“Well, at least now we know where the balls came from,” said Nicci.
“Still don’t know why, though.”
“How do you mean?” Nicci sat up and kissed the back of Teo’s shoulder. “Seems pretty straightforward to me. They killed someone they thought was you, then sent his balls to your father to say that this was the end of the line. No more Albanis.”
“Yes, but it’s the timing that puzzles me,” said Teo, shaking his head. “Why now? Why dig up some old feud in such a dramatic fashion? I was in a monastery, after all. To all effects and purposes I was already castrated, by my vows. Why go to the trouble of killing me?”
“Perhaps they knew about your father’s plans to make you leave the monastery.”
“No. Nobody outside the family knew about that. Other than you.”
“And Giancarlo,” said Nicci. “Because I’m an idiot.”
Teo frowned and shook his head again. “Even then, whether they knew or not, it doesn’t make the whole thing seems any less…demented.”
“Teo, we’re talking about people who strangled a man, removed his testicles and sent them to your father. I think we’re just going to have to take demented as a given.”
“You have a point.”
Nicci reluctantly rose from the bed and reached for his clothes. “What happened to your theory that this was retribution?”
“No. I have no evidence for that. It was just a feeling, based on my own fears. Like I told you last night, I was panicking at the sight of dead birds.”
“Yes, but you weren’t completely wrong. At least not about the part where they’d mistaken Armando for you.” Nicci looked back at the bed, where Teo was still sitting, flushed, naked and almost unbearably beautiful. It was hard enough to think already, without being distracted by love. The hardest part was that there was something in there, buried in the depths of his brain and half-glimpsed through the fog of an ancient hangover, but whenever he tried to reach for this vital thing his mental grasp seemed to slip and slither. “If it was a family vendetta…” he said, half thinking aloud, and then a whole tangle of things suddenly began to make sense. “Oh my God. What if they killed Giacamo, too?”
Teo blinked. “You’re not still fixated on that business with del Campo’s dagger, are you?”
“Why not? Christ, I’m a fool. We know Carlo del Campo didn’t kill your brother. He spent that night threatening to murder his wife, right?”
“Right.”
“But Giacomo ends up in the Arno with del Campo’s dagger in his back just the same. Now, here’s the interesting part: Giacamo wasn’t stabbed to death.”
Teo frowned. “But he had a dagger in his back?”
“Yes, he did, but it didn’t kill him. The likelihood was that he was already dead when the dagger was stuck in his back.”
“How do you know that?”
“I know a man down at the morgue – Berto. I spoke with him the day before your father’s funeral, because I wanted to ask him if he’d had any testicles go missing, or anyone asking to buy—”
“—wait.” Teo waved both hands. “Buy testicles? People buy…?”
“Body parts? Yes. All the time.”
“Did you?”
“Teo! Not important right now.”
“Sorry,” said Teo. “Go on.”
“Right, well. I found out a couple of things. One, that the balls didn’t come from the morgue.”
“Obviously. Now we know where they came from.”
“Two, that Giacamo was most likely dead when they stuck the dagger in him. From the state of his neck, Berto believes that he was strangled first.”
Teo’s mouth fell a little open. “Like Armando,” he said. “But wait…they didn’t castrate Giacamo, did they?”
“No,” said Nicci. “But the fact that they stabbed him with the dagger of the man he was cuckolding suggests to me that they weren’t looking to send a message with his murder in the same way they were with yours. In Giacamo’s case they were probably just trying to get rid of him, but let’s worry about motivation later, because there’s more.”
“More what?”
“When I was in the Bargello,” said Nicci. “I met a thief named Beppe Tornato. Do you remember what Fiorina del Campo said to us? About the pickpocket?”
“You can’t think…?”
“I can,” said Nicci. “And what’s more, I do. Little man. Going bald. And most importantly, bitching loud and clear about the rich men who hired him to do the crimes he’s currently in prison for. The men who paid him to steal del Campo’s dagger so that they could frame him for your brother’s murder. For my money, I think that if we can get him to give us the names of those men…”
“…Rafaele and Fillipo Ribisi.”
