Murder in Venice

by Maria Luisa Minarelli

  ‘Pisani, do you still insist on carrying out your own investigations?’ asked Antonio Condulmer, smiling.

  ‘Yes, I’m convinced that in many crimes the setting plays a key role. What’s more’ – here Pisani turned to Messer Grando – ‘in this case, I need to move in an aristocratic world, and I need to question people who would never talk to the police.’

  ‘Quite so,’ agreed the head of police. ‘But if you need help, you can rely on us.’ When all was said and done, he wasn’t at all displeased that Pisani had taken on such a thorny problem.

  ‘When do you think the trial will start?’ asked Pietro Fontana, who, as usual, had followed Pisani’s outline somewhat distractedly up until now.

  ‘I have to say that I’ve no idea,’ admitted Marco. ‘As I said earlier, I’ve not yet identified the guilty party. If these were cases of murder following robbery, I could focus my inquiries on the underworld, and even pass the matter to the police,’ he explained, gesturing to Messer Grando. ‘But on this occasion two patricians have been killed. They were friends and the methods used are identical, so I’m inclined to believe that there’s a precise motive for their deaths. Once I’ve discovered the reason – perhaps revenge, or perhaps rivalry in love or business; who knows? – then I’ll be able to identify the culprit.’

  ‘It’s not an easy task,’ said Condulmer. ‘We’re all in your hands, Pisani. But we think that this is not yet the moment to bring the matter to the attention of the Council of Ten.’

  CHAPTER 14

  As he walked out of the ducal palace at around midday, Marco concluded that the few clues he had were still extremely sketchy. True, he had yet to question the other two members of the group – Biagio the gondolier and Paolo Labia – and some new pointers might emerge from their testimonials. Moreover, if he were to trust Chiara’s vision, there was a dead girl involved in all of this, who might or might not be Lucietta Segati, the maid from the Corner household. But perhaps his visit to Dolo the following day would clear that mystery up.

  Daniele Zen was waiting for him near the Procuratie. Under his cloak, Marco glimpsed a crimson brocade coat and an embroidered silk waistband. His face was framed by a wig.

  ‘I thought I’d dressed up a bit today, but you make me look positively shabby,’ said Marco, greeting him. ‘It’s lucky you’re the one who’s engaged, because I clearly don’t come up to scratch,’ he ended with a laugh.

  ‘You can laugh all you like, but I think you’re the one who’s about to become engaged. How was the dinner?’

  Marco left the question hanging in the air. The more intimate he grew with Chiara, the less willing he was to talk about her. Anyway, yesterday evening had left him confused. He was strongly attracted but he wasn’t at all sure that she felt the same way about him. Moreover, he had been shaken by the discovery of her skills as a clairvoyant and, for the moment, did not want to mention these to anyone.

  He pretended to watch a gaggle of people in the centre of the piazza who were gathered around a large chair on which a toothless old woman sat. A maid held out her palm and waited nervously for an answer. Groups of women and a few young men queued up behind her. ‘Old Rina, the soothsayer, is back,’ noted Marco, and his thoughts immediately flew again to Chiara. ‘It’s been a while since our fortune teller has been seen around here. What do you think . . . should I ask her who killed Corner and Barbaro?’

  Daniele laughed. ‘I’m not sure she’d be able to help. Come on, let’s get this over with.’

  The Santellis were rich grain merchants and lived in a handsome building on Campo Santa Maria Formosa. The ground floor was used as a warehouse and was stacked with grain, while the mezzanine was given over to offices.

  Marco and Daniele were warmly welcomed by the family, who were gathered in the principal room. Giovanni Santelli oozed joviality from his round, pink face and generous girth, and his plump wife, Agostina, wore a glittering array of gold rings and gems. Maddalena was small and graceful, but it was clear that over time she would acquire her mother’s rounded figure. Daniele blushed when he saw them and lowered his eyes to the floor.

  ‘What a pleasure, Your Excellency,’ cried Santelli, moving forward to greet the newcomers and bowing before Pisani. ‘This is an unexpected honour.’

