Murder in Venice

by Maria Luisa Minarelli

  In a corner of the campo, groups of commoners, both men and women, were enjoying the spectacle, while a few beggars had taken up their posts beside the service door of the palace, where they would be handed donations by the family to commemorate the deceased.

  Marco’s gondolier had found his way to the kitchens easily. The whole place was in uproar. In the largest fireplace, a huge boar was being roasted on the spit under the careful eye of an assistant, who basted it using a bundle of goose feathers every time he turned the handle. On the long wooden table, some maidservants were plucking partridges and capons, while a row of plucked cockerels already hung on butcher’s hooks from the ceiling. Two stewards were energetically polishing some large silver plates.

  In an adjacent room, where the walls were covered with copper pots and pans, the head cook was arranging biscuits on a tray to be cooked in the oven, while his assistants descaled some large fish on a marble worktop under the window.

  Nani spotted his man immediately: he was a gondolier, dressed in the family livery, sitting downcast in the corner, with his head bandaged. He was short and stocky, with a round face liberally sprinkled with freckles.

  ‘Hello.’ He bowed. ‘I am the servant of Avogadore Marco Pisani, who is visiting your masters. Is there anything to drink?’

  ‘Elvira, bring some drink over here!’ shouted the gondolier to a young woman, who, seeing Nani, promptly came over with a glass of wine and a large smile.

  ‘Who is this handsome young man, Beppino?’ she asked brazenly.

  ‘Were you the one who was with poor Corner?’ Nani asked, without looking at the girl. ‘What happened to you?’

  ‘What do you think?’ he said, holding his head in explanation. ‘It still hurts . . .’ He sighed. ‘I was there, as always on a Sunday. It was the only night when my master went to the Ridotto. It must have been about two in the morning. I was standing by the gondola and it was pitch-black because there’s no lamplight in that particular spot.’

  ‘And then?’

  ‘I heard a rustle behind me and I turned. But I must have been hit on the head with a stick. It hurt like the devil . . .’

  ‘And after that?’

  ‘I came to in the gondola, gagged and bound, and I had to lie there until morning when the guards found me. My poor master!’

  ‘Had you worked for him for a while?’

  ‘No, just since he got married. The previous gondolier was fired by the master’s mother, and then I arrived.’

  ‘Why was he fired?’ pressed Nani.

  ‘Who knows? I wasn’t here. The person who knows everything that goes on in the palace is Matteo, that old man sitting beside the small fireplace.’

  Nani glanced over at the elderly man in a steward’s uniform. He had a head of well-groomed white hair and was stirring a pan over the fire. ‘But you,’ he continued, still addressing Beppino, ‘hadn’t noticed anything odd in the past few days? Someone following your master, for instance?’

  Beppino was tiring of all these questions. ‘Who’s the avogadore? You or your master?’ he said resentfully. ‘Can’t you leave me in peace?’ He stood up and poured himself another glass of wine.

  Nani promptly changed his tune. ‘That’s fine, Beppino. Just tell me whether you mean to go on working for the family. Because I have to say I wouldn’t mind working here. I can’t say that I don’t get on well with my master, but I have to rush around all day long.’

  ‘After what’s happened, I’m not staying here. I can honestly say the Corner family are all good people, but given that Master Dario has his own gondolier, I’d have to look after the ladies, and that doesn’t appeal much.’

  ‘Well, I’d be happy to do that,’ Nani laughed. ‘Even if the ladies are in mourning, they’ll still go and visit their friends, and I bet there’d be plenty of attractive maids . . . But, tell me, what was your late master like?’ he insisted.

  ‘He was a real family man,’ Beppino went on. ‘He always seemed happy and was ready with a joke. Although he was different just lately.’

  Nani was quick to jump on that piece of information. ‘Different? In what way? And since when?’

  ‘Just lately, since last week, when his friend died, that man Barbaro. That affected him badly. I told him that it was probably a case of mistaken identity, that in Venice we don’t have murderers wandering around the streets, but he was really shaken. I think he may have had some premonition . . . and of course, he was murdered in the same way.’

  ‘Did he tell you what he was frightened of?’

