claudia looked pale.

  “Are they coming here?”

  “No, I am sure they would not.”

  “Veronica finds talking difficult, so maybe you have wasted your trip.”

  Veronica reached out and touched Claudia’s arm. Very slowly and with great effort from the right side of her face she managed to speak.

  “I will try.”

  “I really want to know anything you can tell me about Mathew’s past, particularly up until you met.”

  Veronica took a couple of long breaths. Claudia sat down.

  “Met in Barcelona. He came from Argentina. Did not have an EU passport. Worked in a bar.”

  Veronica leant back and rested her head against the back of her chair.

  “Do you know anything about his family or past relationships?”

  “Did not say. Friends i
n bar knew him from Argentina. Wanted to move on. To go to London.”

  Claudia scowled.

  “And then he dumped you once he got his UK passport. Took half your home in the process.”

  Claudia got up and gave Veronica a kiss on the forehead. Veronica looked up and smiled crookedly.

  “How did it end?”

  “Became critical and angry. Nothing good enough. Ashamed of me.”

  I felt a slight shudder remembering similar experiences.

  “He met a policewoman.”

  My heart jumped.

  “Was her name Joan Pride?”

  Veronica shrugged her shoulders.

  “Perhaps you are tired,” Claudia said and looked at me.

  “I can come back tomorrow. I can give you some healing if you like.”

  I did not know why I said that. I had never given any healing before. Perhaps it was one of those intuitive moments. Veronica looked ahead blankly. Claudia stared at me. I felt embarrassed and nervously tried to explain myself.

  “Sorry, that might have been weird. It’s just that you look to be in pain and I instinctively wanted to help. I would just place my hands on your back and help your body heal. It’s like a very gentle massage. My aunt has been teaching me. After I was attacked, it really helped me, so I thought—”

  “Same time,” Veronica whispered interrupting me.

  Claudia got up, making it clear it was time to leave. I gathered up my coat, hat and gloves. I waved, but Veronica just stared ahead.

  “She is tired now,” Claudia offered as way of explanation.

  As I walked out of the door Claudia spoke.

  “Do the police know you are here?”

  “No.”

  I walked home beside green water, over arched bridges, along stone walkways. It was dark. I stopped by a shop window to look at my map. I thought I saw a person dressed in black step back around the far corner in the reflection of the curved glass. My route took me from the busy street into a quiet residential area. As I walked the sound of my boots echoed slightly off the walls. There was an eerie stillness. I was surprised to find myself alone.

  I walked on with a slight feeling of anxiety. After I rounded into a new street I felt a creeping sensation in my back as if someone was close behind. I turned quickly to see a figure in black dart into a doorway. I set off again quickly and found myself in another popular street. I walked past a party of colourful people. Some were wearing ornate masks. I presumed they were going to a carnival. I crossed a bridge and found myself walking alongside a church. My boots made a rhythmic cracking sound. I sped up increasing the tempo. When I reached the end of the church I felt something behind me again. I turned and saw the black figure walking fast towards me. The streetlight behind turned him or her into a silhouette. I walked on searching out people and sanctuary. I tried to focus and stop the fear welling up inside me, spilling over and flooding me with a paralysing terror. I crossed a small bridge and turned to see if I was still being followed.

  I could see more clearly now. A black hat similar to the one worn by my assailant in Covent Garden, black costume face mask, thick black sweater, trousers and trainers. The person started to run towards me.

  I turned and ran. Every part of me was consumed with a sickening, cold horror. I was ill equipped. The boots made running precarious and my trousers were so tight I could not stretch my legs out. In my panic I careered into a new street. My exertions created a frantic staccato beat that reverberated off the stone walls. I careered over another bridge. I was now panting hard. The cold air rasped across my tonsils. Rather than running in a straight line, I was unbalanced, crashing into the walls for support. The street appeared to be a dead end. My attacker was closing in quickly. I screamed for help in desperation. At the end of the road there was a small alley to the right and I turned the corner as I sensed my pursuer was almost in reach.

  Ahead of me a thickset man wearing a brown leather coat strode into the walkway blocking my path.

  I saw the entrance to a tiny bar to my right and put every last drop of energy into reaching the entrance first. I fell in through the door and into the arms of a large man in a suit. I turned to see a black form run on down the alley. It might have looked like the person was out for a casual run. Moments later the man in the leather coat walked past glancing towards the bar.

  I couldn’t catch my breath or calm down. I started crying. When I tried to answer questions, all I could do was pant. Then panicked thoughts shook my mind. Who could know I was in Venice? Claudia had seemed hostile. Why did she ask if the police knew I was here? Each question was pushed out by another so quickly that I resolved nothing.