  Marco accepted the introductions with good grace. He met the bàilo’s famous assistant, a certain Giorgio Priuli, a slight figure with feminine looks and wise eyes. A couple called Zardo were also present – they were landowners on the mainland – and finally there was Berengo, a lawyer. All of them appeared to be long-standing family friends.

  As the conversation started to flow again, he looked around. The Santelli family’s prosperity was evident from the highly fashionable decorations and furnishings: lacquered divans, small tables in exotic woods surrounded by chairs with silk cushions, recent portraits of the owners.

  When they were finally seated at the large table and had been served with a soup made with rice, vegetables and mutton, small talk of a wholly Venetian sort got underway. Giorgio Priuli started by lauding the beauty of Constantinople, the blue mosque, the sunsets over the Bosphorus, the wealth of its bazaars. ‘As for the sultan’s palace!’ he exclaimed. ‘It’s a wonder to behold! The rooms are decorated with ornately carved stone, the floors are covered with mosaics, and the gardens . . . Ah, the gardens are filled with flowers and the cool spray of fountains.’ It was obvious that he was accustomed to having an audience and liked the sound of his own voice. ‘But the most extraordinary thing,’ he continued, ‘is the harem. The sultan has dozens of wives, each more beautiful than the last, and he never lets them be seen in public.’

  ‘You know that here in Venice,’ interrupted his cousin, ‘some have more than one wife. And many wives have more than one husband!’

  ‘Giovanni, how could you!’ scolded his wife. ‘What are you saying? Remember Maddalena . . .’

  ‘You’re right, dearest, excuse me. But I wasn’t talking about our families. We take great care to protect our wives. I was referring to some of the aristocratic families—’

  Daniele Zen interrupted him by coughing and glancing over at Marco, who was highly amused. Both of the hosts blushed hotly and went quiet. Signora Zardo came to their rescue: ‘I’ve heard that Maddalena has made great progress with her singing. After lunch, would you sing for us, dear?’

  ‘With pleasure,’ stammered the girl. ‘But I don’t want to bore the avogadore.’

  ‘I would be delighted,’ declared Marco with genuine enthusiasm, which won him a scowl from Daniele.

  The guests were now being served a superb dish of boiled meats and for a while there was silence. Then Avvocato Berengo addressed the company in general: ‘Have you heard about the deaths of those two young men, Barbaro and Corner?’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ replied Maria Zardo, who had lit up at the mention of their names. ‘Sooner or later something was bound to happen, so it was hardly unexpected . . .’ she added mysteriously.

  ‘I know, that’s what I thought,’ agreed Agostina Santelli. ‘That Barbaro was a shady character. I didn’t know him personally, of course, but my maid tells me that he left debts everywhere he went and was often drunk. His sort drags down the honour of our aristocracy,’ she concluded, giving Pisani a knowing smile.

  ‘Oh, I wasn’t thinking of him,’ continued Signora Zardo, eager to draw the attention back to herself. ‘There’s something very wrong in the Corner family of Ca’ Grande, which is, after all, the principal branch of that illustrious family.’

  Marco was suddenly alert. He had no intention of revealing that he was in charge of the investigations, but information of any kind might prove valuable. ‘Yes, my gondolier has told me something similar,’ he said, inventing a lie to cover himself. ‘Yet they are such a rich family.’

  ‘Undoubtedly, Your Excellency, but they quarrelled.’

  Daniele immediately understood Marco’s tactics and joined in. ‘Who quarrelled?’ he asked.

  ‘Well, the two b
rothers, of course. It’s not widely known, but I was told about a terrible argument that happened some time ago. This is what I heard.’ Signora Zardo looked around her, pleased to have everyone’s eyes upon her. ‘I use the same dressmaker as Signora Francesca, their mother. She charges extortionate prices, but she’s the best in Venice. I was due to visit the dressmaker, probably about a year ago, when poor Piero was still unmarried, and I found her in a terrible state. She didn’t want to tell me about it at first, but then she told me how she had visited Signora Corner a couple of hours earlier to show her some new fabrics, heard shouting outside the door, and the two brothers, Piero and Dario, burst into the salon. They were arguing furiously and practically coming to blows.’ Maria Zardo sipped her wine, while her audience waited with bated breath.

