“I wonder why a young woman who looks like a delicate cover girl would create violent art,” Benjamin said.
“Something Freudian. She had a big adoring family, and every last one of them was blown to bits when she was in high school. Now she’s trying to kill her adoring patrons.”
“Don’t make me feel sorry for her, okay?” Benjamin sounded uncomfortable. “Have you heard anything on the French legal front?”
“Nothing good. The judge refused Bernardo bail for the second time.”
“I’ll drive down to Paris, check to see if Giselle’s staying at her home there. She and Vincenzo have a mansion on Île Saint Luis. While I’m there maybe I can get in to see Bernardo. I’m his brother, the police should let me talk to him.”
“Just be careful.”
“I will. And speaking of ‘nothing good,’ I’ve had two calls from the Amendolas. They keep talking to the media.”
“I was just watching them on a tabloid show when you called.”
“They want to sell their story for a book deal and a movie option.”
“What? They don’t have a story they can tell!”
“They want to make one up, get a fat check, and pay off some bills.”
“Oh, my…” Mateo bit off his next words and swallowed them with real effort. Once he felt in control he said, “I swear, I’m ready to take care of them, too.”
“It may come to that, but let’s stay focused,” Benjamin said. “The good news is that Rome didn’t send a death squad straight to Venice to kill us. It’s been weeks, and we haven’t had to send Nejla away for safekeeping.”
“Right. We can’t worship without our orator,” Mateo acknowledged.
“She’s a master at staying under the radar, and she’s had more training than most of us. Even if the Vatican’s Ecclesia Dei caught her, they’d never get a word out of her.”
“She’s the repository of all our knowledge. Perhaps I should send her to Nautilus just to be safe.”
Benjamin said, “The Vatican is up to their eyeballs in scandals, and yet all the pope talks about is the youth of the world.”
“I wonder how out of touch the pope really is. He’s busy playing scout leader.”
“It’s gross the way news agencies cover Leopold’s youth campaigns like they’re getting the scoop of the century. Where’ve they been for the last two thousand years?” Benjamin said. “So, what are you up to?”
“It’s been long enough since our last attempt to get into Porto delle Donne. I’m trying to get someone on the inside in case Benedetta is hiding there. I’ve also heard that Raphielli’s planning to open part of her palazzo to women and that they’re looking to hire staff.”
“Now we’re talking! We could get Paul’s ring back! We could have access to the temple! Great news!”
“After our last church service, we all had a meeting and brainstormed any skills our worshippers had that could look good on a shelter resume.”
“All of you? Even the ones who haven’t been willing to get blood on their hands?”
“Sì, all of us. All of the faithful are willing to spy. We’ve gotten some chloroform to knock Benedetta out, but now there’s only the three of us who have what it takes to kill for our cause: you, me, and Doctor G. Now that the pope had Salvio killed, our little congregation has come to understand the urgency of getting his unborn child back.”
“Well, how far are they willing to go?”
“They’ve agreed to use any skill they have, take any job that will get them into Raphielli’s buildings, but most of them still aren’t willing to admit that bloodshed may be called for. They’re secure in their faith that God will take care of everything.”
“Any word from Lydia on what the Venice police are doing? Has Lampani closed the Salvio investigation?”
“She says he’s been looking pretty ragged, but he’s still on the case.”
“I don’t like the idea of that detective working so hard to smear Salvio’s name. Venice should erect a statue to him, not paint him as some crazed killer.”
Gina looked at the calendar, which now dictated so much more than school and flower shop shifts. It had taken the boys about a week to get over their disappointment when her period arrived, and now they were looking forward to starting more attempts on Christmas day. Juliette had increased the frequency of their vitamin clinic appointments, and while Gina didn’t notice any benefits personally, Juliette was looking more lustrous every day. Maybe Gina could ask her technician to swap out the fertility formula for some of what the contessa was getting. And maybe she should inquire about fewer colonics. She must have the cleanest, most vitamin-rich colon in the Mediterranean by now.
