Murder in Venice

by Maria Luisa Minarelli

  ‘Your bed, too?’

  ‘I was not aware that it was a crime.’

  Pisani interrupted, waving a sheet of paper. ‘Is this anonymous letter from you?’ A faint trace of scent wafted across the room.

  Lucrezia had not expected this line of attack and cursed herself for having written the letter. She had been brought into the palace because of it; that’s what happened when you tried to help the course of justice. But how did he know it had come from her?

  She tried to look amazed. ‘What’s that? Why would I send such a thing?’

  Pisani got down off the dais and walked around her, sniffing the air. ‘The perfume betrayed you. It’s yours. Now,’ he said, returning to his chair, ‘are you going to tell us what it’s about? Who is this person who’s disappeared from Castello?’ Marco was feeling his way, as he didn’t have the foggiest idea what she might, or indeed could, confess. He heard the clerk’s pen scratching the paper.

  Lucrezia pulled a handkerchief out of her bag and patted at the sweat that had suddenly broken out on her forehead, even though the room was freezing. She wished she could sit because she felt faint. There was no escape now, that much was clear.

  ‘A girl has disappeared . . .’ she stammered at last.

  ‘When?’ pressed Pisani.

  ‘A year and a half ago, but . . . I beseech you, let me sit down,’ she implored.

  At a sign from Messer Grando, a guard carried a chair to the centre of the room. Lucrezia collapsed on to it. She asked for a drink and then drained the glass.

  ‘Now, tell us everything,’ pressed Marco again.

  ‘It was in 1751, at the time of Ascension, after the fair of the Sensa had ended. I don’t remember the exact day, but the fair goes on for two weeks.’ She wiped her forehead again. ‘It was the middle of the night when I heard blows on the door. When I looked down, I saw it was them, all four of them. I opened the door because the maid was away visiting her relatives that day. They came in and I immediately realised they were shaken and upset, like I’d never seen them before. They’d been drinking, but that didn’t account for it. They sat for a while in silence, half stretched out on the divans. Paolo Labia was crying. Corner kept punching a cushion, and Barbaro sat staring at the floor and looking grim. I remember clearly that the first to break the silence was Biagio. “What do we do now?” he asked. Then Piero Corner stood up; he took my arm and gestured that I should go back to bed.’

  All those present were fixated by her words. ‘But, of course, you stayed to eavesdrop . . .’ said Pisani encouragingly.

  Lucrezia smiled tensely. ‘In the next-door room there’s a cupboard with a small opening on to the salon, although it’s hidden by the wall covering. I’d made it years before so I could tell who’d arrived to see me. No one knows about it.’

  ‘A prostitute’s precaution,’ added Messer Grando tartly.

  ‘A sensible precaution for a woman who lives on her own,’ was Lucrezia’s retort.

  ‘Go on. What did you see and hear?’ Marco was impatient now to hear the full story at last.

  ‘Once I’d left the room,’ continued Lucrezia, ‘the four men started to quarrel. “I had nothing to do with it,” whimpered Labia. “It’s your fault. You never know when to stop.” And Corner replied, “You had as much fun as we did, and now you want to pull out!” “Enough!” Barbaro shouted. “What’s done is done. Now we need to take action because we’re risking our heads here. She’s dead, and if we’re caught, it’s the gallows for us, or if we escape, it means exile. The body must vanish!”’

  Lucrezia started to shake as she remembered his words.

  ‘I was terrified,’ she went on. ‘It was clear that those wretches had killed some young woman, and I regretted having overheard their conversation, but I was frightened that they’d hear me now if I left the room. So I stayed. At some point after this, Labia turned on Corner. “You’re incapable of controlling yourself!” he yelled. “With all the women you have, why did you have to pick on the one who turned you down?” Corner punched him with such force that Labia collapsed, rolling over as he fell. “What do you know of women?” he replied. “That girl has been flouncing past me for months. She’d come to the house to deliver her sewing, and curtsey and smile at me. She was obviously asking for it. So, when we met her and her friend at the fair, I wanted to have a little fun with them. When her friend left, I thought she’d planned it and wanted to be alone . . .” Labia had wiped away the blood streaming from his nose and hauled himself up to remonstrate, “But when Biagio caught her and clamped his hand over her mouth, she was protesting . . .” Corner replied, “You need to plead with a woman, but sometimes a little force helps.”’