  ‘He didn’t exactly confide in me. Anyway, who are you? One of the guards?’

  Nani realised that he’d got as far as he could with Beppino and took his leave. A heady scent wafted towards him as he passed a table where one of the kitchen boys was grinding spices in a mortar. He approached the fireplace, where old Matteo was still bending over the fire, stirring a large pot.

  ‘What’s boiling in there?’ Nani asked.

  The old man turned to look at him with an acute, enquiring stare. ‘Beans that’ll be served out to the poor after the funeral ceremony. Who are you?’

  Nani introduced himself. ‘I was talking to Beppino over there,’ he continued. ‘He wants to move on and I’d be quite interested in working here.’ It was a good pretext for the questions that Nani had in mind. ‘What are the family like as employers?’

  ‘Who knows? Everything’s going to change now,’ sighed the old man, pointing to a chair for Nani. ‘I was the old master’s personal steward, but he died six years ago. He kept things on the straight and narrow. When his father died, Piero went off the rails for a while, and his mother protected him. She’s quite something, Signora Francesca . . . She dismissed me and sent me down here because I would occasionally let slip that things had been better while her husband was alive. What I was forced to witness . . . best not to say too much about that!’

  ‘What a waste to put a distinguished person like you in the kitchens,’ Nani flattered him.

  ‘Better than sacking me and finding myself in a hospice . . . I’m not young any more. Who else would give me work?’

  ‘What did poor Piero get up to then? Who did he see? Do you think he might have been killed by one of his acquaintances?’

  ‘No. Ever since he married, which was more than a year ago, he’d settled down.’

  ‘But before that?’

  Matteo sat back on the bench by the fire and wiped his forehead with a large handkerchief. ‘Well, before that . . . he was a drinker, a gambler, and of course there were women, too. Not just courtesans. He didn’t draw the line anywhere. The wives of tavern keepers, shopkeepers, and even the maidservants here in the palace.’ There was a slight hesitation. ‘There were dreadful stories . . .’ He shook his head. ‘He’d paired up with his gondolier, a certain Biagio, who was a nasty piece of work. To her credit, the signora got rid of him as soon as Piero married. Then there were another two who were always hanging around with him.’

  ‘Was one of them that Barbaro who was killed last Thursday in exactly the same way?’

  Matteo took another hard look at Nani, this time with greater scrutiny. ‘You are well informed! Why are you so interested?’

  ‘Just making conversation, and I’m curious. Also, you must admit it’s an odd coincidence that they were both strangled.’

  ‘They didn’t see each other any longer, so as far as I know, it’s just that, a coincidence.’

  ‘And the other chap, Biagio, what happened to him?’ Nani insisted.

  ‘I don’t know, but his mother had a drinking house near the Fondaco dei Turchi. He might be there.’

  ‘But wasn’t there some story involving a maid a few years ago?’ Nani felt that he had to be blunt in order to prise out the information that Pisani needed.

  ‘You obviously know more about it that than I do.’ Matteo scrutinised him with blatant suspicion now. Then he shrugged his shoulders and got up to stir the pot again before pouring out two cups of white win
e. He offered one to Nani and drank the other himself in a single swig. ‘It’s hot work beside the fire. You asked about the maid. I shouldn’t tell you because the mistress swore us all to secrecy at the time, but seeing how she’s treated me . . . Yes, there was a story. Her name was Lucietta Segati, and she came from Dolo; it must have been about three years ago. Just before Christmas. She would come down to the kitchens to cry and she told me that the master was taking advantage of her. Things like that happen all the time. But then, one day she just disappeared. She must have gone home.’

  ‘So, the master’s death might have been an honour killing.’

  The old man shook his head. ‘Three years later? Anyway, Lucietta was a peasant’s daughter. It would be impossible for her family to come to Venice and do something like that, as if they were expert assassins. They’re poor folk, more accustomed to being abused. They would soon have resigned themselves to what happened to Lucietta.’

  The men were interrupted by Elvira, who brought over a tray. ‘Here you are, chatting with everyone but me!’ she said, looking at Nani with a glint in her eye. ‘Can I tempt you with a sweet pastry?’