So far it had been a busy day for Gina. She was up at four, and it had rained freezing buckets during her commute to the flower shop, but her shift had flown by. School had been a series of ups and downs. On the upside, she’d whizzed through her scientific classes. On the downside, she’d struggled in math class. This was problematic because formulations were mathematical, so she really needed to find a way to improve her ability to use math for calculations.
Another down happened in business class when she made the mistake of raising her hand and asking a question about calculating net averages that revealed her fundamental ignorance of the topic. Beatrix was in that class and had gotten quite a bit of mileage out of mimicking her for the rest of the day. “Uh, I have a question. Vat is the difference between supply and demand?” But Diego had defended her, which had made her feel good. Upside.
Her classes ended early, and she had almost two hours before her closing shift at the flower shop, so on a whim, she called Vincenzo.
“Pronto, Gina,” he panted.
“You’re out of breath. What are you doing?”
“Leonardo and I are sculling.”
“You stopped rowing to take my call? He must be furious. Are you going in circles?”
“We don’t sit side-by side, we’re stacked and both have a set of oars.” He laughed, and she liked the sound of it. Vincenzo was so genuine when he laughed, it sounded as if he didn’t have a care in the world, one of the many reasons people were drawn to him. “He’s retaping his handle grip, so we’re just floating by Giardini delle Biennale.”
“That’s not far from my apartment. Want to meet me for lunch at Al Leon Bianco?”
“In Campo dell’Arsenale?”
“Sì, my friend Diego’s family owns the cafe.”
“Perfetto.”
Fifteen minutes later, Diego had just waved her to a table for three along the back wall of the little cafe when she looked out the window and saw the boys mounting the stone steps of Canal Arsenal. They propped their shell against the wall and came inside. Both were wearing heavy athletic rain gear. While the rain had held off for a few hours, the sky looked ominous again.
“Don’t you two switch sports in winter? These storms are fierce. You don’t want to be caught on the water.”
Leonardo swooped in first to kiss her cheek. “It’s not like we go out to sea. We stay in the canals and lagoon.”
Vincenzo waved Diego over and then leaned in to give her cheek a little peck, too. “I can’t get enough fresh air. I couldn’t sit on a rowing machine in a stale gym. What’s a little wet? I’m Venetian. I belong out on the water with the wind in my face.”
Over sandwiches and potato chips, they talked about her school day and she confessed her trouble with math.
“Why don’t you bring your books over after you’re done at the shop today?” Leonardo asked.
“I’m sure we can bring mathematics alive for you,” Vincenzo said.
After lunch, she watched the boys row away and then hurried in the opposite direction to the flower shop. Mercifully, the only math she had to do at work was simple addition. Once she closed the shop, she went home for a shower. While dressing, she’d glanced at the sex potion, but only for a moment. Its sole purpose was to help the boys find her more interesting…in that way…for
the purpose of pregnancy. She was emphatically not trying to be tricky and make them think they loved her.
Grabbing her textbook, she headed to their apartment where, to her surprise, they taught her easy, practical ways to grasp math. Then they went to the Verona palazzo for dinner.
There they found Juliette and Ivar in the parlor talking animatedly and laughing. Juliette looked up at their arrival. These past weeks, Gina felt more like a member of the family. The era of her being announced by servants was long past.
“Ah! The Holy Father has just beaten you home and is changing. Dinner will be served when he joins us,” Juliette said.
Just then, the pope appeared and dinner was announced.
Gina asked, “Juliette, how was your day?”
The contessa walked with Ivar into the dining room and patted his back. “Ivar and I are a great team. Verdu Mer is running smoothly.”
As plates were placed before them, Vincenzo turned to the pope, who had taken his place at the head of the table. “What’s happening in Rome?”
“For the moment, Cardinal Negrali is assisting me with some of the scandals. He is conservative, but he is using his considerable influence to stop the mad rumor that Arguelles’ and Klerk’s actions were directed by me.”