  Those listening were silent. They had been ready for anything except this astounding revelation. The woman’s words had revealed a crime that had remained unseen and unpunished for months. This was the secret that the four men had guarded so jealously. They were guilty of the rape and murder of a poor young woman, one of the gravest offences and punishable by the law with the utmost severity.

  Pisani pulled himself together and continued the interrogation. ‘So you heard them confess that they’d killed a girl at the time of the fair. Where did they kill her? And what happened to the body?’

  Lucrezia returned to her story. From what she’d understood, the four men had in some way or other got hold of the poor girl as soon as her friend had left her. They’d dragged her into a dark alley and then Biagio had had the idea of taking her to Corner’s casino, a bachelor pad not far from where they were. Here the worst had happened: the girl had probably been raped and now she was dead. That much was clear from what they’d said. They’d then pulled themselves together, to some extent, and had come to her house to decide how to dispose of the body.

  While Lucrezia was talking, Marco was aware of something lurking at the back of his mind, a memory that was proving elusive. Then it came to him in a flash as he remembered Francesca Corner’s words. ‘Was this the girl,’ he asked, ‘who brought linen and other sewing to the Corner household and then disappeared?’ It was the example the noblewoman had used to justify the maid’s disappearance.

  ‘Exactly,’ confirmed Lucrezia, who had now decided to tell them everything she knew. ‘They never mentioned a name, but I did hear them say that she lived in the Castello district. It was Biagio who took control in the end. Even though he was a servant, he seemed the most sensible. “I’ll do it,” he promised. “I’ll get rid of the body. But I won’t do it for free. You two” – he pointed at Corner and Labia – “you’re so rich you wouldn’t even notice it if you gave me enough to sort me out for life.” They then argued for a long time, and at the end I heard that Biagio had got himself an elegant tavern and an income for himself and his mother.’

  So much for having bought it with honest earnings, thought Marco. ‘And what happened to the corpse?’

  ‘That I don’t know. Biagio’s last words were, “We’ll remove every trace and they’ll all think she eloped with someone. The body’s in the gondola, wrapped in a red cloak; I’ll hide it so no one will ever find it and you’ll have no further need to worry.”’

  Chiara’s visions, the blonde-haired girl wrapped in a scarlet cloak, the gondolier, the screams and cries: it all fitted. He was seized by a longing to see Chiara and to look deep into her clear eyes.

  The chamber was dumbstruck. Venice was a tranquil place and most of those present would never have come across stories of such an appalling murder.

  ‘Tell me,’ resumed Pisani, ‘why have you remained silent for so many months and only now decided to write that letter offering this clue? You could have told me all of this when I first questioned you.’

  Lucrezia sighed. ‘As I’ve already said, Your Excellency, I was frightened they might turn on me.’

  ‘And they provided you with a living.’

  The woman pretended not to have heard. ‘Strange things are now happening. There must be someone who wants to see them all dead,
and I’m afraid that I’ll be caught in the process.’

  ‘It is strange,’ concluded Messer Grando. ‘Here we are, searching for the killers of Barbaro and Corner, and we discover that they are the ones guilty of a crime.’

  Lucrezia was already on her feet, and the interrogation seemed to be over, when Zen took to the floor for the first time, having listened carefully to the entire proceedings. ‘Just a moment, there’s something else,’ he said, turning to the benches. ‘Perhaps the witness knows where Biagio Domenici is hiding.’

  Of course. It was clear that Biagio had fled. Marco remembered Chiara’s note, and her conviction that something was about to happen. There was a note of alarm in his voice as he turned to Lucrezia. ‘Talk! Biagio is in danger – if you know where he is hiding, then we must reach him as soon as possible!’

  The woman weighed up the situation and realised that, once in police hands, Biagio would no longer be a threat. ‘I know that sometimes, when he was hiding from anyone who wanted to make him pay for some joke or other, Biagio would take refuge in a locanda.’

