Farewell to the Flesh (11 page)

“What did you do last night after you left?”

“I did what I usually do. I went for a walk for about an hour. I ended up in a bar where I had a few drinks.” He gave a nervous laugh and added, “But if you're going to ask me where I walked and where the bar was I can't tell you. It could have been around the corner—or miles away. All I know is that I didn't go over one of the big bridges.”

So he didn't walk over to the other side of the Grand Canal. The Calle Santa Scolastica, however, was on the same side as the Cannaregio and could be reached through the network of alleys, squares, and small bridges.

“I came back about midnight. No one saw me come in. I used my key.”

Urbino didn't know when Gibbon's body had been discovered or the probable time of his death. He knew only that it had to be after Nicholas Spaak's sister had seen Gibbon in the dining room—if Dora was telling the truth about the encounter. But if Urbino couldn't be sure of exactly what had passed between Gibbon and Dora in the dining room, it should be easier to verify when Gibbon had left the Casa Crispina last night. He must talk with Xenia Campi again. And then there was Sister Agata who had been at the reception desk. Urbino was going to have to try to get information from Commissario Gemelli, too, a prospect that didn't please him.

“I'd rather Mother didn't know about all this, Mr. Macintyre. She's an asthmatic and her attacks can be brought on by emotion.” Spaak had an imploring look on his face. Urbino could see the little boy who wanted to please his mother, who never wanted to be in her disfavor. Was Spaak in the habit of using her as a convenient excuse for things he himself didn't want to do anyway? There seemed to be a core of strength in the woman that Spaak either didn't see or didn't want to acknowledge.

“You should tell the Commissario. Perhaps you could speak with your mother first.”

Spaak shrugged. Fear flickered in his eyes, but whether because of his mother's possible response or the Commissario's there was no way for Urbino to know.

The only other guests Urbino needed to see were the three boys from Naples, but they were out for the evening. As for Sister Agata, she was fast asleep at the reception desk.

9

When Urbino returned to the Palazzo Uccello he fed Serena and fixed himself a
frittata
. He had almost finished eating it when the phone rang.

“My God, Urbino, I've known you for ten years and I never knew you had a sadistic streak,” the Contessa said as soon as he picked up the receiver. “Why have you kept me waiting? I've been ringing and ringing.”

“I just got in.”

He told her about his visit to the Casa Crispina and his conversations with Xenia Campi and the Spaaks.

“Dora Spaak must have been the girl you saw Gibbon with at Florian's the other afternoon. She was obviously infatuated with him.”

“I could see that. But what about the other girls Xenia Campi mentioned that Gibbon flirted with?”

“She seemed reluctant to give more details. I think she regretted having mentioned it.”

“From what you've learned already, I'd say that the brother is the most likely suspect. He obviously didn't like Gibbon.”

“Neither did Xenia Campi.”

“Caro
, you know that's neither a recommendation nor a condemnation when it comes to Xenia Campi! No, I'd say it was the brother. He didn't return to the Casa Crispina until midnight. Even if we learn that Gibbon was killed after then, the brother really isn't off the hook, is he? We only have his word for when he got back. Gibbon not only insulted him—and his mother—by his snide comment but was also making a fool of his sister. But perhaps those aren't strong enough reasons to kill someone, are they?”

“People have been murdered for less. I can't shake the feeling that the Spaaks are hiding something, but whether in concert or individually I can't tell.”

“Surely you don't think that Mrs. Spaak could have done it! I can't imagine a woman like her—a semi-convalescent from what you say—dragging herself to the Calle Santa Scolastica and back again in the middle of the night. It was impossible for her to have killed Gibbon!”

“I haven't told you yet, Barbara, but Nicholas Spaak saw Josef coming in about nine-thirty.”

The Contessa didn't say anything for a few moments.

“But, Urbino, he was coming
in
, not going out. He couldn't have killed Gibbon, who had left only a short time before Josef returned.”

“You miss the point, Barbara. If Josef was well enough to go out one time that night, perhaps he went out again later. He wasn't rushed to the hospital until the early hours of the morning. He called me when I got back from the Fenice at at eleven to tell me not to work on the fresco until he got well.”

