Alibi

by Joseph Kanon

  “Yes.”

  She nodded. “Good. Just get the names. I’ll do the rest.” She glanced up, sensing my reluctance. “You asked me once to look at files for you.”

  “Another obligation.”

  “To me? No. You know what these people are. You saw it in Germany.”

  “That was different.”

  “Yes? Imagine if it were your country-what would you do?”

  I stared at her for a minute, a bulky figure in a sweater, still in combat, then looked away.

  “I’d get the names,” I said.

  “So. You married an Italian. You’re not a tourist anymore.”

  “A patriota.”

  She smiled. “A real one.” She nodded her head toward the vaporetto approaching the landing. “You go first. I have some business here.”

  “On the Giudecca?”

  She wagged her finger. “Just your piece. Unlock the gate.” Then, before I could turn toward the dock, she put a hand on my shoulder, soft as the air, a thank-you. “And the names.”

  We could have spent the evening anywhere-Harry’s, Montin’s-but I got the idea of asking for Gianni’s seats at La Fenice because it gave me an excuse to go to Ca’ Maglione and look at Paolo’s journals. I had planned to spend the afternoon, but I arrived to find Cavallini there having tea, a surprise visit, and Giulia edgy, handing me the tickets with an expression that said the library was now out of the question. Another day.

  “One minute and I will walk with you,” Cavallini said, holding up a finger.

  Giulia gave me a wry “Your turn” look. Then there was a fuss in the hall about his hat and more good-byes, so it was five minutes before we were finally out on the street, walking to Santo Stefano.

  “What is on tonight?” he said.

  “ La Boheme.”

  “Ah, romantic. For the newlyweds.”

  “You like opera?” I said, marking time, eager to be away.

  “My wife enjoys it. Perhaps you’ll see her tonight.”

  “But not you?”

  “No, not tonight. Work.”

  “So late?”

  “A special assignment.”

  I waited, but he said nothing. We crossed a bridge into a narrow calle smelling of garbage and mold.

  “Sometimes, you know, I think it’s time to leave the police. Business maybe, a position.”

  “I thought you enjoyed it.”

  “Yes, when you’re young. You don’t worry about anything then. But now you think, what if? Maybe tonight it’s your turn.”

  “I thought there wasn’t any crime in Venice.”

  “Before, no. A few robberies, like anywhere. But now, since the war, such violence. Think of Maglione, murdered. All these animosities, they don’t go away.”

  “It takes time,” I said blandly, letting him lead.

  “Yes, how long? The war teaches them to fight. Then how do you make them stop? It’s in the blood, an excitement. The law? Something to shoot at. They forget,” he said, opening his jacket to show me a gun in a side holster, “we were in the war too.”

  I froze, staring at the gun, dark and bulky, something he hadn’t carried before. Why now? Even in the dim calle, the dull steel drew the eye, an almost hypnotic pull, ready to jump at you if you looked away.

  “You’re expecting trouble?”

  “In the police, we’re always expecting trouble,” he said, official again.

  “But you never carry a gun.”

  “Yes, sometimes. But it ruins the suit.” He brushed his hand down the side, showing the bulge the holster made, then looked over at me and smiled. “It worries you, the gun?” He put his hand on my shoulder, leading me toward the campo. “No, I’m an excellent shot.”

  “But why today?”

  He shrugged. “If there’s trouble, you’re prepared.”

  “You mean there’s going to be? What?”

  “Let the police worry.”

  “But how do you know?”

  “Signor Miller,” he said indulgently, “there are many ears in Venice. It has always been so, a tradition. Everyone listens. So I know when to be ready,” he said as we walked into the campo. “Sometimes it’s good, a little trouble. People show themselves. They come up out of the ground, they show their faces. You can see who they are.” He squinted at the cafes with umbrellas out against the spring sun, as if he were looking for them now. “But it’s true I’m getting old for this. Guns, at my age. One night-you never know. Well, don’t worry,” he said, amused at the look on my face. “We’ll be ready. You go to La Boheme.”

