Page 8 of An Inside Job

They arrived twenty minutes later and, as instructed, knocked on the side door. The detective was a tall, gaunt figure called Baggio who wore on his shoulders the three silver stars of acolonnello. Gabriel explained that he had spotted something floating on the surface of thelagunaat approximately 11:00 a.m., that he had hired a water taxi to investigate the matter, and that the object in the water, as he had feared, turned out to be a human corpse. The advanced state of decomposition made it impossible to say with any certainty whether the decedent was a man or a woman, but it appeared to Gabriel as though it was the latter.

“That is indeed the case,” replied Baggio.

“It looked as though she had been in the water for a while.”

“Perhaps, Signore Allon. But in my experience, thelagunais most unkind to the dead.”

“Is there any evidence of trauma?”

“Our investigation has just begun. But you needn’t concern yourselfwith such questions. As of this moment, your role in this unfortunate matter is officially over.”

“I would appreciate it if you kept my name out of the papers.”

Colonel Baggio shrugged his shoulders noncommittally. “Leaks happen, Signore Allon. But I assure you, the press won’t hear anything from me.”

Gabriel showed the two Carabinieri officers out and resumed work on the Titian. The crowds returned at three o’clock and remained until five, when the attendants herded them out the door. Gabriel waited until the nave was empty before switching off the lamps and descending the scaffolding.

Outside, he crossed the quay to the vaporetto stop. A Number 1 was traversing the Grand Canal diagonally from the direction of San Marco. He boarded it a moment later and went into the passenger cabin. Chiara was seated in the first row, her eyes on her mobile phone.

Gabriel sat down next to her. “I was promised a drink.”

“Tough day at the office?”

“Eventful.”

“So I heard,” said Chiara, and handed over her phone. The lead item inIl Gazzettinoconcerned a grisly discovery in the waters near the church of San Giorgio Maggiore. The story was accompanied by a photograph of a man with platinum-colored hair leaning over the side of a water taxi, a retractable pole in his hands. The object pinned against the side of the hull was faintly visible. “Care to explain?”

“I invited you to have coffee with me. And you, of course, refused.” Gabriel returned Chiara’s phone. “Do the children know?”

“Irene was the one who told me.”

Gabriel sighed. “You really should limit the amount of time she spends on the computer.”

***

The palazzo stood on the northern bank of the Grand Canal not far from the San Tomà vaporetto stop. From the broad loggia of itspiano nobile, the Rialto Bridge was visible in the east. The furnishings in the spacious adjoining drawing rooms were contemporary and comfortable, and the walls were hung with an eclectic collection of paintings, including works by Gabriel’s mother and grandfather, a noted German Expressionist and disciple of Max Beckmann. In the master bedroom suite were a pair of Modigliani nudes that Gabriel had painted on something of a dare. Propped on the easel in his studio was a canvas by Sebastiano Florigerio, a pro bono favor for the director of the Courtauld Gallery in London.

Gabriel was supposed to be chipping away at the painting in his spare time, but tonight he hadn’t the strength, so he sat atop a stool at the kitchen counter, drinking from a large glass of Brunello, while Chiara prepared dinner. The menu, at Gabriel’s request, was vegetarian. Nothing with bones and flesh, nothing from the sea.

His phone lay face down before him. He turned it over and looked again at the photograph displayed on the screen. It had been snapped, according toIl Gazzettino, by a passenger on a Maggiore-bound vaporetto. Precisely how the newspaper managed to identify the man holding the rescue pole was unclear, though the level of detail suggested a leak from a well-placed official source, probably Colonel Baggio of the Carabinieri. Gabriel shared his suspicions with his wife but received no reply. She was typing on her phone.

“Who is it now?”

“Bianca Locatelli fromLa Repubblica.”

“Please give her the same answer that you gave the reporters fromIl GazzettinoandCorriere della Sera.”

“We should at least issue a statement.”

“Why?”

“If nothing else, it might be good for our business.”

“Only if our business was finding dead bodies. Besides, I’m not the story.”

Chiara placed an assortment of antipasti on the dining room table and summoned Irene and Raphael. Gabriel was suddenly ravenously hungry, but his appetite faded when the children began to question him about the awful events of the morning. The account he gave was nearly identical to the one he had provided to Colonel Baggio, though he left out any description of the condition of the body.

“Where is she now?” asked Irene.