‘That’s it?’
‘That’s it.’
‘Mmm. Doesn’t help much. Tell me about Francesco Nicolodi.’
‘I don’t know that much. There was something not right about him though. He said he was a journalist, but I couldn’t find anything published by him prior to that article in The Times . He was staying in some flophouse over in Dorsoduro for a few days, and then checked into one of the most expensive hotels in town.’
Vanni nodded. ‘So you’d been following him for a couple of days? Checking him out?’
I paused. ‘Yes. Yes, I suppose so.’
‘Any reason why?’
‘ Boh . I guess I was just trying to help Considine. Francesco was one of the first witnesses on the scene . . . at the pavilion, you know? I just thought I’d talk to him again. Just to see if there was anything else he might remember. And then, well, I kind of got sucked in, I suppose.’
‘So you followed him around the city?’
‘I didn’t follow him. I went to the two hotels he was staying in.’
‘And on the last two occasions you met him, you had a fight.’
‘Not a fight. We exchanged a few strong words, that’s all.’
‘Then you went to meet him in the early hours of the morning, alone, on the island of Lazzaretto Vecchio.’
‘I didn’t go to meet him. I found him.’ We sat in silence for a few seconds. ‘What are you trying to say, Vanni?’
‘Nat,’ he never called me Nat, ‘we know you followed Nicolodi around the city for two days. We know you argued on the last two occasions that you met. We know you were the first to find him, late last night, at a location that you knew would be deserted.’ He paused. ‘And we have a murder weapon with your fingerprints on it.’
I went cold. ‘Wait a minute. Now wait a minute, Vanni. I told you, I cut my fingers when I was reaching around in the dark. And then I grabbed the handle and the blade of the scythe. You don’t really think I had anything to do with this? Come on, we’ve known each other for years. You can’t think I had anything to do with this.’
‘I don’t, Nat. Really, I don’t. But there are other people who would very much like to think that you did.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Look, we’ve had two deaths in the last ten days. Both linked with the Biennale. There are two hypotheses. One is that the first death was an accident, and the second death was down to you. The other is that we have a serial killer. Now tell me, which is the easiest solution for everyone?’
‘So what are you saying? Am I under arrest? Do I need a lawyer?’
He shook his head. ‘No. I’ll do what I can to help. I promise. But in the meantime, you step right back from this. Right back. You go home, you do your translations, you help people with lost passports. That’s it. You understand?’
I nodded.
‘You understand?’ he repeated.
‘I do, Vanni. I do. What about—’ I paused.
‘What about Paul Considine?’ I nodded. ‘Let me worry about him.’
‘Do you know where he is?’ Vanni said nothing. ‘Okay, I understand. I’ll just stay out of things.’ I half rose from my chair but he motioned me back down again.
‘There’s one other thing, Nathan. Vincenzo Scarpa came to see us yesterday.’
I gave a watery smile. ‘Let me guess. He wants to know my address so he can send his business associates around for a chat?’
‘A bit more serious than that. He says you followed him a few days ago, locked him inside the ovovia on the Calatrava Bridge and then came up with some threatening story about a serial killer using methods found in famous works of art.’
‘I wouldn’t put it quite like that.’
Vanni reached into his desk drawer, and drew out an envelope. ‘Then yesterday, he found this in his mailbox.’ He opened the envelope, and took out a postcard. He pushed it across the desk to me.
A man, slumped in a bathtub. His head bound in a towel, his eyelids drooping as if in sleep. His right hand, clutching a quill pen, trails along the floor. The smile upon his face is almost beatific, yet his chest is stained with blood, and a bloodied knife lies upon the floor.
Jacques-Louis David, The Death of Marat .
‘My God. Oh my God.’ Vanni said nothing. ‘What do you want me to do?’
‘I want you to do exactly what you promised, Nathan. Go home. And do nothing.’
‘But what about,’ I gestured at the postcard, ‘this?’
‘Leave that to us. In the meantime, go home. Do nothing.’
I nodded my head.
