Murder in Venice

by Maria Luisa Minarelli

  ‘Let’s leave that to one side for now. What brings you to the palace?’

  ‘I’m an honest citizen who wants to help the law,’ the old man continued, still twisting the pink rag tightly in his hands. ‘Yesterday morning, which was Sunday, I walked under the window of the room where poor Biagio was found dead. It was the first time that I’d actually walked around the house since Friday, when the awful events happened, because it has been raining so heavily.’

  ‘And what happened?’

  ‘While I was looking around, I found this piece of fabric caught in the vine – you know, the one the murderer climbed down. I’m sure it must belong to him. The guards didn’t notice it because it was dark at the time.’ With these words, Cotti handed Pisani the soaked piece of cloth.

  Marco turned it over and saw immediately what it was: it was a sash like the ones that gondoliers wear around their waists. But this one was different: embroidered in a corner, and unmistakable, were gold and blue chevrons and two lions rampant inside a shield. It was the Corner family’s coat of arms.

  The inquisitors were waiting for him in the Sala di Tintoretto, together with the head of police, Messer Grando. Resplendent in his formal robes and wig, Pisani apologised for the delay and immediately made a start on the thorny subject that could not now be postponed any longer.

  He told them about the group of four profligates, two from old noble families, plus a barnabotto and a gondolier, who until a year and a half ago had formed a gang whose only objective was their own amusement. These men, who spent their days gambling and drinking, chasing women and forcibly seducing maidservants, and who would stop at nothing, even serious crimes like theft and fraud, brought shame on the Republic. But one day, Marco continued, the four scoundrels had overstepped all limits and, having kidnapped a girl, they then found themselves with her corpse.

  ‘Has the body been found?’ asked Condulmer.

  ‘Not yet, but I haven’t lost hope,’ Marco went on. ‘And there is ample evidence to prove the crime, and tomorrow, with an armed escort,’ he added, turning to Messer Grando, ‘I shall go to arrest the only survivor of the gang, who can clarify any points that are still unclear.’

  ‘And who is that?’ asked Bragadin.

  ‘Paolo Labia. He’s fled to the family villa at Mira. As you know, Piero Corner, Marino Barbaro and the gondolier Biagio Domenici have been killed.’

  ‘But were you not making inquiries into their mysterious deaths?’ interrupted Pietro Fontana, who had not been listening, as usual.

  ‘As I’ve already explained,’ Pisani repeated patiently, ‘we are dealing with a double case. The victims and Labia were guilty of a repugnant crime. The first three are dead, but Paolo Labia is not, and he must pay.’

  The inquisitors rolled their eyes. ‘A pity it has to be Labia,’ sighed Condulmer. ‘The family will cause trouble. But in Venice we pride ourselves on the fact that everyone is equal before the law and, if the charges are serious, he must be brought to trial.’

  ‘This is why I’m going to Mira. To question him and bring him back to Venice in chains.’

  ‘And who killed the other three?’

  ‘I am not certain yet,’ admitted Pisani. ‘It might be someone who wanted to avenge the Biondini girl, but money might also have been a motive.’

  ‘Could you explain more clearly?’ Bragadin insisted.

  ‘I don’t want to draw any hasty conclusions, but some clues appear to give credence to the former hypothesis, while others appear to point to the Corner family . . .’

  The inquisitors again sighed heavily and rolled their eyes. Marco left them to their business, but he had deliberately not told them that Marianna’s fiancé was back in Venice or that a sash with the Corner coat of arms had been caught in the vine in the exact place where Biagio’s murderer had been seen escaping. Nor, given that Derali had an alibi, had he mentioned that the men were also suspected of espionage.

  It was almost midday when Marco came out of the ducal palace and found Nani waiting for him in front of the mezzanine office at the Procuratie Vecchie. ‘Well?’ he asked anxiously. ‘Have you found Giorgione?’

  ‘Yes, master.’ Nani smiled. ‘Have you ever known me to fail?’

  ‘Let’s go and find a bite to eat and you can tell me all about it.’

