Death in a Serene City (11 page)

“Well, if it isn't Mr. Macintyre!”

Urbino, who only a few moments before had entered the Piazza, was startled to see Clifford Voyd standing almost directly in front of him between the Basilica steps and the elevated wooden planks for the
acqua alta
. The writer had a big smile on his face. Had Voyd been watching him from the time he had entered the square oblivious to everything but his own somewhat unsettling thoughts?

“And what dark, shameful deeds of your current victim are you mulling over, my friend? You will allow me to call them your victims, won't you?”

Urbino just stared at him.

“Your mischievous little lives, what else!” He used the same diminutive about Urbino's biographies that he had the evening of the Contessa's party. Before Urbino could say anything, the writer added, “But I suppose I'm not in any position to be criticizing you, my friend, even if it is so mildly and playfully.” He held up a copy of
Il Gazzettino
in a gloved hand. “This unfortunate business at San Gabriele has started me thinking about a little story, the mother of two ill-fated children, daily trips to the shrine, a sizable amount of her hard-earned
lire
spent on candles, only to be—But no! It's too melodramatic, much too unbelievable! It would have to have a different ending.”

He looked over Urbino's head toward the clock tower as if it might provide the ending he needed.

“A comforting convenience of fiction, wouldn't you say, Mr. Voyd?”

He had tried to keep his tone light but he knew that an edge of sarcasm and irritation had crept into it.

“So I suppose it is, my friend, and where would any of us be without that particular little convenience? And it's not only in fiction either. I've read quite a few biographies that play fast and loose with the facts themselves. But don't take it personally. As I said at the Contessa's last week, I have yet to read one of your own little lives. I see some are honored with shelf space in the library.” He nodded toward the Biblioteca Marciana on the other side of the Campanile. “I might get to one of them before I finish here, who knows?”

And with that he said good day and walked off in the direction of the library, the newspaper carefully folded and tucked up under his arm.

When Urbino was settled at a window table at Florian's, he took out his own copy of
Il Gazzettino
.

One article was a brief history of Santa Teodora, describing her martyrdom in Sicily and subsequent removal to Venice by what the article called “two reverent sailors from the Lido.” Being familiar with the story, he only skimmed it, smiling at its description of the sailors who, from his own understanding, had been the Doge's hirelings whose only reverence was for
scudi
and the safety of their own necks.

Another article was about the Church of San Gabriele and Don Marcantonio. A photograph at least twenty years old showed a smiling Don Marcantonio in the Campo San Gabriele in front of the church. The caption beneath said: “Monsignor Marcantonio Bo, pastor of the Church of San Gabriele for almost fifty years, in happier days.” The article praised his devotion to the relic of Santa Teodora and described his efforts to protect it over the years from “the encroachment of the modern world and its skepticism and profit-motive.” Mention was made of his “ecclesiastical battle behind closed doors” with his former assistant, Luigi Cavatorta, who had wanted to install a modern system of lighting and coin-operated recorded lectures. Cavatorta's failure in this attempt was underlined by the last line of the article: “Luigi Cavatorta has since left San Gabriele and the priesthood.”

Across the top of the first page were two large photographs. Both were of the body of Santa Teodora, one of her in her mask, the other showing the body in the same reclining position but without the mask. It was the first time Urbino had seen the face of the saint. Although the photograph was a poor one taken before Don Marcantonio had come to San Gabriele, Urbino could make out all the features in profile. What would the old priest think of this exposure of his beloved saint?

The face, with its prominent nose and receding chin covered with mummified flesh, bore a strong resemblance to La Befana, the witch of the Epiphany, a holiday they had just celebrated on the sixth of January. On her head was a high tiara from which trailed backward a long piece of pale material that might have been some fashionable accoutrement in a previous age. The material fell from the head onto the ornate pillow and then off the edge of the catafalque. Except for the pillow these were all details he was seeing for the first time. He wondered where the tiara and veil were now.