  ‘There are over a hundred in Venice. Which one?’ snarled Pisani.

  ‘The Locanda del Principe,’ confessed Lucrezia, still reluctant. ‘It’s on the Giudecca, behind the Redentore.’

  ‘Quick!’ Marco rapidly pulled off his wig and magistrate’s gown. ‘Let’s go and get him.’

  He was furious with himself. He’d been so shaken by Lucrezia’s story that, had it not been for Daniele’s question, he would have completely forgotten to ask her about Biagio’s hiding place.

  As the hearing adjourned, he gave orders. ‘Four guards come with me, and you, too, Daniele. Tiralli, go and get two of the Avogaria’s boats ready. We’ll need six oarsmen, because gondolas would be too slow. We’ll be down in an instant.’

  Messer Grando, the clerk and other officials were at the door, while Lucrezia stood in the centre of the room.

  ‘You’re free to go,’ continued Pisani, ‘but don’t leave Venice, because we’ll need to question you again.’

  Lucrezia didn’t wait to be told twice. She slipped out of the room and before long stood poised, for an instant, in the palace gateway before vanishing into the alleyways behind Saint Mark’s.

  CHAPTER 20

  The two bissóne, each powered by six rowers, cut through the waters of Saint Mark’s Basin, heading for the island of Giudecca. It was nearing evening and the huge outline of the church of La Salute emerged like a phantom out of the misty air. The steersmen focused on avoiding the barges that were heading for the customs sheds and salt warehouses before nightfall. Marco and Daniele shivered as they sat in the uncovered prow of the leading boat.

  ‘Do you think Biagio really is in danger? And why are you so keen to save a murderer’s life?’ Zen asked in puzzled tones.

  ‘Because I need to understand.’ Pisani was thoughtful. ‘If the group is guilty of the crime that Scalfi woman told us about, it might be revenge that prompted someone to kill Barbaro and Corner. The next victims will be Biagio and Labia. But if we get to Biagio before this unknown person, we can arrest both of them: Biagio for having killed the girl in the scarlet cloak, and the other man for killing Barbaro and Corner.’ For the time being, Marco had no intention of confessing, even to Zen, that Chiara’s premonitions and her gifts as a clairvoyant had triggered his anxiety and his urgency to act.

  ‘Shouldn’t we first discover who the murdered girl was?’

  ‘I’ll know soon enough. I’ve already thought about that. But now we need to try and catch both murderers in a single move. Then I’ll worry about Labia. By tonight I should know where he’s hiding.’

  Daniele preferred not to push his friend. The situation seemed extremely confused to him, but Marco seemed sure enough. But there was something that his friend was holding back from him, and Daniele knew that it was better to bide his time.

  It was pitch-black by the time the two boats came alongside close to the church of the Redentore. Once ashore, Pisani, Zen and the four agents ran along a side alley for a short distance, guided by the lights and the music from an inn not that far away. It was a disreputable-looking place and Daniele left two of the men at the door before walking in with the others.

  Inside it was like a cave, with a few lamps to lighten the darkness. Their flickering light showed small huddles of customers, some sitting around the tables, others leaning against the central counter. They were all staring at a pair of young and rather underdressed girls who were playing mandolins on a makeshift stage and singing a two-part song. Behind them, it was just possible to see the staircase leading to the upper floor.

  An indistinct shape, crouching by the fire, turned out to be the elderly innkeeper, who was trying to fan up the flames so cooking could start. Zen spoke to him.

  ‘Is there a certain Biagio Domenici staying here?’

  The man struggled to stand, as if his knees were hurting. ‘Biagio?’ he said, to gain time, as if he’d never heard the name before. ‘Who are you?’

  ‘This is Avogadore Pisani,’ announced Zen, ‘accompanied by the Inquisition guards.’

  ‘Ah, well, in that case . . . Biagio always told me never to let on where he was, but . . .’ He patted his face dry with a corner of his apron.

  ‘Well, where is he?’ shouted Marco impatiently.