“I don't believe Josef could harm a fly. Besides, what motive could he have?” She sighed. “All I would need is to have Josef turn out to be a murderer.
I
recommended him for the job. No one would ever let me forget it.”

“Are you concerned about Josef or yourself, Barbara?”

“Urbino! How can you say such a thing! But if Josef turns out to be the murderer, I'll never forgive you—for
both
our sakes!”

Having run through the lodgers at the Casa Crispina—except for the three Neapolitan boys—Urbino realized that he could no longer avoid telling the Contessa about Hazel Reeve.

“Cherchez la femme,”
the Contessa said without much enthusiasm and even less originality. “But it would seem,
caro
, that
la femme
has found you instead! It's strange, don't you think? A complete stranger—a bereaved woman with an emotional involvement with the murdered man—seeks out another man. It's not what one would expect.”

“Emotionally speaking, it's probably not unusual at all if you think about it. Besides, Barbara, she's not a complete stranger.”

“Then, my dear, you are a complete liar. I never heard of this Reeve woman before.”

“I met her last night at Porfirio's.”

There was a charged silence.

“Didn't we talk about Porfirio's party on the way back from the Fenice? I don't remember any mention of this woman then. I do seem to remember, however, that you were preoccupied. I refrained from probing then and now it seems unnecessary. It was this Reeve woman, wasn't it?”

Urbino felt uncomfortable. He and the Contessa were very good friends, and there had even been unfounded rumors about them because they were so often out together that they appeared more inseparable than many married couples. “The Anglo-American alliance” they were sometimes called. His personal life was seldom something he discussed even with her, yet she had a somewhat proprietary attitude toward it. It had often occurred to him that this was probably because of his own reticence, for, with good reason, she couldn't help believing that she—and only she—was always sitting squarely in the center of his personal life. With a bit of a shock Urbino realized that he felt a little guilty, almost as if he were displaying a peculiar kind of infidelity by his interest, vague and unformed though it was, in Hazel Reeve.

“I don't assume this conversation with Miss Reeve took place in the middle of the Campo San Gabriele.”

It didn't make him any more comfortable when he detected something in the Contessa's voice. It wasn't quite a quaver, it wasn't quite a breathiness, but he knew her well enough to know what it meant. She was hurt, disappointed. She made an attempt to control it as she said with certainty, “You went back to the Palazzo Uccello.”

“Don't make it sound like an assignation! It seemed the most convenient thing to do. I couldn't go back to the Casa Crispina until I was sure Gemelli had left, and a bar—”

“Spare me a long explanation, Urbino dear. It will only make me more suspicious. I suppose you're entitled to have your secrets from a poor old woman like me. I'd prefer not to talk about your Miss Reeve right now or about all this sad business at the Casa Crispina. Call it selfishness on my part,
caro
, but at the end of my day I'd prefer tranquil thoughts. How did you find my old school friend?”

“I rather liked her. It must be a good feeling to have someone look you up like that—once you get over the initial surprise. And her stepson is pleasant enough. The two of them seem to have a rapport.”

“Yes, they do, don't they?”

The Contessa's voice sounded suddenly tired. She and Alvise had been childless and Urbino knew that she felt the lack the older she got. Seeing her old school friend with her stepson might be difficult for her.

“Berenice didn't stay much longer. Take it as a recommendation of your own social charms that were so abruptly snatched from us. We avoided the murder and talked about the
Casa Vogue
piece. Then she told me a few more things about her life. She has an antiques business and spends a lot of time in Florence around the Via Maggio and the Borgognissanti quarter. She met Vico's father in the mid-sixties when she was in Naples scouting around for things. He was a widower with the one son, She was in her thirties by then—I
think,”
the Contessa emended, realizing any specific references to her friend's age would be more than a clue to her own—“anyway, she hadn't married yet. She raised the two-year-old Tonio as her own.”

“And her second husband?”

“Malcolm Pillow.
He
had money too. He owned several factories in America and died about eight years ago in London. Collapsed during a business trip and was hospitalized for several months. It took a lot out of Berenice. When she's in Italy, she's usually at the Villa Vico in Naples. It belongs to Tonio now. He's an architect with a degree from London University.”

“It's unfortunate I had to rush off. I was hoping I might learn a few secrets about you.”