  Nani popped one in his mouth. ‘You know what it’s like. I’m waiting for my master to finish.’

  ‘And he’s asking all sorts of questions because he says he wants to come and work here,’ Matteo snapped.

  ‘So who’s going to inherit everything?’ Nani continued as soon as the girl had walked away. ‘Who’ll be the new padrone?’

  ‘Signor Dario, of course. Things have worked out nicely for him.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because he’s got the law on his side. His brother had a baby girl and in noble families women never inherit if there’s a male relative. The child will have a handsome dowry when the time comes, but all the assets go to her uncle.’

  ‘And what sort of man is he?’

  ‘A good-for-nothing. He’s already had his share of his father’s inheritance, which was substantial. He likes to think he’s an experienced businessman, just like the old nobility of Venice, but the truth is he’s not got the head for it. Rumour has it that he’s already wasted most of his inheritance on madcap schemes of one sort or other. Of course, us servants aren’t aware of the details, but every now and then one of us overhears the old signora hurling insults at him.’

  How interesting, thought Nani. But it was getting late and Pisani and Zen were probably waiting for him, so he took his leave from Matteo, blew a kiss towards Elvira, who was washing up some bowls, and left the palace to join his master outside.

  CHAPTER 10

  ‘Good news?’ Marco asked impatiently as soon as he saw his gondolier approach wearing a broad smile and looking slightly tipsy.

  ‘Very good, paròn. News worth several ducats.’

  Zen laughed. ‘But you’re already on a salary, and a good one at that!’

  ‘Of course, avvocato,’ answered Nani, opening his blue eyes wide in laughter. ‘But this is highly specialised work, and it comes at a cost.’

  This time it was Marco who laughed as he stretched out to give his gondolier an affectionate cuff.

  The three men walked towards Daniele Zen’s office, which was not far away. Its windows overlooked Campo San Moisè and the murmur of the crowd that had gathered for the funeral rose up to meet them. The details of Nani’s conversations were extremely interesting, and Marco made him recount them, sometimes going over them repeatedly while he took notes.

  ‘What do you think?’ Marco asked, turning to Daniele as soon as Nani had left to go and fetch the gondola.

  ‘The more we discover, the more complicated it becomes,’ commented Zen. ‘The crimes are linked, there is no question of that. The two victims knew each other, and they died in identical circumstances.’

  ‘But what is the link? What was so serious that it meant death? Espionage? Corner didn’t need the money, but even then, who knows . . .? Perhaps he was blackmailed. Or the victim of an honour killing? The episode with the maid dates back at least three years, but it would certainly be worth discovering what happened to her.’

  ‘You could set Nani on the trail; he’s certainly much better than the police at questioning people and finding things out.’

  ‘Yes, somehow or other, I must find that girl. You’re right about Nani too. I don’t know how I’d manage without him. He’s bright, trustworthy, and he’s certainly got imagination and initiative. He’s also educated. He’d make a fantastic civil servant, and at times I’m sorry that he’s a servant. Perhaps I should do something for him.’

  ‘But there’s also the fact that he’s happy to work with you. He earns good money and enjoys himself. It was a stroke of luck that he came to you.’

  Marco smiled as he remembered the circumstances. Five years earlier, one winter morning a youngster had come running to his gate and furiously rapped on the knocker, shouting loudly for someone to open up, as if he were being pursued. He was little more than a boy, just sixteen. He had heard that the avogadore was looking for a gondolier because the faithful Martino was getting too old and the master preferred to keep him at home to help the women, while his other servant, Giuseppe, although he knew everything about table service and polishing the silver, baulked at even touching an oar. Nani had pleaded with the avogadore, assuring him that he would never regret the decision. Of course, he’d been absolutely right.

  Giovanni Casadio, who was known as Nani, had a story much like that of many other boys. He was an orphan who’d been abandoned at a church sacristy and had been brought up in the orphanage run by the Scolopi fathers. This was something that happened all too frequently in Venice, where not only courtesans, maids and poor peasant girls from the surrounding villages but also the daughters of noble families freed themselves in secret from their unwanted and illegitimate infants. Throughout the city, orphanages would care for the children until they were sixteen, giving them something of an education and teaching them a trade.