“Exactly,” said Nicci, and tossed Teo his trousers. “Get dressed. We’ve got them.”
16
By the time they got back to Florence, Vicini had worked himself into a fine froth of anxiety and indignation. “Where have you been? I’ve been worried sick about you.”
“Where did you think he was?” said Nicci, stepping out from behind a column. “Face down in the river with a knife in his back?”
If Nicci had been trying to provoke a reaction, he didn’t get one, although Vicini did look somewhat surprised to see him. “You were in the Bargello.”
Nicci tossed the reins of his horse to the groom and grinned. “And now I’m not.”
Vicini’s lips narrowed to almost nothing. “Would someone please tell me what’s going on? Signor, your safety is paramount…”
“I know,” said Teo. “Believe me, I know. Someone tried to kill me.”
“Who? When? How?” Vicini followed them across the courtyard. “Signor, where are you going now?”
“To the Bargello.”
“Why?”
“I’ve taken a shine to the place,” said Nicci. “It’s very hospitable once you get used to the smell. I’m thinking of going for my holidays.” He squeezed Teo’s elbow. “Excuse me. Call of nature, then we’ll go and talk to our thief, all right?”
Vicini watched him go. “Thief? What is he talking about?”
“There’s a thief in the Bargello,” said Teo. “He’s the key to all of this. This…this conspiracy. Nicci thinks it’s all connected.”
“What’s all connected?”
“Giacamo, Armando, my father…”
Vicini frowned. “This is him, is it? Volpaia? Is he the one putting these ideas into your head?”
“No,” said Teo. “I’m not a child anymore, Vicini. I’m perfectly capable of forming my own ideas. I went back to San Bendetto, heard it from the abbot himself.” He lowered his voice. “Armando was castrated.”
Vicini turned pale. “What? Why? Who would have done such a thing?”
“Someone who thought they were killing me,” said Teo.
“The…the abbot told you this? Is that where you’ve been? San Bendetto?”
“No. I spent the night in Pisa.”
“Pisa? What’s in Pisa?”
“A ship,” said Teo. “The boy – Giancarlo. It was prudent to get him out of the way.”
“The sodomite?” said Vicini. “Signor, I wish you’d consulted me. I know it’s hardly my place to say, but…” He glanced around and huffed. “The accusations were true. Volpaia and that boy…they were…they were sharing a bed most nights. His reputation is…”
“I’m aware,” said Teo. “And yet you trusted him with me the last time my life was in danger.” He paused, curious. “Why do you care now?”
Nicci came back just then, and Teo had no time to wait for Vicini’s answer. They hurried back to the Bargello, where the guard looked blank when Nicci asked after Tornato. “You must know who I’m talking about,” said Nicci. “Beppe Tornato. About this high. Bulgy blue eyes. Not much hair. Has a lot of opinions about the Florentine Republic.”
“Oh, him,” said the guard, rolling his eyes. “Yes, we’ve got him. Right this way.”
“No idea,” said Teo. “Not that I’m sure where we are right now.” The guard opened the door ahead of them, large keys clanking on an iron ring as round as a man’s bicep. Behind the door was a small cell, and inside was a small man, sitting on the deep ledge of a high, barred window.
“You again,” he said, when he saw Nicci. “The man from Chianti. What brings you back to this terrible place?”
“You,” said Nicci.
The thief gave a dry, barking laugh. “I’m flattered.”
“We need your help, Beppe,” said Nicci. “We know that you stole a dagger from Carlo del Campo.”
Tornato frowned. His eyebrows were white and barely there. His weak chin, pale skin and large, protuberant eyes gave him the look of something that had blinked up into the sun when a rock was lifted. How long had he been in here, anyway? “I don’t know the man’s name,” he said, waving a hand. “They pointed him out to me and I did as I was paid to do.”
“When you picked his pocket,” said Nicci. “Was there a woman with him?”