  ‘Excellency, on the first floor, third room on the left,’ hissed the innkeeper between his teeth, and obviously with considerable reluctance.

  Daniele grabbed a lamp off the table and the four men hurried up the stairs. The first room was deserted. When the door to the second was thrown open, a couple could be seen entwined in bed. Despite having her legs in the air, the woman seemed quite unperturbed at the interruption, and she was clearly a whore like those in the room downstairs. This explained why the room was so crowded in the late afternoon. The third door was bolted on the inside.

  ‘Biagio Domenici!’ shouted Zen. ‘You’re under arrest. Open the door!’

  There was silence.

  At a sign from Pisani, the guards heaved against the door.

  The innkeeper had appeared at the head of the stairs and started to shout. ‘What are you doing? You’ll wreck the place.’

  The couple who’d been in bed, and were now half dressed, peered into the corridor.

  The door gave way and the four men rushed into the room. They were met by a draught of cold air from the wide-open window. On the floor, a dark shape was visible at the foot of the bed.

  ‘Lift him up and bring other lights,’ shouted Marco, running to the window. It gave on to the rear of the building. A thick vine grew up the wall. At ground level a heavy man was picking himself up. He ran off, limping slightly, and was lost in the darkness of the alleys.

  ‘You couldn’t have done more. We came as soon as we knew . . .’ Daniele tried to console Pisani, who was prowling around the room like a caged lion. ‘But how did you know it was so imminent?’

  They were alone in the room since the guards were now at the door, keeping the other customers at a distance.

  Biagio’s corpse, still warm, had been laid on the bed. The yellowish light of the lantern revealed a swollen face, bloodshot eyes and a rope, the usual thick, frayed length of rope, wound tightly around his neck, biting into the flesh. No doctor was needed here to verify the cause of death.

  Biagio Domenici had been tall and well built. He had inherited his mother’s hooked nose, which must have given him a predatory expression. His half-open lips still looked full and lecherous. He certainly hadn’t been expecting the visitor, because he was informally dressed, his white chemise hanging out of his breeches.

  There had clearly been a fierce struggle, as the room was a mess. A broken chair lay in a corner, the covers had been torn off the bed, and a heavy stick, with traces of blood, had been thrown across an armchair. By the door, a shattered terracotta jug lay in a pool of liquid.

  Marco approached the corpse with a shiver of distaste and examined the head: there was a
deep wound at the nape and the hair was matted with blood. ‘That’s what happened,’ he remarked. ‘It can’t have been easy to overcome someone of Biagio’s stature. The murderer knew this, and he brought a stick with him to knock him out. Then he strangled him like the others. But how did he get here before us?’

  Daniele had been pacing anxiously up and down the room. ‘Remember the young maid?’ he suddenly said. ‘Didn’t she tell us that his mother had been forced to reveal her son’s hiding place to someone? That was a mistake and a half! Basically, she handed her son to the killer and kept quiet when she spoke to us. How on earth did he manage to make her talk?’

  ‘Well, she’ll talk now, that’s for certain. She’ll confess everything, but it’s too late, far too late.’ Marco sighed as he stared into the darkness through the window. ‘Let’s go and hear what the customers have to say about this downstairs. Then we need to make arrangements for the body to be taken home.’

  The guards had already blocked off the ground floor and were in the process of identifying everyone. The two policemen sent to follow the killer had returned empty-handed after pursuing him in vain through the dark alleyways and covered passageways.

  Most of the clientele that evening belonged to a firm of builders from outside Brescia who had been asked by the parish priest to work on the restoration of the great church, the Redentore. Definitely the worse for wear after an evening’s drinking, they had seen nothing and were soon sent on their way.

  ‘What about you?’ Zen asked the innkeeper. ‘What can you tell us about Biagio? How long had he been here?’ The girls and the few remaining customers listened in silence.

  ‘I think he arrived last Monday. He was in hiding, that much was clear. He told me not to let anyone up to his room, and not to tell anyone he was here. His meals were served in his room. In fact, I don’t think he went out all week.’ The man talked without hesitation. Sitting at a table, he methodically swigged a bottle of white wine, sighing deeply between each mouthful.