  The avogadore and his gondolier sat down among the elegant midday crowds at a table in the Caffè alle Piante d’Oro, under the porticoes, and Marco ordered wine and some appetisers. Even though Nani was dressed as a simple commoner, his good looks drew admiring glances from many of the society women.

  ‘It wasn’t actually that difficult,’ Nani started. ‘Very early this morning I did the rounds of all the bakers in the Ghetto. There aren’t that many, and by poking my head into the workshops, with one excuse or another, I soon spotted the only assistant who didn’t look like a Jew. I waited for him to knock off work and go home to sleep, and then I walked into the shop.’

  ‘Let me guess,’ interrupted Marco. ‘There was a girl . . .’

  ‘Yes, how did you know, padròn? A girl called Ester. She’s very attractive, with dark brown hair and fiery eyes. I told her I was looking for work. She told me that they were fully staffed and that, anyway, only Jews could work in the Ghetto. I told her that that couldn’t be true, because I’d seen a Christian assistant earlier. She smiled and said that he was Giorgione, but it was a special case and he’d been recommended by the patron’s friend. He was a good boy, it seemed, she said, and he didn’t want to be seen out and about. “And where does he live?” I asked. And she told me that he had a room on the top floor, above the baker’s oven, and that he only ventured out very rarely.’

  ‘Did you ask what hours he worked, by chance?’

  ‘Of course. I thought you’d want to know whether he might have been out and about on the nights when the crimes were committed.’

  ‘Nani, you’re a genius! What did she say?’

  ‘I pretended that I was interested in the job. So I asked, “Tell me, what are the working hours like?” And she replied, “It’s tough work. We start at eight in the evening and we work straight through till six in the morning, seven days a week.” “And what if someone has another commitment?” I asked. “They’ll have to change jobs,” she told me. “Bread is made every day here.” Then I left her, saying she was right that the job wasn’t for me. I don’t think she suspected anything.’

  Matteo was already sitting in Zen’s office when Marco arrived. The old man had dusted off his jacket with the gilded braid and he was even wearing a wig and white silk stockings. He looked confused, and when he saw the avogadore he became even more upset.

  ‘Why am I here?’ he stammered when Marco and Daniele entered. ‘Zen’s secretary wouldn’t tell me anything. You can’t think that it was me who killed the master?’

  Marco struggled to hide a smile at the thought of the trembling old man picking well-built young men as his victims and then strangling them. He sat down beside Matteo and rested a hand on his shoulder. ‘Of course not, don’t even think about it. We only want to ask you a few questions in private, out of earshot of any inquisitive eavesdroppers in Palazzo Corner. You know a lot about the family, Signor Matteo, and you might be able to help us understand what has happened.’

  ‘But I wasn’t there when the poor master was killed,’ argued the old man, flattered by being addressed so formally by someone of the avogadore’s standing. ‘His gondolier, Beppino, was with him.’ He wiped his forehead with an immaculately starched handkerchief.

  ‘We know, but what we need is a better understanding of what things were like in the family and the comings and goings of the servants. For example,’ continued Marco, ‘the gondoliers. There seem to have been several over a short space of time, is that right? Could you tell us about them?’

  ‘Yes, I can,’ said Matteo, evidently reassured. ‘You’ll already know about Biagio Domenici, of course. A nasty piece of work. He was poor Signor Piero’s gondolier until a ye
ar ago. Since then he’s lived in his mother’s tavern and the other night he, too, was killed by the murderer who is strangling people in Venice, just like Signor Piero and his other friend, that Marino Barbaro.’ He stopped for a moment, lost in thought. ‘But, Your Excellency, do you think it was Biagio who killed the other two? If so, who killed Biagio?’

  ‘Let’s stick to the subject,’ interrupted Daniele. ‘Tell me more about the gondoliers working for the Corner family.’

  ‘Yes, well, let’s see.’ The old man tried to concentrate by letting his eyes rove around the bookshelves, crammed with heavy law books, that lined the office walls. ‘A year ago, Beppino arrived to take his place, and he was with Signor Piero on the night of the crime. He’s a good lad, but he left fairly soon after what happened.’

  ‘Was he the only gondolier?’