  I said nothing, afraid to press, hoping he’d volunteer more, but he became withdrawn again, not so much discreet as preoccupied with something. He looked back for a second before we left the square.

  “You know, a girl like that, all alone now-she may never marry. And then who looks out for her? Of course she has the protection of her family. But so many responsibilities,” he said, thinking out loud, the gun forgotten.

  I didn’t know how to bring it up again without being obvious, so I let him talk about Giulia, not really listening, too nervous to pay attention. He knew. At least one of Rosa’s pieces had failed her. More than one? The one that led to Ca’ Venti? The important thing now was to let her know, before anyone showed his face, walked into Cavallini’s waiting hands. I glanced again at the bulge near his breast pocket, ready.

  There were more good-byes when I turned off for the traghetto. I waited, counting off seconds, then went back to the calle to make sure he had kept going, finally spotting his head in the crowd moving toward San Marco. A few minutes later I followed, far enough behind to be out of sight.

  I was halfway across Campo San Moise to the hotel entrance when it occurred to me that if Cavallini knew anything at all, he’d have somebody watching the Bauer. I stopped and turned, pretending to look at the church but scanning the rest of the square. A cafe at the other end would probably have a phone. I could get her to come down without having to show myself in the lobby.

  After a few rings, the operator asked if I wanted to leave a message. I hung up. What if she never came back? But there was nowhere else to reach her and the cafe had a clear sightline to the hotel, so I ordered a coffee and stood at the window to wait. She hadn’t checked out. Maybe she was planning a routine afternoon, as blameless as an evening at La Fenice. I had another coffee. A small group of tourists stopped to take pictures of San Moise, kneeling and shooting up to get the full effect of the grimy rococo swirls. I craned slightly to the left, around them, afraid I’d miss her. A man at the other end of the window counter looked at me, then quickly went back to his book. Why did I assume the police would be in the lobby-why not here, with a good view of the door? There was no other way out of the Bauer except the gondola landing. I looked around. Why hadn’t I brought a newspaper? No one stood for this long looking out a window unless he was waiting for somebody. A meeting the man couldn’t miss, just glancing up from his book.

  After another cigarette I decided to play it safe and leave, but just as I turned I saw Claudia coming into the square, carrying a wrapped box. I dropped my head, a reflex. The last person I wanted to see.

  “I don’t want any part of it,” she’d said when I told her Rosa’s plan yesterday.

  “You won’t have any part of it. Neither will I. We won’t be here.”

  “And you believe her? A crazy woman.”

  “She knows what she’s doing. It’s what she did in the war. If anybody can get him away-”

  “Yes, and when he’s gone, then where do they look?”

  “We’ll be out somewhere. No connection.”

  “Another alibi,” she’d said, turning away but dropping it, tired of arguing. After that, neither of us mentioned it.

  The man with the book now looked at me again. I had to be waiting for somebody, even somebody I didn’t want to see. I rapped a coin on the window, making Claudia turn her head.

  “What are you doing here?” she said after I’d kissed
her, made a show of getting another coffee.

  “Not too loud. I think he’s police,” I said, moving my eyes toward the other end of the window. She glanced over, startled. “It’s okay. Just have coffee with me, I’ll explain it later. What’s in the box?”

  “Lace,” she said vaguely, still distracted by the man. “A special order, at the Europa. Why police? What are you doing?”

  “Waiting for Rosa. I have to warn her.”

  She stared at me.

  “Drink the coffee.”

  “Warn her. And then they’ll see you together. And me. I told you I didn’t-I’m leaving.”

  But just then the man closed his book and started going through his pockets for change. After dropping a few coins in the saucer, he headed for the door.

  “See if he goes to the Bauer,” I said, my back to the window, not wanting to turn around.

  “No. San Marco.”

  “Then there must be someone in the lobby.”

  She looked at me, disturbed. “Are you crazy now too?”

  “Somebody has to be watching. They know.”