“You?” Juliette gasped.
“Sì, it is despicable! Someone has printed a poster titled ‘Pope Masterminded Baby Thefts!’ with twisted quotes of mine. Anyone who read it would believe I ordered the Church to take children born into poverty and find them new homes.”
“Dio mio!”
Ivar said, “People have been twisting words to suit their causes since man began communicating verbally.”
“And speaking of child thefts, has anyone heard anything about the missing girl, Benedetta Amendola?” Juliette asked. “That is so close to home.”
“Only what the news says. I pray she returns to her parents soon,” the pope said as he accepted a plate. “Although why they have intimated that someone at the Vatican is involved is beyond me. I offered to meet with them, but they declined.”
Gina folded her hands as His Holiness blessed the food, and afterward, he pointed to the top of his glass as a servant poured his wine. She’d never seen him do that before, and could see he was stressed, just like any world leader would be when facing lies and scandal. But he was a spiritual leader, so the pressure to be seen as perfect must be unreal.
His eyes met hers. “So, you and the boys are back to attempts for a grandchild soon?”
“Sì, in a few days, right before Christmas.”
“Speaking of children,” Juliette said to the pope. “I hear a group of children that you spoke to was so inspired by your message that they cleaned an entire field of trash next to a favela in Rio de Janeiro.”
Gina jumped at the opportunity to join in the positive news. “Sì, and another group formed a flash mob and stormed a sweatshop in São Paulo. They liberated the children and took them to a mission where they’re getting schooling half the day and helping rebuild the community.”
“I saw a report where one of your youth groups came up with a plan to rebuild their favela by using surplus shipping containers from an abandoned harbor nearby,” Ivar said. “Sort of Verdu Mer without the expensive foundations.”
“Good for them,” Leonardo said.
“Until I heard the news reports, I had no idea that some favelas have a population of over six hundred thousand people living in hovels made of stolen materials on squatted land,” Vincenzo said.
Ivar spoke up. “Man has overpopulated our Mother Earth. Where are they to go?”
The pope’s face lost more of its color, and he reached for his wine.
Gina said, “I’m thrilled you’re speaking to people my age—and younger—like we matter. It’s time we stop being sold ‘things’ and be urged to act. I watched some of the South American speech you gave.”
“How did you see that? I delivered it to the stadium on a closed feed.”
“I go to school with a hacker who’s a big fan of yours. He put it up on all the screens at the university for about five minutes. You got cheers when you spoke about procreation.”
“Cheers? What part?”
“The part about parents needing to be settled and ready to give themselves to their children the same way single people should be settled and ready to give themselves for life to a spouse. I knew you weren’t counting me, of course. The child I make with Vincenzo won’t need me.”
“Your child will need you,” Juliette said. “Your baby will be raised by all of us.”
It was a lovely sentiment, but as Gina began eating she felt a little pang and wished Juliette had said something like, “You are my daughter now, you are a Verona, and will be part of everything that Giselle would have been.” Then as the dinner continued and Ivar shared the Verdu Mer updates, Gina felt ashamed because she already had a perfectly good family. Why did she crave belonging in this one? Certainly, she was more than just a groupie. They loved her, too. Didn’t they? The food had lost its flavor, muted as it was by shame and confusion.
The homicide department was deserted, and Luigi was nursing a headache as he reread his secret Benedetta and Salvio files by the light of his desk lamp. The Torre dell’Orologio struck midnight just outside the window. On the Piazza San Marco, the holiday decorations were already strung in celebration of Christmas. He didn’t feel like celebrating anything. He felt miserable.
It had been an exhausting couple of weeks. His head had been splitting and his wife had started urging him to take sick leave, about the time he’d learned Giancarlo Petrosino was back in Venice and staying at the Aman. Luigi had expended a lot of time and called in a lot of favors trying to figure out what had brought that Mafia don back to il Veneto, but he’d been given a sound education in the ironclad silence that gripped people when the subject of La Cosa Nostra was broached. He’d learned exactly nada.