  But Nani had proved highly intelligent, and to his dismay the Scolopi fathers had planned to place him in a seminary and turn him into a priest, even if he showed no inkling whatsoever of a vocation. So one night the boy had escaped and run as fast as he could to Pisani’s house in order to seek his protection. As a result, Pisani had hired him and had compensated the Scolopi with a generous donation.

  ‘And how’s it going with Chiara?’ asked Daniele, changing the subject.

  ‘I’ve invited her to the Leon Bianco this evening as I can’t pay court to her at home, given that she lives alone. It’s the most elegant locanda, in my opinion, and I hope she won’t be disappointed. You’re good at this courting thing – so, what should I do? Should I arrive with the gondola at dinner time? Or should I write her a note first?’ Marco had not spent these years as a widower in complete chastity, but the thought of Chiara made him as uncertain as an untested adolescent.

  Daniele stood up. ‘Put on your cloak and come with me,’ he ordered.

  He led his friend to the Mercerie, the most exclusive shopping street in Venice, which was filled with elegant crowds since, by now, it was almost midday. In the window of a shop called La Piàvola there was a magnificent gown, ‘à l’Andrienne’, in green brocade, a style that was the height of fashion in France and had a mantle that fell from the shoulder to form a short train. The two friends walked in.

  ‘Don’t even look at the gown,’ warned Daniele. ‘The gift of a gown is reserved for a lover. If I were you, I’d choose a fan.’

  Shortly afterwards, Nani, who could hardly contain his amazement, was sent to Chiara Renier’s workshop to deliver an elegant package and a note, which Marco had taken the precaution of sealing, knowing full well how inquisitive his gondolier could be.

  ‘But, paròn,’ Nani barely had time to remonstrate, ‘she’s a beautiful young woman. She’ll think that your gift is a token of courtship . . .’

  ‘Nani, mind your own business . . .’ warned Marco. ‘What else should she think? Just make sure you’r
e polite and come to the Zattere at around three o’clock.’

  ‘So that’s why you wanted to accompany that young man you released from prison and then you spent two hours there,’ Nani muttered as he left. ‘I might have known there was a woman involved.’

  ‘I really don’t understand’ – Marco smiled as he turned to Daniele – ‘why none of my servants show me any respect. If that loudmouth goes around gossiping about this, I swear I’ll wring his neck.’

  The Osteria della Pergola on the Zattere, facing the Giudecca, had a large room which, even by day, was lit by oil lamps that hung from the ceiling beams among a selection of bacon and legs of ham. The tables were covered by chequered tablecloths and set with pottery bowls and plates. It was already full of customers, including numerous retail merchants fresh from the Customs House, shopkeepers, wholesalers visiting from outside the city and a handful of sailors.

  Wrapped in a voluminous cloak and wearing anonymous clothing to prevent him being recognised, Marco walked in and immediately spotted Baldo Vannucci sitting at a table beside the wine counter not far from the large hearth, from which came a waft of appetising smells. The padrona was busy frying stuffed sardines, handed to her by an assistant who drenched them with flour. A young maidservant was stirring stew in a copper pot.

  Vannucci was middle-aged, short and rather thin, wearing a baggy garment that had seen better times. He owned a small second-hand jewellery shop near Campo Santo Stefano and acted as a spy for the inquisitors. This was the man whom Pisani had arranged to meet through Nani the day before. When he caught sight of the avogadore, Vannucci stood up and ceremoniously removed his hat.

  Pisani did not like using informers because he knew that, in exchange for a few ducats, some would not hesitate to give false information, even about friends and relatives. But no one knew the city’s undercurrents better than Vannucci. Indebted nobles, courtesans past their prime, thieving servants, as well as travelling salesmen, workers and penniless writers would all confide in him when they tried to sell their valuables. Moreover, they were all ready to gossip about their neighbours and reveal any dark secrets they had heard from whatever social circle they moved in. Vannucci knew who he could turn to when he needed information and, among the many spies from all different walks of life, he was regarded as one of the more reliable.