“There was. Dark as the devil and twice as tempting.” Beppe Tornato sucked air between his teeth. “Bold woman. Looked me right in the eyes, she did.”
“Messer Tornato, we need the names of the people who paid you.”
The transparent eyebrows twitched upwards once more, marking little dents in his forehead, like thumbprints pressed into pale dough. “All right,” Tornato said, and licked his lips. “And what’s in it for me?”
“I’m sure we can come to some arrangement.”
Tornato barked again, baring empty spaces where his back teeth should be. “Look at you,” he said. “Arrangements are no use to me, lad. What I need is a pardon.”
“I could get your sentence commuted,” said Teo, ignoring Nicci’s sidelong glance. Yes, he was out of his depth and he knew it.
“Commuted. Wonderful. I get to rot in here instead of at the end of a rope. Lucky old Beppe, eh? I’ve been on bread and water before. I know how it goes, now that the dukes are in charge. There’s no justice for the likes of me, only for the likes of young men like you, with your fancy accents and your expensive clothes. You think you’ve got it good now, but you wait. When Francesco takes his bride we’ll all be vassals of the bloody emperor, even the Medici. It’s a slippery slope, all this monarchy business.”
“Well, he’s a regular Machiavelli,” said Teo, as they walked back to the house, having managed to extract no further information. “Sitting around in prison, having all kinds of opinions about government.”
“And a fat lot of good they’ll do him,” said Nicci. “Of course, assuming you could get him a pardon…”
“How? The regent is already sick of the sight of me. I haven’t got a prayer.”
“What about Cosimo?”
“No,” said Teo. “Absolutely not. Appealing to the duke will only annoy Francesco even more, and I really can’t afford to do that right now.” He sniffed the air and smelled smoke. “Can you smell burning?”
“It had better not be coming from your place,” said Nicci. “All my drawings are in there.”
But it was, because this day just kept getting better and better. Pale smoke streamed from the dining room window, and the front hallway smelled like fire. Nicci raced into the house before Teo had a chance to stop him. The dining room was thick with smoke, as if someone had inexpertly attempted to light a fire, even though it was summer. “Oh, thank God,” said Nicci, retrieving his drawings.
Teo flung the windows wide and coughed. “At this time of year? What’s the matter with people? Vicini? Vicini!”
Nicci fanned the smoke with a drawing board. “I just had a thought.”
“What? That someone is trying to burn the house down?”
“Tornato. He said she looked him right in the eyes, right? Fiorina del Campo? Perhaps she remembers his face. Perhaps she’d recognise him from a likeness.”
“Good thinking,” said Teo, stifling a cough. You think the guards will let you back in for a spot of portraiture?”
Nicci tapped the side of his head with a finger and grinned. “Don’t need to. I have him fresh in my memory. And he has a memorable face.”
“That’s helpful, but we also need him to talk.”
“What about the podestà?” said Nicci. “If you can’t ask the regent, maybe the chief magistrate can secure his release?”
“Pfft. Doubtful. Besides, it does sound like Beppe Tornato is guilty.”
“Technically so was I.”
“Yes, of a thing you both consented to,” said Teo. Annoyed, he flung open the dining room door and called for Vicini once more. “As far as I know there’s never been a case of theft where the person consented to having a thing stolen from them. At that point it stops being theft, surely?”
Nicci frowned. “You were wasted in a monastery. You should have studied the law.”
“Maybe I will now. It’s not as if I can go back to being a monk, is it? Vicini!”
Vicini appeared. “Forgive me, signor. My ears aren’t what they used to be.”
“Never mind your ears,” said Teo. “What’s burning?”
“The chimneys, signor. I thought it prudent to have them swept and the flues cleared ahead of winter.”
Nicci made a soft noise, half snort, half cough. “Winter is months away.”
Vicini dipped his head. “Yes, signor, but the house has been neglected for some time.”
“Fine,” said Teo. “As long as it’s not burning down, I suppose. Do be careful, Vicini.”
“Of course. My apologies. It won’t happen again.”
