“Blasphemy!” the madman roared, and I could see the ancient warden at the far end of the nave cast a worried look in our direction.
Rebecca tugged on my arm, but I could not let this point go. “Not at all, sir. If you scrawl a child’s doodle on a wall and call it the Virgin, I commit no blasphemy in pointing out it is a child’s doodle. The comment is directed at your skill, or lack of it. Not the Virgin herself.”
“Blasphemy!”
The warden was heading for the side door. Rebecca was hissing at me under her breath. I know when it’s time to leave.
We fled into the night. Just in time too. The soldiers were racing for the church as we turned the corner and disappeared back into the safety of San Cassian, where I might find a gondola and return Rebecca, briefly transformed back into Roberto, into the ghetto.
When we were on that last, familiar walk towards the bridge, she turned to me and said, “You’ll be the death of us, Lorenzo. I swear.”
“Nonsense,” I replied. “The man was a charlatan. Bad art is bad art, and sticking the Virgin in there to stop someone pointing it out is just plain dishonest.”
“So when I write a bad concerto, you will boo along with the rest of them?”
“Louder than the rest, in fact, since I, more than most, know how much better you can do.”
That snort again. We approached the bridge, she pulled up her hood, and I started to concoct a story once more, not that the guard, who was half-drunk, seemed much bothered.
I saw her to the door. Jacopo opened it and caught the mirth on both our faces.
“Villains, both of you,” he said. “They’ll be displaying your heads on the waterfront before the year is out.”
Rebecca kissed him once on the cheek. “Falling at my feet in gratitude, more like, dear brother, when they realise the Serenissima has another master in its midst.”
“Of course.” I caught Jacopo’s eye. There was something he wanted to say to his sister, but he didn’t have the heart. We both knew what it was.
27
An acquisition
The seller had suggested an empty warehouse in the vast derelict shipyard of the Arsenale. Daniel listened patiently to Scacchi’s careful instructions, knowing all along that he would extemporise if the occasion demanded. It was, after all, just such a talent for improvisation that had won them the prize of Massiter’s money in the first place. Scacchi’s caution, Daniel thought, was understandable in one so old. He did not, however, feel bound by it.
“Make sure the fiddle is the true one,” Scacchi insisted. “I’ve told you of the identifying marks. Look at the label too.”
“I know,” Daniel replied a little impatiently, which won him a reproving look from the old man.
“This fellow’s a crook, Daniel. Don’t play games with him.”
“And he wants the money. We have nothing to fear.”
“You never read the newspapers, do you?”
Daniel was baffled. “Why?”
“It doesn’t matter,” Scacchi said, scowling. “All I ask is this: take care. Now the moment’s here, I wish I could do this myself.”
Massiter’s sum had arrived as promised. It was in cash, large-denomination dollar bills, now hidden safely somewhere in the secondfloor bedroom Scacchi shared with Paul. Scacchi was still $10,000 short of the money he owed but believed that with some begging, a short-term loan, and the sale of a few objects, he could raise the balance within a matter of days. The seller was, he advised Daniel, to phone on Friday and, if all sides were agreeable, conclude the arrangement the following day. If everything went to plan, the excursion to Sant’ Erasmo would now be a celebration for them all. Provided the violin was the Guarneri Scacchi expected, it was difficult to see what might go wrong.
“I promised to do this for you, Scacchi,” Daniel insisted.
“And you’re a man of your word, I know. But this fellow isn’t. He’s a crook out of choice. Not, like us, out of necessity. You should always fear that kind of man, Daniel. I’m not the only Lucifer at loose in this town.”
Daniel laughed. The old man seemed to find it a strain to raise a smile.
When Daniel went outside, the afternoon was hot, the vaporetto packed with tourists and tetchy locals. Venice could be a crotchety place during the humid, scorching days of summer. There seemed no escape from the power of the sun and the seeping dampness that rose from the lagoon.
As he waited for the vaporetto, he was dismayed to discover, seated in the shelter, the policewoman, Giulia Morelli, reading a book. He said nothing and stared at the water. Inevitably, her head lifted and a smile of recognition came his way.
“Daniel,” she said, rising to greet him. “How nice to see you again.”
“I didn’t realise you came here so often.”
She shrugged and placed the book in her bag. “The police get everywhere. It’s one of our unfortunate habits. Congratulations, by the way.”
Daniel blinked, not comprehending, and unable to shake the image of the stolen violin from his head.
“For the concert Mr. Massiter is planning,” she said by way of explanation.
“Of course. It’s a great honour.”
“And so unexpected. I had no idea you were a composer. Scacchi said nothing of the fact when we met.”
“It’s a small thing, or so I thought.”
“Not for Signor Massiter. He sees value in you. How flattered you must be.”
Daniel squirmed on the jetty and was relieved to see a boat heave slowly into view. “Yes,” he muttered.
Giulia Morelli glanced at her watch. “Has Scacchi bought anything recently? To your knowledge. I should like to know.”
“I’m sorry?”
“An item. An antique. It is what he does, isn’t it?”
He was aware of the sweat on his brow. “I believe he is retired.”
Giulia Morelli laughed. “A man like Scacchi never retires, Daniel. Surely you must know that?”
The vaporetto rolled in towards the jetty. He watched a slim girl in the blue ACTV uniform grip the handrail, ready to release it for passengers.
“Where are you going?” he asked.
“Some weeks ago an item was stolen from a coffin,” Giulia Morelli said. “The man who saw it stolen was murdered. When I chanced upon the act, I was nearly killed too. So I have something personal here. An axe to grind, as you English say.”
“What has this to do with Scacchi? Or me?”
“Perhaps nothing. I don’t know.”
He watched the stream of bodies leave the boat and dreaded the thought that the policewoman would follow him on board and continue this interrogation all the way to San Marco, where he would, he knew, have to abandon every plan that had been made in order to humour her.
“Please,” he said. “Don’t think me rude. I have to go to La Pietà. I must discuss some complex business to do with the concert. And I haven’t a clue what you’re talking about.”
Giulia Morelli said nothing. It was time to board the boat.
“Are you joining me?”
“Me?” she replied, amused. “I have no reason to catch the boat, Daniel. I merely saw you leave the house, daydreaming, and walked ahead here in order to talk with you. I’ve no desire to go anywhere.”
“Then what do you want?”
“The truth, naturally. And to warn you. Whatever you think, this is not some game. A man has died. The reason for it, I still fail to understand, but I know this.”