Today he had hoped to do some Christmas shopping on his lunch break and start to ease up on his workload, but he’d overheard that Benedetta’s parents had filed a request for a court order to search Porto delle Donne. Instead of shopping, he’d gone straight to Kate and Benedetta and warned them. Neither seemed surprised, and he found himself more protective of Benedetta than ever. The poor kid had two sadistic nut cases for parents.
“Look, Benny sweetheart, your parents can request a warrant, but I’m going to do everything I can to prevent a judge from granting them a search of this shelter.”
“Grazie,” she said, and then her expression changed. “Pardon my saying, but you look like shit.”
“Pardon granted. My wife wants me to get a brain scan.”
“How about you start with some sleep? You look like you’re going to fall over.”
“Now isn’t the time to sleep. I need to get back to work.”
She put a hand on his arm when he tried to get up. He felt as if she was going to tell him something important.
“What is it?” he asked.
She shook her head and withdrew her hand. “You’re too stubborn for your own health.”
“It’s what makes me a good detective.”
“Or it could make you an old man grumbling about this case in your retirement, and find your wife left you for someone less stubborn.”
“Woo! You’ve got a grim side to you.”
“I’m a teenager. We’re the grim generation.”
“Gladys would never leave me,” he said as he stood up.
“What would you like for Christmas?” she asked.
“More than anything, I’d like some Pocket Coffee candy.”
“The chocolates with the sweetened espresso inside?”
“Sì! They’re my favorite, and for some reason they’re all sold out wherever I look. But, you don’t have to get me anything, kiddo.”
“I have to focus on something. I mean this place is great, but I’m kind of imprisoned at the moment.”
“It’s to keep you safe until we can fig
ure out what to do with you.”
“My parents won’t give up. Especially when they…I mean when I don’t know what I want to do with my life or where I want to go.”
She’d caught herself about to say something she didn’t want to. Her secrecy and self-editing were infuriating. He’d been visiting her any chance Kate would allow and he thought they were becoming friends, but she had a real issue with trust. “Give it some thought. A smart girl like you can do anything she sets her mind to.” He got up and gave her a hug before going down the back hall past the kitchen to Kate’s office to let her know he was leaving.
He went straight back to work tracking down the court order paperwork. He couldn’t turn his mind off. The Amendolas must have sold their story to that tabloid news show, because the lawyer representing them had a list of past clients who’d all featured heavily on that trashy tabloid show. Strictly fodder-of-the-month. He figured the tabloid reporter had probably duped Benedetta’s parents into signing an exclusive with her and the show was paying for the ambulance-chasing attorney to keep the “Missing Girl” story going.
Luigi would try to delay the judge’s ruling on the search warrant until after Christmas. He’d just have to do it with enough finesse that the lawyer didn’t get wise and request another judge. Of the six judges in Venice’s Family Court Division, the one whose desk their request had landed on was by far the most police-friendly. So, he’d have to maneuver in secrecy and pretend to be oblivious about the Amendola case. He hoped that shyster lawyer would get a juicier tabloid case soon and abandon the effort to get into Porto delle Donne.
Now he was the last person in the homicide department, and his head felt strange, like it was bruised on the inside. He had to go home for some proper sleep.
The clock was finishing the final midnight toll when Luigi locked the reports in his desk drawer. He got to his feet and felt unsteady. His legs were a bit rubbery as he plodded down halls and stairs, and then out over the raised boards crisscrossing Piazza San Marco. Looking down, he wondered if he was hallucinating. He could see the shadow of small fish darting across the white lines of the marble beneath the water. The place was deserted and, while no rain was currently falling, the frosty night air was so heavy with moisture that everything dripped and fog halos formed around the street lamps.
Surviving Venice Page 12