  ‘No, how could he have been? The Corner family are always out and about and one would not be enough. There’s also Signor Dario’s gondolier, a new man called Marietto, who’s been with the household for about a month now. He seems to be a good man, but he gets tired very quickly and is always complaining when he works for several hours. Then again, Signor Dario is always out, especially at night.’

  ‘And before him?’

  ‘Let me think. Up till September Signor Dario used one of the old house servants as a gondolier, until he couldn’t manage any longer and retired. After him, another older man arrived, but he was much stronger and had been in Constantinople. He only lasted a few weeks because he apparently found another job. That’s when Marietto arrived.’

  ‘And what about the ladies?’

  ‘They had their own private gondolier until Signora Eleonora became pregnant and stopped going out as much. That man was about forty and his real name was Luigi but everyone called him Gigio. He had a good voice and would often sit by the fire in the kitchen playing a guitar and singing. When he was fired, everyone said that he set up a wandering company of players.’

  ‘It’s strange that there have been so many changes,’ remarked Marco. ‘We’ve heard that Signor Dario has a terrible temper . . .’

  Matteo smiled broadly. Gossip was one of his favourite pastimes. ‘A terrible temper? Yes, you could certainly say that. He flies into a rage at the slightest provocation and starts shouting and goes red in the face.’

  ‘Did he shout at his brother?’

  ‘Well, strange to say, they argued constantly before Signor Piero married. It was usually about money. Dario didn’t have much, at least not by the standards of the Corner family, and he’d made some bad investment decisions with what he had. What’s more, Piero scolded him when he complained that his brother spent all the money on gambling and women. What really annoyed Dario were his brother’s three friends, because he said they were leeching the family’s money.’

  Marco remembered the quarrel that Francesca Corner’s dressmaker had witnessed. ‘And what happened after Piero Corner married?’

  ‘After Piero married Signora Eleonora, their relations improved. Perhaps the young wife knew how to restrain both her husband and her brother-in-law. But also because Signor Dario . . .’

  ‘Signor Dario?’ Marco encouraged him to continue.

  ‘Well, all of us in the kitchen commented on how he changed. He started to dress better, his manners improved . . . In short, we were all convinced that he’d fallen hopelessly in love with his sister-in-law.’

  ‘Well, that really takes the biscuit!’ exclaimed Daniele after Matteo had bid them farewell with a respectful and dignified exchange of courtesies. ‘The coarse Dario Corner falls in love with his beautiful sister-in-law! Now that she’s a widow and he’s a rich man, he’ll certainly be hoping for some recompense. What’s more, he had the best motive of all to kill his brother: money and love. There’s no shortage of clues, either. The threats, the fact that – judging by what Matteo said – Dario was often out in the evening and came home late, the sash found at the Locanda del Principe. But why would he have killed the other two?’

  ‘That’s the crux. Why run the risk? Perhaps because if he just killed his brother, he thought he might be too obvious a suspect? Did the two other deaths serve to muddy the waters?’

  ‘Either that,’ continued Daniele, ‘or he had to eliminate the two men who’d have suspected him immediately and would have blackmailed him.’

  ‘And this idea also lets Giorgione off the hook. Yet it’s still Giorgione who has the strongest motive: he wanted to avenge his fiancée’s death. But judging from what Nani told me about his job in the Ghetto, Giorgione wouldn’t be able to leave the bakery at night. Although, who knows if Ester is right?’

  ‘We’re clearly not going to be able to solve any of this now,’ ended Daniele. ‘Tomorrow we’ll go and arrest Paolo Labia and then we’ll learn more.’

  CHAPTER 26

  At dawn on Tuesday 19 December, Pisani and his companions disembarked at Fusina, where horses were waiting for them.

  The road to Mira was muddy and rougher than usual, and the cluster of horsemen – Pisani; Zen; Vanni Cingoli, the chancellor of the Avogaria; and four guards – made slow progress through the persistent drizzle. They were spattered with filth in spite of their heavy cloaks, and armed to the teeth with pistols and daggers.

  The Serenissima had never succeeded in making the mainland roads safe to use, and it was not unusual for travellers to encounter brigands who made a living by robbing passers-by, which was why the guards were with them, because it would have been very undignified for an avogadore to be stripped of his belongings, let alone anything worse.