He reached across the desk and patted me on the shoulder. ‘Thanks, Nathan. Try not to worry about it.’
Federica was waiting outside for me. She looked tired and drawn. ‘Are you okay?’ I said.
She nodded. ‘Tired. I don’t think I’ll be going up any scaffolding today. How about you?’
‘Fine.’ I said.
Silence hung in the air between us. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes, it’s fine. I just told Vanni exactly what happened.’
‘And so everything’s okay now?’
‘Yes. Well, there are still a few things that might need to be checked out.’
‘So it’s not “fine” then?’
‘Well it is, basically.’
She sighed, and looked around the reception area of the Questura . ‘I’m tired. Feels like I’ve been here for hours. Let’s go and get a coffee.’ We walked to the same bar on the corner of Piazzale Roma where I’d shared a coffee and a cigarette with Anna a week previously. The city was starting to come to life now, as commuters from Mestre crammed themselves on to vaporetti .
Fede tipped two sachets of sugar into her coffee. She stirred it clockwise. And then anticlockwise. Then she sipped at it. ‘So, tell me all about it.’
I shrugged. ‘There really isn’t very much to say. Vanni just told me to step back a bit. Concentrate on the day job.’
She paused. ‘Nothing more?’
I hesitated. ‘Nothing more. Nothing important, anyway.’
She slammed two euros down on the counter. ‘Nothing important. Okay, let’s go.’ And she left without a backward glance.
I hurried after her as she made her way across Piazzale Roma. ‘We’re not getting the boat then?’
‘I’m going to work, remember. You can do what you like. And I don’t want to be stuck on a vaporetto having a row in front of other people.’
‘Oh. Are we having a row then?’ I was finding it hard to keep up with her. I reached out for her arm, but she shook it off. ‘Come on,’ I said, ‘what’s the matter?’
She stopped and turned on me. ‘Okay, Nathan, I’ll tell you what the matter is. Something is wrong, something’s worrying you. But you won’t tell me what it is. Just that “it’s all fine”.’
‘It is all fine.’
‘Shut up. Please, just shut up.’ Her voice was cracking. ‘You went off on your little adventure last night without even waking me up. Vanni has obviously said something to you, something serious, and you won’t tell me what it is. Stop cutting me out of everything. Why can’t you be honest with me? And why didn’t you at least tell me where you were going last night?’
‘I didn’t want to worry you.’
‘Right. So when I woke up and found you weren’t there, what was I supposed to think?’
‘I don’t know. I didn’t think.’
‘You didn’t think. Exactly. At first I thought you’d gone outside for a smoke. Then when you didn’t come back, I didn’t know what to do. Were you in trouble? Should I call the police? Or do you just have another woman?’
‘Good God, no, of course I don’t.’ Our voices were raised now, and it was evident that people were listening to us. A full-blown row in the middle of the street. Well done, Nathan.
‘No. No, I don’t think you do. But why will you not let me in?’
‘As I said, I didn’t want to worry you.’
‘Well, that’s
not working, because I am worried. You know what the problem is, Nathan? It’s that you won’t grow up.’
‘What?’ I was genuinely losing the thread of the conversation now.
‘You won’t grow up. It’s all just a lovely game for you now, isn’t it? You’ve got your job, you’ve got your cat, you’ve got beers and rock music with Dario. And now you’ve got another little adventure. The one thing that you won’t do is let me in on any of this. Just jokey little asides and “don’t worry about it”. Well, I am worried about it. I’m worried you’re going to get hurt.’
‘Well, thanks for that.’
‘Quiet. Just quiet. I’m worried that you’re going to get hurt, or at the least end up in trouble, but I can cope with that. What I can’t cope with is you not being honest with me. You lied to me last night, again and again and again.’
I stopped walking. I closed my eyes, and nodded. ‘You’re right. I know you’re right. I’m just—’ Again the words would not come. ‘Look, all I can say is that I don’t want to worry you. I’m sorting all this out.’
‘Fine. Well give me a call when you’ve sorted your life out.’