He read the article beneath the photographs.

MURDER IN CANNAREGIO

Theft of the Remains of Santa Teodora

“All that might remain is a big sack filled with dust.”

This is the fear of the police who have initiated a search for the person or persons who committed a murder before stealing away with the remains of Santa Teodora from the Church of San Gabriele in the Cannaregio.

The belief that the relic was heavily damaged in the theft is supported by the fact that the body's extreme fragility made necessary in the last century a face mask to hold together the cranium of the saint.

The reconstruction of the crime presents many puzzling aspects. A British husband and wife on their honeymoon entered the Church of San Gabriele by a side entrance at approximately 5:30 yesterday afternoon. The church had been closed for the night and the six o'clock Mass had been canceled because of the indisposition of Monsignor Marcantonio Bo, pastor of San Gabriele. No one is believed to have been in the church when the couple arrived.

The honeymoon couple found Signora Maria Galuppi of the Cannaregio lying on the floor in the chapel devoted to the saint. She was pronounced dead a short time later by Professor Alberto Lago, the medical examiner. Signora Galuppi was a frequent visitor to the shrine.

The police could find no traces of the person or persons involved. Neither could they find anyone in the area who saw anyone fleeing or acting in a suspicious manner.

The double panes of glass of the coffin holding the body of the saint were most likely broken by a candelabra, also believed to be the murder weapon, found on the floor of the chapel. It is believed that the remains were stuffed into a pillow slip that was among the laundry the dead woman was returning to her client, Signor Urbino Macintyre of the Palazzo Uccello, Cannaregio.

It is speculated that the unfortunate woman was murdered in the course of the theft of the remains of Santa Teodora, the motive for which is unknown. Several possibilities are being considered.

It might have been perpetrated by a political or religious group or individual intending to ask for ransom.

It might be the crazed deed of drug takers of which our city has seen a considerable increase. It might even be the result of a centuries-old rivalry between Syracuse and Venice for possession of the saint.

However, sources close to the Questura claim that the authorities have not ruled out the possibility that Maria Galuppi was the main focus of the crime and that the theft of the body of the saint was either an afterthought or a final insult to the dead woman.

Police are searching for Carlo Galuppi, son of the murdered woman and sexton for twenty-five years at San Gabriele, in the hope that he will shed light on this tragedy.

On the inside page of obituary notices was a brief piece about Maria Galuppi:

LAUNDRYWOMAN MURDERED

Maria Galuppi, the widow of Ignazio Galuppi of this city, was murdered yesterday afternoon at the Church of San Gabriele. She was 78 years old.

Signora Galuppi, who lived all her life in the Cannaregio where she was a familiar figure, was a laundrywoman and occasional domestic until the time of her death.

She is survived by her son, Carlo, also of the Cannaregio. A daughter, Beatrice Galuppi, predeceased her.

After reading the articles, his coffee forgotten, Urbino felt that same peculiar pull and tug of curiosity he always did when he was about to commit himself to a new
Venetian Life
. It always began with a question but never one as disturbing as the one he formulated now to himself.

Who had killed good, gentle Maria Galuppi?

The lives he dealt with usually involved people about whom the unanswered questions were subtle and complex rather than disquieting. And he was never in any way emotionally involved with his subjects, having understood from the first the dangers of too close an identification or too strong an antipathy.

He could see that the untroubled, serene life he preferred would be almost impossible as long as there was no satisfying answer to the question of who had killed Maria.

And there was something else. Despite the disdain for contemporary society that in large part was behind his decision to live in Venice, he found himself fascinated by this example of just how repulsive that society could be. He had thought himself beyond any real interest in such brutish things, had believed he could willingly remain aloof, isolated, yet here he was at Florian's, surrounded by its emblems of a sane and civilized life, finding what could only be called a perverse pleasure in contemplating that very brutishness.

It was an unsettling position to be in, and he wondered where it all might lead.

