‘I know about Monte Carlo,’ I told her. ‘The bomb. The English couple you killed.’
She bit down on her lip. Hard to tell what it meant, or what I should say next.
‘I have photographs. Evidence. You and Borelli.’ I gestured at her with my cigarette. ‘But you were the one who planted the bomb. The one who switched the case.’
She released her lip from between her teeth. It was flat and bloodless. ‘I did not know it,’ she replied, her voice scratchy.
‘
Please
. Your uncle made the device. I saw his equipment downstairs.’
‘I know this now,’ she said, ‘but not then.’
‘You expect me to believe that?’
She twisted her lips in thought and reached out with her hand, taking her fingers for a leisurely stroll along the length of the pistol. Then, without warning, she grunted and snatched up the gun and moved across to the sink, extinguishing her cigarette in a puddle of water on the draining board.
‘I did not know there was a bomb.’ The skin of her face had pulled taut. It had a shiny, translucent texture. ‘I was to take the money. Replace it with another case. That is all.’
‘You’ll understand why that’s difficult for me to believe. You wanted me to kill the Count for you. You had me take a bomb to his home.’
She shook her head. Smiled sadly. ‘You were returning it.’
‘Care to tell me why?’
Apparently, she did. I could see from the resigned way she lifted her shoulders that she was inclined to share. Hard to know her reasons. It could be she was easing a guilty conscience. Or perhaps the likelihood of Remi killing me when he returned was so high that it simply didn’t matter. I chose to tell myself it was the guilt.
‘Only last week I heard about the English couple,’ she said. ‘The way they died.’
‘But it happened over a month ago.’
‘I did not know it. Why would I? I did not know I had given them a bomb.’
‘So how’d you find out?’
‘Remi.’ She spoke in a fading whisper, as if she feared that by saying his name any louder she risked summoning him from the netherworld. ‘He came to Venice. He found me. He had photographs, from the hotel. Like you say.’
‘And what’s his angle?’ She appeared confused. ‘What’s his connection to this?’
‘He worked for the hotel. In Monte Carlo.’
‘He did? How?’
‘He was in the security team.’ She folded her arms across her chest and hugged herself, the pistol tucked down beneath her armpit. ‘He told me about the car. The explosion. He said he had a recording from a camera in the hotel – the only copy. It showed me breaking into their room.’
Huh. It sounded as if Remi had known a lot more than Alfred had been able to find out. And as if he’d decided to use the information for his own purposes.
‘So he came to question you?’ I asked.
She hesitated. ‘At first, yes.’
‘But I’m guessing that changed. When you told him about the tournament here in Venice, maybe?’
She nodded, cagily. ‘I have worked at the casino for many years.’
‘Useful to Borelli, I imagine.’
‘I helped him,’ she said, grimacing.
‘To win?’
‘Of course to win.’ She threw up a hand. ‘But this tournament, it was not easy. There were many good players. One in particular. An Englishman. He was at the final table tonight.’
Ah, yes. I thought I could just about recall the fellow.
‘If anyone other than Borelli won,’ she went on, ‘I was to switch the briefcase.’
‘Just like Monte Carlo.’
‘
Si
. But when Remi told me about the bomb …’
She let the information hang in the air between us. My cigarette was finished. I crushed it out on the leg of my chair, smoke weaving around my fingers.
‘Let me get this straight,’ I said. ‘You had a change of heart when Remi told you about the explosives?’
She nodded. ‘It is when I stole the case from Borelli.’
‘From his vault, to be exact. How’d you know the combination?’
She paused, and I could see from the flickering of her pupils that she was debating whether to continue. It might not change things for me, but I wanted to know all the same. She’d involved me in this mess. People had been killed. I felt like I deserved an explanation.
‘The combination,’ I pressed. ‘All the information about his palazzo. How did you know it?’
She swallowed. ‘Because I used it too.’
‘Used it?’
‘I am like you. A burglar, yes?’
To be fair, she was quite out of my league, but I wasn’t about to say as much. I waited for her to continue.
‘It is as I tell you, Borelli has many connections. He heard about me.’
‘About your abilities?’
She nodded. ‘He spoke with my uncle. Told him what he wanted.’
‘And what was that exactly?’
‘He had many women.’
‘Wait – he planned to date you?’