  ‘What were they arguing about?’ prompted Agostina, eager to hear more.

  ‘Dario completely lost his temper,’ continued Signora Zardo. ‘Apparently his brother had refused to lend him the money he needed to pay for the insurance on a cargo of silk to be transported to the East. Piero insisted that his mother should remind Dario that none of his ventures had ever succeeded and he’d already thrown his inheritance to the winds. “Look who’s talking!” Dario railed. “What with your whores and your gambling! And we all know how that scoundrel Biagio managed to buy a tavern for his witch of a mother. But you refuse to give your brother even a penny!”’

  ‘What did their mother say?’

  Signora Zardo took another sip before she replied. ‘My dressmaker said that she was struck dumb, as if paralysed, and as white as a marble statue.’

  ‘And what did Piero say to defend himself?’ asked Marco, who was also engrossed by the story.

  ‘It seems that Piero shouted that he was head of the family now, so it was up to him how the family money was spent. He admitted that he had enjoyed life over the past years, but he had done nothing to ruin the family and, if he had given money to Biagio, it was in exchange for a favour. Dario grabbed his brother by his shirt and shook him violently enough to tear off the lace – very expensive lace, according to the dressmaker. “I’ll get you for this! Sooner or later, you’ll pay!” Anyway, they carried on fighting, and at one point, Dario even got his hands around his brother’s throat.’

  ‘Dario Corner’s got a hot temper and he might look soft, but he’s as strong as an ox,’ observed Avvocato Berengo. ‘Once I saw him pick a fight with some chap in a tavern because he was sitting at the table that Dario usually used. At one point, he picked up the solid wooden table – which must have weighed as much as a man – and turned it upside down as if it were made of paper.’

  ‘And that’s not all,’ Signora Zardo resumed, dragging everyone’s attention back to her. ‘At one point, so my dressmaker told me, Biagio came into the salon. He was Piero’s gondolier and perhaps he thought he should defend his master. Dario let his brother go and turned on him instead, shouting at him to get out and calling him an opportunist and saying that he and Barbaro were bloodsuckers. Apparently he said something like, “You’ve done nothing except drain my family’s wealth. And my brother’s given you a free rein. The day will come when I’ll put an end to it!” Then he hit him with a powerful left-hander that knocked him to the floor.’

  ‘And all this time, didn’t his mother do anything?’ asked Zen.

  ‘It seems that, after the initial shock, she pulled herself together and tried to keep the brothers apart. It was at that moment that she realised the dressmaker was still in the room and she sent her out with a warning her to keep her mouth shut.’

  ‘The irony of it all is that Dario was right to ask for the insurance money,’ intervened Giovanni Santelli, who’d been quiet until then. ‘I heard that the ship transporting the goods sank in a storm, and because Dario was uninsured, he lost everything.’

  Exactly what my friend Cappello told me, thought Marco as he was served a magnificent custard tart for his dessert.

  ‘So Dario Corner will now inherit everything . . . he’s had a stroke of good fortune,’ continued Santelli. ‘Lucky for him, too, that Piero’s child is a girl, so the patrimony stays in the family, otherwise he’d have been penniless. Poor Piero is dead so there’ll be no more male heirs unless Dario provides them.’

  ‘It’s sad to think that Piero had completely reformed his ways after he married,’ ended Berengo. ‘Apparently he’d started to show a real interest in his estates, and was becoming quite an expert on agronomy and livestock, and knew the best markets for his produce. Who knows whether Dario will be able to start afresh and live up to the family name . . . ?’

  The conversation turned to other matters, and once the lunch had concluded, the group listened politely while a nervous Maddalena sang a repertoire of songs. Unfortunately for all concerned, the progress with her singing that Signora Zardo had credited her with was sadly not in evidence.

  CHAPTER 15

  ‘I think I might be on completely the wrong track,’ reflected Marco, almost to himself. ‘I stay at home far too much and don’t socialise. Everyone knows everything about everyone here in Venice. I’m the only one who doesn’t, it seems. Even gossip is a valuable source of information.’