  I sat down on a stool. Another man brought me a glass of water. After I calmed down I explained, with a shaky voice, that I had been chased. A bald man in a maroon jacket looked around outside and said no one was in the street. He suggested I get a water taxi home. Two of the customers walked with me to a stop. I was trembling as the men helped me onto the narrow boat. I sat down gripping the seat. The motor revved and we launched out into the cool breeze, past floodlit decaying walls.

  “Hey ho, life’s a box of chocolates,” I reminded myself on autopilot.

  I was taken through the canals to a stop almost outside Francis’ apartment. I got my keys ready and walked quickly to the main gate, escorted by the kind man from the water taxi. Once I was in, I began to relax. My mind went into analysis mode. Was this a new predator? Could it be the same person who had sent me those threats in England? Was it Edward? I did not get a good look in the dark but it could have been Edward. He must have started following me after I left Veronica’s home. Was someone watching Veronica? Did Claudia phone someone? Should I call the police? What could I say? That someone followed me for a while? Hardly a crime. I considered calling Dorothy, but it was late, and what could she do? It took a long time to fall asleep.

  I awoke to hear a creaking on the stairs. My heartbeat increased as I sat up. My ears were highly attuned to any slight sound. I heard steps and movement outside the apartment door. I leapt out of my bed and into the kitchen. I picked up a knife in one hand and a wine bottle in the other. I stood frozen, watching the door. I heard the sound of a key being pushed in a lock. I looked around starting to feel frantic. I thought of locking myself in the bathroom but I had noticed that the lock consisted of a thin hook and loop. Even I could force the door open. Then I heard a girl giggle and a man say something in Italian. I heard a door shut and then further footsteps followed by the floorboards creaking above my head. I sighed as I realised it was my neighbours returning from a late night.

  In the morning I made a conscious effort to wear a very different outfit. I wore a hat and found a pair of sunglasses to wear. The winter sun was still bright enough. No boots this time, but a pair of blue canvas trainers. I pulled my reversible coat inside out, so that was now blue.

  Once I was out I realised that worrying about yesterday’s incident would not help. I needed to get back to the moment and trust in myself to deal with whatever happens. Despite everything, I was still alive. I had not eaten since yesterday afternoon and my appetite returned. I found a café close to the hospital with a beautiful view across a square and canal. I looked at my map and plotted a new route to Veronica’s past a museum.

  I started to enjoy my new route winding through to St Mark’s Square and on towards Veronica’s home. I located her home from another direction and then retraced my steps back to a new restaurant that had attracted my attention. I had plenty of time to explore. I walked into one of the many tourist shops selling masks, and tried one on. It would help me to be less recognisable. I bought a plain looking emerald green mask that covered my forehead and cheeks. At precisely five, I rang the doorbell and climbed the stairs to Veronica’s apartment.

  Claudia was dressed in black. She felt slightly imposing and gave me a cold stare as I walked up to her. I followed her into the living room. Veronica was sitting in the same chair.

  “He
llo, how are you today? I am really enjoying—”

  “Where do I lie?” Veronica said with effort, cutting me off.

  I looked around the room and suggested she lay down on the chaise longue. Claudia helped Veronica across the room and had to roll her onto her front. I could see she found it difficult to move her right leg. Once her neck was comfortable I asked Claudia for a blanket and gently placed it over her. I remember the care with which I was ‘tucked in’ and tried to ensure my movements had a loving, motherly feel. I then sat next to her and placed my hands on Veronica’s upper back. I remembered Dorothy’s instructions that I just meditate and let Veronica guide me.

  After a few minutes my hands began to feel hot. I focussed my mind on my hands and the feeling of Veronica’s back. It was bony. I could feel her ribs. Her lower back felt cold and I instinctively wanted to keep my hands there. Claudia sat staring at me. Then she must have got bored, as she sighed and left the room.

  When I finished I slowly walked over to a comfortable looking chair and sat quietly. I still felt some kind of connection to Veronica and it felt natural to continue my meditation, as though it would continue her healing. About fifteen minutes later Veronica slowly opened her eyes and looked at the ceiling.

  “How are you feeling?”

  “Sleepy.”

  “Perhaps I should go and let you rest.”

  “Ask me.”

  I was unprepared.

  “What was Mathew like when he was with you?”

  “First passionate, gallant, funny.”

  Veronica rolled her head on the pillow so she faced away from me.

  “Later critical, aloof, distant.”

  Was Mathew checking out on me too? After a silence Veronica spoke again. Each word felt painful and bitter.

  “When I heard he married you, I hated you both.”

  “I am very sorry. I did not know much of his past then.”

  “Now I have Claudia.”