‘Look,’ I pleaded, ‘can’t we just talk about this later? If you come round about seven, I’ll cook and—’
‘I don’t think so. I’ve got a lot of work on at the moment, I’ll need to do some tonight.’
‘No worries. Shall I just come round to yours then, I can cook dinner and you can work.’
‘It’s not a good idea. I’m busy. As I said, you sort out your little mystery. Sort things out with Vanni. And if you can do all that, then give me a call and we’ll see if we can sort out our relationship. If we think we can.’
‘Whoah. Wait a minute, wait a minute. What do you mean “if we think we can”?’
She stopped walking. ‘It means what it means, Nathan. It may be working for you at the moment, but it’s not working for me. You need to decide if you want to have a proper, grown-up relationship. And that means being honest with me. Maybe it means being honest with yourself as well. So when you’ve decided what you want, call me.’
‘You’re, what, leaving me?’
She shook her head. ‘I don’t know. I’m saying come back when you’ve decided what you want.’
‘But I love you.’
‘And I love you too, tesoro . But right now I don’t like you very much. And I have to go to work.’
And with that, she was gone, leaving me standing alone in the midst of the hordes of tourists in the Campo dei Frari.
Chapter 31
‘You’ve done what! ’ said Dario, his beer halfway to his mouth.
‘Pretty much as I said. Implicated myself in a murder case. Very probably going to lose my job as consul. Oh, and Federica’s left me.’ I lit up a cigarette. ‘Still, you’ve got to laugh, haven’t you?’
Dario flapped away at the smoke. ‘I thought you were giving those things up?’
‘I was. Doesn’t seem much point now.’
‘Ah, Nathan . . .’
‘I mean, if it wasn’t for the self-medication I’m sure I’d be feeling a lot worse.’
‘So what have you been doing all day?’
‘Sulking, mainly. Went back to bed for a bit. Smoked too much. Listened to some Leonard Cohen to cheer myself up.’
‘So what are you going to do now?’
I took out my diary and flicked through it. ‘Let me see. After you go home, I’ve got a couple of hours of drinking too much scheduled. Then there’s a late-night horror on RAI to watch. Following which, I think falling asleep on the sofa and waking up in my clothes seems like a good idea.’
‘Nat. Stop this. This isn’t helping.’
‘I’m fine Dario, really. Things could be worse. It could be raining.’
Dario breathed deeply and put his head in his hands. I lit up another cigarette. He stretched across the table, yanked it from my fingers and ground it underfoot. I reached for the packet but he was too fast for me and snatched it from my grasp. Then slowly and deliberately he crushed it in his hand, and dropped it back on the table.
‘Dario?’
He said nothing, but just rubbed his face. And then stared directly at me. I tried to hold his gaze but failed. Finally, he spoke. ‘Have you thought that she might be right?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Look at you. Just look at you. She was the best thing that ever happened to you, and you’ve broken it. And instead of working out just how you can put things back together again, you’re behaving like a self-pitying little shit.’
‘That’s a bit unfair. You’ve forgotten the desperate attempts at gallows humour.’
‘See what I mean? She was right. You need to grow up. Come on, what are you going to do? Sort things out, or just smoke, drink and sulk for the rest of your life?’
‘Well, now you mention—’
‘And if you say that sounds like a pretty good idea I really will hit you. Do I look like I’m joking?’ And again, he stared directly into my eyes. We sat in silence for a few seconds.
‘Dario. You’re my friend. You’re my best friend.’
‘I know. And what does that mean?’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘It means that sometimes it’s all Pink Floyd and one too many beers, and me knowing that you’ll probably buy cigarettes on the way home because you know I don’t like you smoking but I don’t really care because my buddy is happy and he’s going home to snuggle up to lovely Federica. And other times, it means being honest and telling you that your haircut doesn’t suit you or you really need to buy a new jacket. And other times it means telling you that you’re being a selfish, self-indulgent asshole and you need to snap out of it before you really screw your life up.’