  There were few others on the road: the occasional peasant’s cart carrying winter produce to the market, or more rarely a merchant’s caravan, also protected by heavily armed guards, a couple of magistrates on horseback and a travelling company of actors seated on a ramshackle carriage pulled by a nag.

  Most of the time the road followed the right bank of the Brenta canal, which Marco had travelled only a few days earlier with Chiara. The fields lay fallow during the winter and were interspersed with farm buildings. Parks surrounded the villas which could be seen on both sides, overlooking the canal.

  At Oriago the horsemen stopped at an inn in the marketplace, and having handed their mounts to the stable boy, they shook the worst of the rain off their heavy cloaks before entering. Ravenously hungry, they promptly ordered cured meats and cheese, accompanied by good red wine, which helped to bring some warmth back to their limbs.

  ‘You, guards,’ said Pisani. ‘As you aren’t allowed into patrician villas, wait in the porter’s gatehouse, but be on your guard and don’t let Labia escape. You, Daniele, you’ll come in with me and act as the witness, while the chancellor minutes the questioning.’ Marco smiled at Vanni Cingoli, who, after years of office work in the ducal palace, was already feeling the strain after the first stretch of the journey on horseback. ‘We’ll try to surprise Labia and get into the villa without him noticing. In this respect, at least, the weather is on our side, as we’re unlikely to meet anyone in the garden in this rain.’

  Back on the road, they rode through Valmarana, where there were several parks and villas, and the road became increasingly deserted. It was about eleven when they reached Mira. Here they crossed to the left bank of the Brenta, cantering along the embankment and past several farmhouses before coming to the elegant façade of Villa Labia, with its central three-arch window topped by spires and statues.

  Marco and Daniele dismounted and walked into the gatehouse. Standing chatting before the fireplace were two armed guards, who looked surprised but quickly reached for their swords.

  ‘Put down your weapons,’ ordered Marco. ‘My name’s Pisani, avogadore of the Serenissima.’ The two men recognised him and immediately stood to attention. ‘Both of you will stay here quietly, in the company of my guards, and you’ll do nothing to warn anyone of our arrival. I’m here on official business and, irrespective of any orders given by your master, I am now in command here, in the name of the Repub
lic.’

  The two guards remained standing stiffly to attention. ‘Are there other armed guards in the main house?’ asked Pisani.

  ‘No,’ replied the older man. ‘There are just two of us, and we stay here all year round with the families. We live in the building behind the villa. Inside, there are just servants and the master’s friends.’

  ‘Good. You’ll wait here until we’ve entered the building and then you’ll look after our horses, which need to be dried and fed.’

  In front of the villa, which seemed uninhabited apart from the open shutters on the first floor, there was a wide paved area, flanked by porticoes running towards the side wings of the building. Marco and Daniele, followed by Vanni Cingoli, who carried a leather bag, reached the main door and, hidden by one of the porticoes, slipped unseen into the hall.

  They were immediately aware of the strains of beautiful dance music coming from the salon on the first floor. The three men climbed the elegant staircase and found themselves looking at an unexpected scene. The austere hall of the villa, heated by two large marble fireplaces and watched over by several portraits of severe-faced forebears of the Labia family, had been transformed into a theatre for a private party. Beside tables set with every imaginable sort of food and drink, two figures reclined on the velvet sofa. At first glance they looked like two well-built and heavily made-up young ladies, wearing towering wigs and gilded fabrics with plunging necklines. A third was energetically hammering out a minuet on the spinet, and in the centre of the room another couple, in lace corsets and wide skirts, were moving through the semblance of a dance.

  Dressed in a lace shirt, Paolo Labia, who was small and thin, was all but enveloped in the cushions of an armchair while a strange creature, who appeared to be wearing nothing more than a red body stocking and a huge white wig, sat on his lap, feeding him grapes.

  When the officials arrived, everyone froze in surprise and it became clear that the young ladies were in fact well-muscled young men. Labia was wearing a stomacher and breeches, but his made-up face and dusky eyes left no doubt about the nature of the party.