She scowled, as if I was way off. ‘These women, they were rich. Their husbands too. They had nice things – jewellery, paintings, money. When he saw them, he told me. The things I stole, we kept in the vault. Soon, he planned to sell them. He needed the money. A palazzo in Venice, it is expensive,
capito
? There is maintenance. Renovation. And the heating! This is why he lives on one floor only.’
I raised my eyebrows. This was news I hadn’t expected. Judging from the riches inside the vault, she’d been working with the Count very closely, for longer than I might have liked to believe. But what she said appeared to add up. It also explained her reaction when I’d told her that the bomb had destroyed the contents of the strongroom.
‘He paid you?’ I asked.
She shook her head.
‘What then?’
‘My uncle.’ She gazed down through the floor and her smile was a broken, sorry thing. ‘Borelli owned this building. My uncle’s business has been here many years. Since he was a boy. His father opened it before him. But it has been difficult.’ I wasn’t surprised, given the prices he’d been trying to charge. Graziella glanced up, her eyes swollen and moist. ‘Borelli said he would increase the rent many times unless I did as he wanted.’
‘The stealing?’
She hitched her shoulders. ‘I worked for myself, and for him.’
‘And the casino?’
‘I work there since before I meet him. It is a cover, yes? Like your writing. But when Borelli found out …’
‘He liked you even better.’
She nodded, then used her arms to lift herself up until she was sitting on the kitchen counter. She kicked at a cupboard door with her heels.
‘Go back to the bomb,’ I said. ‘To Remi. If I understand what you’ve been saying, once you found out about what really happened in Monte Carlo, you took the briefcase from the Count so that he couldn’t kill anyone else.’
‘
Si
.’
‘Then why have me return it?’
She exhaled heavily and pressed a hand to her forehead. ‘It was Remi’s idea,’ she said, as if the logic of it now escaped her. ‘He told me if I put the bomb back, he could watch Borelli. He already had evidence for what we had done in Monte Carlo. The bomb was more proof.’
‘But that would implicate you too. If Remi told the police, you’d be in serious trouble.’
Her face took on a crooked slant – a wry smile. It seemed I’d misread the situation.
‘Oh, I get it,’ I said. ‘You weren’t looking to involve the police. You figured you could bribe him. For what? The tournament win?’
‘For Remi, yes.’ She pouted. ‘But for me, the things I stole. In the vault.’ She jabbed her thumb towards her chest. ‘They were mine.’
‘
Okay
,’ I said. I imagined a lawyer might query her interpretation, but I could appreciate where she was coming from. ‘But why involve me? Why not return the bomb yourself?’
‘It was like I told you,’ she replied, becoming impatient. ‘I did not know if he had seen that the case was missing, but it was a risk. It had to be returned when I was at the casino. So he could not suspect me.’
‘You don’t think he would have suspected you anyway? That you had a contact involved?’
‘But this is why I chose you. I did not know you. There was no way I could.’
Boy, how I wished that were really so.
‘But then you did not follow my instructions,’ she said, her face darkening, as if she was repulsed by my behaviour. ‘The bomb exploded.’
‘Yeah, I remember that part.’
Distinctly.
‘And that is when Remi and me decide. Maybe it looks like somebody tried to kill the Count. Maybe he
should
be killed. By the same person.’
‘I see. So you get rid of the Count and he can no longer make you steal things for him. Life is better for your uncle. Everything’s dandy, in fact. Only, your motives weren’t quite so pure as you’re making out.’ I passed a hand over the playing cards scattered across the table. ‘Because you and Remi also fixed the blackjack tournament.’
She paused for a beat. ‘Remi is a good player.’
‘No. You worked the cards. I watched you do it. Looks like you practised here first. Did you rig his entry fee, too? I don’t reckon a guy working hotel security in Monte Carlo has 10,000 euros just lying around. And he doesn’t exactly look the type who’s used to wearing a tuxedo in the company of high-stakes players.’
‘So I find him a suit, at the casino. In lost property, yes? But I pay for him myself. From other work.’
‘Other stealing work?’
Her eyes narrowed. ‘Remi had to be in the tournament. He had to watch Borelli.’
‘Oh, you can dress it like that if you like. But if you ask me, your pal Remi is pulling your strings just as much as Borelli ever did. You ever consider that?’
She glanced to the space on the floor where Borelli had been shot. ‘Of course. Just now especially.’