  “They know? And you’re waiting for her?”

  “She has to call it off.”

  “They’ll see you with her.”

  “We just happened to run into each other. Had a coffee. That’s all.”

  Claudia moved to leave, but I put my hand on her arm, holding her.

  “We have to tell her,” I said. “She’d be walking into a trap.”

  “Oh, but not us.” She looked down at her coffee. “How long have you been here? If they’re watching-”

  “I’ll say I was waiting for you.” I glanced at my watch. “Just give it a few more minutes. She has to come back sometime.”

  But we had finished another coffee before Claudia finally looked over my shoulder and nodded. “ Ecco. La brigadiera.”

  Rosa was coming over the bridge, improbably, with a shopping bag. I hurried out. An accidental meeting.

  “You’ve been shopping?” I said, a public voice, then under it, “I have to talk to you. Cavallini knows.”

  “What?” she said, surprised at my being there.

  “Come and have a coffee,” I said, still public. “Claudia’s here.”

  She studied me, then followed me inside. Claudia was bringing a new cup over from the bar. She handed it to her but didn’t meet her eyes, barely acknowledging her.

  “You have to call it off. Cavallini knows. They’ll be waiting for you.”

  “What?” she said again, loud this time, so I leaned closer to her to tell her the rest, just a murmur to anyone else, barely audible over the steam hiss of the coffeemaker. She took it in blankly, staring out at the campo. When I finished, she asked for a cigarette and glanced around the room while I lit it for her.

  “Calm down,” she said, looking at my fingers, shaking a little.

  “It’s the coffee-I’ve been waiting. I was afraid I wouldn’t get to you in time. I didn’t know where you were.”

  “You’re panicking,” she said, blowing out smoke.

  “No. He knows.”

  She shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. Stop worrying. It’ll be all right.”

  “How can you say that?” Claudia snapped. “How can it be all right?”

  “Claudia.”

  “You want to drag everyone down with you?” Claudia said, then turned away, a frustrated gesture, as if she were stamping her foot.

  “You can’t go through with it now,” I said quietly.

  “We have to. They move him tonight. So you had a friendly talk. So he’s wearing a gun. This doesn’t prove anything.”

  “You can’t take that chance. You’ve got people to think about. Someone must have talked.”

  “Maybe. It doesn’t matter.”

  “Of course it does. I know, everyone just knows his piece. But one piece leads to another. One of the links breaks, the whole thing can fall apart. All it takes is one.”

  She took a sip of coffee, slowing the moment. “Only if he really knows what is going to happen.”

  I looked at her. “And no one does?”

  “It wouldn’t be wise, would it? If someone did talk.”

  “You told everybody a different story?” Claudia said. “Including Adam?”

  “A man so friendly with the police.”

  “You think I’d tell them?”

  “The boy didn’t think he was betraying us either. Helping. Medicine.” She drew on the cigarette, then put it out. “I’m never going to be in that house again. Now stop worrying. Maybe Cavallini thinks he knows something, but he doesn’t. I told you we’d be careful.”

  “You also said they weren’t expecting you. But they are. They know something ’s happening.”

  “That can’t be helped. We always knew there was a risk in getting him.” She looked up. “But not to you. Or you,” she said to Claudia. “So stop scaring yourselves and go home. If it’s true about Cavallini, you don’t want to be seen with me.” She put her hand on my arm. “Just open the gate.”

  “If he’s coming at all. Or is that part of the story real?”

  She smiled. “Someday I’ll tell you. Tonight you see nothing. Maybe someone was there. Maybe a ghost.” She patted my arm. “Thank you for the warning. I know you meant it for the best.”

  “But you don’t believe it.”

  “It doesn’t matter if I do. It’s too late to stop it now.”

  “Not if you want to stop it.”

  She gathered up her shopping bag. “But I don’t. There’s no choice-to save him. Cavallini? I can’t worry about him.”

  “You have to. The boy could be killed. Do you want that boy’s death on your hands?”