“I'm sure you were, but after you left we made a pact that we would reminisce mainly with each other, especially since she'll be meeting many of my friends. We agreed that I would say nothing to Tonio—nothing possibly embarrassing, that is—and she would do the same for me. All memories will be in a golden bath. You can see how well we keep to our pact tomorrow evening at dinner.”

“Tomorrow?”

“Yes,
caro
, tomorrow. Is there a problem with that?”

“I already have a dinner engagement for tomorrow, Barbara.”

In the brief silence he knew that she knew.

“With the Reeve woman. She sounds like someone out of Thomas Hardy. You surprise me, Urbino. You work faster than I thought. Unless it was her suggestion.”

“No, mine.” Then, as if it would make a difference to be more specific, he added, “The Montin.”

“The Montin! That's where we're going! Please don't think we'll squeeze your Miss Reeve in at our table. A forward girl like she seems to be is certain to dominate the entire conversation.”

Before Urbino had time to respond, the Contessa had said good night and hung up.

10

“You are about forty-five minutes later than I thought you would be, Macintyre,” Gemelli said the next morning when Urbino called the Questura. “I was sure you would be the first call that came through today.”

Urbino had rehearsed what he would say to Gemelli but now it all slipped away from him. If he was going to make any sense of things, he needed some specific information. Being only an alien resident of Italy and considered somewhat of a meddler made whatever information he could get from Gemelli a function of the man's whim, craft, or weariness.

“I'd like to know roughly when Gibbon was murdered,” Urbino said, deciding to be as direct as possible.

“‘Roughly,' you say. Privileged information nonetheless, as you well know.”

“Yes, I know, but—”

“Consider looking in today's
Il
Gazzettino
, Macintyre. We released the time Gibbon's body was found. I'm sure you have a good idea when he was last seen at the Casa Crispina. Put the two together and you get the rough idea you've asked for.” Gemelli paused. Urbino could hear him exhaling smoke from a cigarette. “But that's not all you want to know, is it, Macintyre? You have a few more questions. I don't know why you like getting involved in these things. All this is a job, a profession, some say it is even a kind of art—but one thing it isn't is a hobby.”

“I didn't go looking for this, Commissario.”

“No, Mother Mariangela came looking for you with a string of rosary beads in one hand and her precious guests' ledger in the other. I know. But I don't see you moving in the other direction.”

“Should I?”

“It might be a good idea.”

“From the point of view of danger?”

“I wasn't thinking of that—but yes, that's something always to be taken into consideration. I was thinking more of myself, though—or, to be more exact, more about the Questura and the success of this case. Having you involved, in whatever capacity, could throw everything out of balance.”

“I've been of help before.”

“It might have worked out differently. We might have lived to regret it—or maybe even worse.”

“What harm could there be in telling me something more? If you're afraid I might ‘throw everything out of balance,' as you just said, wouldn't I be more likely to do it because of what I didn't know than what I did?”

Gemelli laughed.

“If I tell you anything more, Macintyre, don't think it has anything to do with your powers of persuasion. I'll satisfy your curiosity up to a certain point because otherwise I'll probably get calls from both Mother Mariangela and the Contessa da Capo-Zendrini. And if those calls don't get you an answer, we both know what will happen next. Corruption of a public official—or something close to it. One of you—most likely the Contessa with all her wonderful connections—would manage to get to Brilli”—Franco Brilli was the medical examiner—“and get information out of him. And just think how guilty that will make poor old Brilli feel after being so circumspect all these years and so close to retirement! So to avoid the waste of any more of my time, the corruption of a public official, and the disturbance of poor old Brilli, I'll tell you that Gibbon died sometime between ten o'clock and eleven-thirty, when Ignazio Rigoletti discovered his body. He was stabbed once in the chest and seems to have died instantly. The attack and death occurred where the body was found—near the water steps in the Calle Santa Scolastica. We assume the perpetrator escaped on foot back along the Calle Santa Scolastica and then went either down to the Riva degli Schiavoni or up to the Campo Filippo e Giacomo. There's also the possibility, of course, that the perpetrator used a boat of some kind—a motorboat, a
sandolo
, maybe even a gondola. We
haven't
found anything yet that might have been the murder weapon.”