  ‘It’s also an art,’ replied Daniele. ‘To be good at it you have to be a skilled observer as well as having a good memory, and the sort of mental filing system that allows you to select the most appropriate tidbits to suit the occasion.’

  The two friends burst out laughing. They were walking along Salizàda San Moisè towards Palazzo Corner, and they stopped for a moment to look at the window display of a shoemaker selling sweet little velvet slippers.

  ‘I meant to ask,’ continued Daniele, ‘did Chiara like the fan?’

  ‘I think so,’ answered Marco, dodging the question again. He wasn’t in the mood yet to share any of the evening’s events. ‘Come on, we need to face the lioness in her den.’

  The avogadore had sent a message to Signora Corner earlier that morning to let her know that he would be paying her a visit, and the major-domo led the guests through the usual series of austerely decorated rooms with sixteenth-century furnishings to Sala Cornaro, which was more ostentatiously furnished with gilded furniture, in keeping with the latest fashion. Heavy curtains still darkened the huge windows, blocking out the light on this unusually sunny winter’s day.

  Dressed completely in black, with her spare frame held proudly erect, Francesca Corner was waiting for them, seated at a table close to the large white marble fireplace. A magnificent silver coffee service glinted in the light of a candelabra.

  The grand dame held out her hand to Pisani, who bent over to kiss it. ‘My sincere condolences, signora,’ he murmured sympathetically.

  ‘God’s will be done,’ sighed Francesca Corner, without managing to hold back two large tears. ‘But please, do sit down,’ she insisted. ‘Your presence, Avogadore Pisani, is certainly due to your interest in the investigations. But before you continue, do let me offer you some coffee.’

  Francesca poured the steaming liquid herself, while Marco apologised for visiting so soon after the unfortunate events. ‘You’re right, signora, it is my duty to discover who might have had an interest in your son’s death, and you can help me.’

  Francesca had clearly once been very beautiful: she still had the high cheekbones, deep-set eyes and trim figure that would have made her one of the most admired Venetian women of her time. She looked at Marco, her expression defiant. ‘What do you want to know? You can’t think that he deserved such a horrendous end? Have you seen what my poor son looked like when he was carried home?’

  This wasn’t a good start. Marco thought it best to get straight to the point. ‘Who will inherit the family wealth?’ he asked, even though the entire city knew the answer.

  ‘What are you insinuating? The house will continue under the guidance of my younger son, Dario, who has already shown himself to be a capable businessman.’ Marco just managed to keep a straight face. ‘The Corner family are expecting
you to avenge them, Avogadore Pisani.’

  ‘Justice, signora, not revenge. Tell me: did your sons get on?’

  Francesca stiffened visibly, her mouth contracting in what was almost a grimace. ‘They were very fond of one another, and I don’t understand the purpose of your question. We are a united family. Sometimes, there have been discussions, certainly, as happens in all families, but when all was said and done, they loved one another. Dario was overjoyed when Piero had a baby. Poor little girl, she’s now fatherless.’

  Marco didn’t like provoking her at such a delicate moment, but he knew that the truth would sometimes only surface when people lowered their guard. ‘I’ve been told that a violent fight took place last year between your sons over money,’ he insisted.

  ‘That chatterbox of a dressmaker! It’s impossible for people to mind their own business. Yes, there was an argument, and then they made it up.’ Signora Corner had turned purple with rage and a vein pulsed in her temple as she twisted the lace on her handkerchief into a tight knot.

  ‘But your son Dario was ruined by that disaster with the silk trade,’ continued Marco.

  ‘It would take more than that to ruin the Corner family. It was a speculation that ended badly, nothing more. In our family, we don’t break off relationships for so little.’ Francesca stood up, offended, and gestured to a maidservant to clear the table.

  ‘There is something else . . .’ Marco’s questioning was relentless. ‘I believe your son Piero was indebted in some way to his gondolier, a certain Biagio. He purchased a tavern for him and this irritated Dario.’

  ‘You can’t believe that a Corner would be in any way indebted to a servant!’ She was outraged by Marco’s comments and lifted her head proudly as she spoke. ‘My son was a generous man, and he was happy to give presents to those who served him well, as Biagio did. He wanted to give him a future.’