‘And? What’s the solution?’
A smile seeped across her lips and into her eyes, as if the answer had suddenly presented itself to her. She lifted the pistol and twirled it before her face, like it was the golden key to a cherished future. One outside of Venice, perhaps. With a new name and a new lifestyle funded by half a million in printed notes. And if Remi’s fate seemed clear to me now, there could be little doubt about my own. Maybe there was some way she could arrange our bodies and the gun to make it look as if we were involved in the death of her uncle. Perhaps the police would interpret it as a disagreement over the explosives in his flat downstairs. The possibilities seemed endless. And all too real.
Even as the thoughts were running through my mind, I watched her reach for a dishcloth beside the sink and set about carefully wiping the gun down, smearing or removing every latent print. Ready to be pressed into a dead hand, perhaps. Or maybe she’d arrange it so that I looked like the shooter. I still had my gloves on, after all.
I reached clumsily for my cigarette packet and fumbled with the lid. My hands were shaking worse than before, and it made lighting up a regular game of chance. I took a ragged hit. It didn’t help.
Would she shoot me before Remi, I wondered? Or would she wait for his return? If she waited, she could catch him while his guard was down. That was how I saw her doing it. Cold and deliberate, leaving no room for error.
It may sound strange, but I’ve never really viewed myself as a serious criminal. Yes, I’ve been known to break the law, and granted, I’ve stolen plenty of things, but I’ve always operated by a set of rules that are important to me. Hell, I’ll admit it, I even take a certain pride in what I do. I don’t ransack homes. I don’t rob personal mementoes. Wherever possible, I set about my business while a place is empty, because I don’t enjoy scaring people. I believe these are signs of what’s commonly known as a conscience. My sense of right and wrong might be bent out of shape, but when it comes to major crimes – like murder, say – I know there are lines I simply won’t cross. And, perhaps naively, I’d assumed there were other thieves just like me. Not your average chump with a crowbar, maybe, but educated types who adhered to a certain code, who enjoyed the sport in what they did but who rarely stepped beyond the realms of what I would have seen as acceptable.
Now, I was beginning to wonder just how wrong I’d been. Graziella didn’t seem like me at all. I sensed that her morals were more flexible than my own, and that she was prepared to adapt to any situation – no matter how extreme – so long as she came out on top. Isn’t that how it had been with Borelli? With Remi? Like a darker shadow, she represented something I might have become if only I’d allowed myself to slip that far. I can’t say the revelation gave me a great deal of comfort.
My tongue was dry, sticking to the end of my cigarette. When I went to speak again, there was gravel in my throat.
‘Just out of interest, what happened to my book?’ I asked, exhaling. ‘The one you stole? I came here looking for it tonight, but I couldn’t find it. Is it in this room? It’s the only place I haven’t had a chance to search.’
I patted my bleeding skull. Hard to tell if there was more blood than before. I waited for her answer. It wasn’t long in coming.
‘I put your book with all the things that I stole.’
Oh, crap
.
‘Please tell me you don’t mean Borelli’s vault,’ I said.
She shrugged, meanwhile wrapping the butt of the gun in the dishcloth.
‘But I looked,’ I told her. ‘Before the bomb went off. I didn’t see it.’
She quit binding the gun for a moment, and frowned up at the ceiling, as if dredging her memory. ‘It was in a metal box,’ she said, in a thoughtful voice. ‘I did not want it to be damaged, yes? At the time, I hoped I would return it to you. This was my plan. To keep my word.’
‘And now?’
‘Things change, no? I think so.’
I thought so too. Things had certainly changed for me. Throughout this entire mess, I’d been clinging to the hope that I might somehow get my book back, and now I realised that couldn’t possibly happen. It was gone, and I was the fool who’d destroyed it. Just a few hours ago I’d been planning my escape from Venice. Now, I was beginning to fear I might never leave.
Thank heavens for cigarettes. I wasn’t sure I could have coped without one, and I thought the same might be true of Graziella.
Freeing a cigarette from the carton, I placed it on the opposite side of the table from me, along with my lighter. ‘Your hand is trembling,’ I said, struggling to kill the quaver in my voice as I drew on my own cigarette. ‘And if you’re planning to shoot me, I’d rather you get it right first time. I’d prefer not to know too much about it.’