9

“A penny for your thoughts? Isn't that what you Americans say?”

Urbino looked up into the smirking face of Christian Kobke. Noticing the newspaper on the table, the young man added, “But the answer is self-evident, I suppose.
L'affaire San Gabriele
. It doesn't surprise me, though. In fact, it's the kind of thing we northerners have come to expect of this country. Old washerwomen giving all their pennies—or rather
centesimi
—to the Church and being murdered when some fanatics steal a moldy old corpse. By the way, you wouldn't mind if I sat down for a few minutes, would you?”

Without waiting for an answer he put his briefcase on the floor and sat across from Urbino. When the waiter came over, he ordered an espresso and Urbino asked for a fresh cup of coffee.

“This will have to be fast. I have to be at the Marciana Library in”—he consulted his watch, an expensive Swiss model—“ten minutes. If I'm not, Clifford will absolutely have my head. Some business about Quinton. I'm bringing some papers of hers that Adele gave me this morning. I think the girl has them stored away and is doling them out piece by piece, for what possible reason I have no idea.”

Urbino still hadn't said anything and it looked as if he might not have to for several more minutes. He wondered what conversations between Voyd and Kobke were like since they both seemed to prefer monologues.

“I almost didn't come down from London with Cifford, you know. Who wants to be in Venice this time of year, I thought. So beastly dull, and I knew Clifford would never stay for carnival. We were at Nice last year and he hated it. But now there's this bit of excitement to keep us going for a while, murder and body snatching and only the Pope knows what else. Not dull at all but fascinating in a macabre sort of way.”

While Kobke was going on in this way that made Urbino slightly uncomfortable since it was a bit too close to what he had been thinking himself, Stefano Bellorini came into the room and approached their table.

“I don't think you should be joking about such a thing, Signor—?”

His usually cheery face with its fringe of red beard shot through with gray was grim and tense.

“Kobke.” Far from being disconcerted the Dane seemed amused. “I believe we've met several times before. At the Contessa da Capo-Zendrini's and”—his eyes moved quickly to the foyer—“right here earlier the same day although you might not remember. You're Bellorini. You're making those frames for the Contessa's dead relatives. Surely someone of your interests can appreciate what I mean. All that pulling and tugging at the body of some
soi-disant
saint dead for hundreds and hundreds of years! What a magnificent subject for a painting, a Bosch version of that Tintoretto at the Accademia—what is it called?—
The Theft of the Body of St. Mark.
”

Bellorini made no response. Instead he asked Urbino if the Contessa was there yet.

“I wasn't aware she was coming this morning.”

“We had an appointment. She was going to do something at the Marciana first.”

“She probably can't pull herself away from Gifford.”

When the waiter brought over the coffees, he said to Bellorini, “The Contessa da Capo-Zendrini called a few minutes ago. She regrets she will be unable to see you this morning.”

Kobke downed his espresso in one swallow like a native Italian, grabbed his briefcase, and stood up.

“I must be off. Good day, gentlemen. The next coffee is on me, Mr. Macintyre.”

He was barely out of the room when Stefano said, “I may not understand English well enough to say this but just about everything that young man has to say is irritating. Doesn't he have any regard for other people's sensibilities? The less I see of him the happier I'll be.”

“I agree with you. The two of them won't be around much longer. You would think he'd have the sense to be less flip about it even if he didn't know Maria.”

“Even if I hadn't known her myself I'd find the man offensive. I'm glad Angela wasn't here to hear what he had to say.”

“Would you like some coffee?”

It would help to discuss Maria's murder and Carlo's possible role in it with someone who might be depended on to have more than a little sympathy. And it might be a good opportunity to ask about the incident with Kobke last week at Florian's that the Dane had just referred to.

But Stefano declined.

“I should take advantage of the rest of the morning although I'm afraid I won't be able to do much concentrated work under the circumstances. If you see Barbara before I do, would you tell her I came all prepared with a convincing argument in favor of the opals?”