  “Do you?” she said sharply.

  In the moment that followed, nobody moved. Then Claudia, who’d been staring out the window listening, stepped away from the counter and put herself between us.

  “No. Nobody wants that,” she said gently, making peace. “I’m sorry,” she said to Rosa. “It’s just all nerves with us, worried for you. But if it’s the only way-”

  I looked at her, surprised, a sudden turn midstream. Rosa, also surprised, said nothing, just shifted the bag in her hand, waiting.

  “Then we’ll leave the gate,” Claudia said. “Our piece.”

  Rosa didn’t reply, just nodded and went out the door. I watched her start across the campo, dragging her leg, then turned to Claudia, my face a question mark.

  “You can’t stop her,” she said. “You can see that. She’s going to do it no matter what.” She picked up the box. “Have you paid? I still have to drop this at the Europa.” Suddenly business as usual.

  “There won’t be any way to connect us,” I said, as if we were still arguing, but Claudia just shrugged, resigned to everything now.

  I followed her out and over the bridge to the passage to the Europa, lined with gondoliers, a few of them halfheartedly making a pitch but most just smoking, waiting for tourists from the hotel.

  “But she’s so pigheaded,” I said. “What if something goes wrong?”

  “Then she’s caught, not you,” Claudia said coolly.

  I looked up at her. “And if he’s killed?”

  She turned to me, her eyes steady. “Then they’ll never look anywhere else.”

  I stood for a moment, vaguely aware of the doorman holding open the door, white gloves on the handles, Claudia walking through, but not really seeing any of it, my stomach lurching as if we had just stepped off something, amazed somehow that no one had noticed us falling.

  “Signor,” the doorman said, and then I was in the lobby, watching Claudia hand the box to the man at the front desk, and for an odd moment I felt I was looking at someone else. No longer just covering tracks, wiping away smears of blood. Wishing for someone’s death. So they’d never look anywhere else.

  A waiter in the terrace dining room smiled, unaware that anything terrible had happened. Through the window I could see Salute, white and swirling, exactly the way
it had been when we’d flirted on the boat, just across the water from where we were now.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Claudia blotted her lipstick at the mirror, then turned and smiled at me. “Okay? You like the dress?” No longer nervous, relieved, as if some unexpected solution had been handed to us, the corner already turned. And hadn’t it? Whatever happened tonight would have nothing to do with us, sitting at the opera. Even if it went wrong. The other solution. Because either way we’d be free.

  I nodded, barely seeing it.

  “Here, help me with my coat. We don’t want to be late. We want them to see us.”

  “Who?”

  “The Montanaris.”

  “Christ, I forgot. Maybe they won’t be there.”

  “You want them to be there. Our witnesses. ‘And was Signor Miller with you? Yes, all evening. And Signora Miller.’ Ha, now what do they say?”

  “You’re enjoying yourself.”

  “Isn’t that what she wants us to do? As if nothing’s happening?”

  She kept her good spirits at the opera, despite my restlessness and despite the Montanaris’ forced cordiality. They must have had the box to themselves since Gianni’s death, because they had already taken Gianni’s front seats and looked awkward when we insisted they keep them. There were vague inquiries about Giulia, the offer of a pair of opera glasses, a halfhearted invitation to join them for champagne at the interval, and then they turned to face the stage, their backs stiff and uncomfortable, self-conscious, as if they felt they were being watched. At least, I thought, they’d remember our being there.

  Claudia, using the glasses, spied Bertie and pointed him out, a few seats away from the doge’s box. He was sitting with a priest dressed in satin, and I thought of that first cocktail party, Claudia in simple gray and the priest in scarlet, the best-dressed person in the room. A hundred years ago. I looked at her. She was still scanning the room with the glasses, interested. An evening out, the way it was all supposed to be, while Rosa was doing whatever she was doing. I shifted in my chair. Guns and escape boats and hunched figures darting along the tracks-none of it real somehow, like stories told over drinks.