They watched him go. “What do you suppose is going on with him?” said Teo. “No, wait, don’t answer that. I have enough on my mind already.” He sighed. “All right. I’m going to see if I can have a word with the podestà. Anything is worth a try at this point. And some legal advice would be useful.”
“Wait.” Nicci touched his hand and it all came flooding back to Teo in an instant. Flesh, whispers, warm bodies rolling over and under each other in the dark. Among the chaos of everything else that had been going on, it had slid to the back of Teo’s mind, but now the thought came back, clearer than the abbey bell and ten times more insistent. I am no longer a virgin.
Their fingers tangled beneath the windowsill, out of sight. Still, Teo was aware that they were standing next to an open window, in full view of the street, both of them staring with the fixed, yearning gaze of brand new lovers. Without taking his eyes off Nicci Teo reached out an arm and pulled the cross hatched pane closed, shutting out the outside world. His mouth was on Nicci’s before the latch had even clicked home. Nicci must have been thinking the same thing as he was, because his kiss was breathless, and as hungry as if they had put all their clothes back on a thousand years before, and not only a few hours ago back in Pisa.
Nicci’s tongue thrust deep into Teo’s mouth, with an urgency that recalled last night, and the dark flame that had flickered in Teo’s belly the first time he felt Nicci’s full weight and strength on top of him and realised that Nicci could do anything to him. Teo broke off to breathe, and Nicci seemed to draw himself back a little. They hung there, noses touching, Nicci’s hand in Teo’s hair and Teo’s hand against the blaze of Nicci’s flushed, bearded cheek. “I can’t believe what we did last night,” Teo whispered.
“Neither can I.” Nicci claimed his lips once more, teasing this time, perhaps even cautious in his kisses, as if he didn’t dare let himself want too much at this hour of the day. “Tonight, Teo. Will you come to me again tonight?”
“You know I will.”
Nicci stifled a laugh. It was a recently discovered laugh, a soft, indulgent huff of breath, exhaled between the sheets in the face of eagerness or outright greed. “Stop,” he said. “Before I forget how to.”
&nb
sp; “How to what?”
“Stop.”
This time Teo laughed, delighted by their utter absurdity. “I love you.”
“I love you, too, but I have a thief to draw.”
Teo nodded and stole one more kiss. “I’m going,” he said. “I’ll see you later.”
His first idea was not to go directly to the podestà but to find out if there were any grounds for Beppe Tornato’s release, any judgements over which there might hang a question mark. Teo spent an unproductive day with Silvano Rossi, one of his father’s many lawyers, digging through previous judgements and finding nothing but evidence not only of Tornato’s guilt but a history of hopeless recidivism. In a way it was impressive that he hadn’t been hung as a thief a hundred times over.
“I swear this one sold his soul to the Devil,” Rossi said. “The way he slips through the cracks.”
“You think he can slip through this one?” asked Teo. He was dusty from hours of rummaging in law libraries, and a steady throb had settled in above his eyebrows.
“I don’t think so. Not unless you can prove that he’s been put there by a Ribisi-orchestrated conspiracy—”
“—right,” said Teo, pinching the bridge of his nose. “And he won’t help me prove that unless I can get him out.” He sighed and sank down in his chair. “I have no idea what I’m doing.”
“As far as I can see,” said Rossi. “You have a whole lot of theory and no real evidence. You need witnesses, murder weapons. You need something to connect this notion that the murders were connected.”
“That’s why I need Beppe Tornato.”
Rossi shook his head. “Still looks like a house of cards to me. Looks intricate, but easily toppled with a single sneeze. Right now you’ve got a whole lot of wind and nothing.” He gave a short laugh. “Sounds like a D’Angelo case.”
“A what case?”
“D’Angelo. Worst lawyer in Florence,” said Rossi. “Or best, depending on your perspective. If you have a case that makes no damn sense, call D’Angelo. He’ll make even less sense of it, and sometimes make the judge bleed from his nose in pure frustration. He has a mind like a hedge maze designed by a lunatic.”
The Thief Of Peace Page 20