‘Wow. You’re pretty sure of yourself.’
‘Yes I am.’ He got to his feet. ‘I’ll get these.’ He walked inside, and returned a few seconds later. ‘Okay, this is what you’re going to do. You’re going to go straight upstairs to bed. You’re going to sleep on it. And then in the morning you’re going to have a serious think about how to sort this all out. Federica, and the case.’
‘The case? Dario, there is no case. Vanni told me to step back.’
‘The police won’t be stepping back on this, vecio . Trust me, if they can pin this on you they will. Vanni might not want to but others will.’ He patted me on the shoulder. ‘Okay, I’m off. Speak tomorrow, eh?’
‘What about you?’
‘I’m going home and I’m going to think about how to sort your life out. That’s what friends are for, right?’ And he walked off, down the Street of the Assassins, and into the night.
I went inside, and up to the bar. ‘I’ll have a Negroni for the road, please, Ed.’
He shook his head. ‘Sorry Nathan, I can’t do that.’
‘What? What do you mean you can’t do that?’
‘Your pal Dario. He said he’d kick my arse if I sold you anything else tonight.’
‘What is this, an intervention?’
‘Maybe. But he said he was just being a pal. Got me thinking that maybe I should be one too. Just go home, Nathan. And I’ll see you for breakfast tomorrow, on the house. Okay?’
I nodded. ‘Tomorrow.’ I turned to go, and then looked back. ‘Thanks.’ My voice cracked, and I hurried out of the door before he could see my face, and made my way upstairs to the flat.
My phone started ringing as I turned the keys in the lock. I fished it out of my pocket as I made my way inside, gently prodding Gramsci back up the stairs with my foot. Federica? Please let it be Federica. Or Dario. Or even Eduardo, telling me I’d left something down at the bar and giving me an excuse to go back. Then I looked at the number and my heart sank.
‘Sutherland?’
‘Mr Ambassador. How are you?’
‘Good, good. Well, actually not. You seem to be in the news again.’
‘Ah. You’ve heard then?’
‘We’ve heard. Look, Sutherland, t
his is a bit embarrassing for everyone . . . in fact it’s very embarrassing for me . . . but we’re wondering if you need to step back from things for the moment.’
‘What?’
‘It’s nothing personal, please do believe me on that but – well, this is twice in ten days now that you’ve been in the newspapers. And perhaps it doesn’t make us look all that good.’
‘Ambassador Maxwell, please, you were in the pavilion at the same time as me. You can’t believe I’m involved in any of this.’
‘Oh, of course not, of course not. But until it’s sorted, we think it might be best if you just stepped back a bit. Just direct any queries to the consul in Mestre . . . It is Mestre, isn’t it?’
‘Yes,’ I answered, automatically.
‘Good. And then just let the police do their thing.’
‘So what are you doing? Are you sacking me? Sacking me from my voluntary job?’
‘Nothing like that, Sutherland. Just let our chap in Mestre take over for now, and then, hopefully, when it’s all cleared up, well, we can all have another think, eh?’
‘Sure. Of course.’
‘Good man. Good man.’ I said nothing. ‘Well, I won’t keep you any longer. I’m sure you’ve got plans for the evening. Who knows, this might even be rather a nice little break for you.’ He hung up.
I slipped the phone into my pocket, closed my eyes and breathed deeply. There came a little miaow from around my ankles. I bent down and scratched Gramsci behind the ears. ‘We’ll be all right, eh, buddy? We’ve still got each other, haven’t we?’ He yowled, and slunk from the room.
I went through to the office and looked at the papers strewn on the desk. The front pages from last week’s newspapers. Scribbled notes on Nicolodi, Fitzgerald and Considine. The postcard of ‘The Vision of Death’. The invitation to Lazaretto Vecchio.
Somewhere, in the midst of it, was the answer. But I was tired now, dog-tired. I’d sort it out in the morning. Sort the case out, then sort my life out. And then everything would be fine. Everything would, probably, be fine.
Vengeance in Venice Page 19
