Lucifer's Shadow

62 The treasure trove

Massiter told the water taxi to drop them at the western end of the Zattere waterfront. Here the ancient city met the fringe of modern blocks that ran from the port north towards Piazzale Roma. There was the smell of marine fuel on the air and, beyond that, car fumes from the vast parking arena which sat at the city’s landward limit. But there were old buildings, too, low, stately shapes lurking in the half-lit streets. They walked away from the Giudecca canal, then crossed a small bridge, dodged through a pitch-black alley, and came out in a cobbled campo by a featureless church.

Massiter came to a halt in the square, next to a column topped by a small, winged lion just visible in the puny yellow spotlights of the church. He looked around them, sniffing at the air.

“Do you see anyone?” he murmured. Daniel scanned the square and said he could not detect a living soul in the neighbourhood.

“I imagine you’re right,” Massiter agreed. “This is one of the oldest parts of the city, you know. If they dug a little hereabouts, I can’t imagine what they’d find. San Niccolò there is half-Byzantine, and only a little modernised by the vandals.”

“It’s late,” Daniel said. “Let’s finish our business, Hugo.”

The older man surveyed the empty campo once more. “Of course. You won’t let me down, will you?”

“Meaning what, precisely?”

“Oh, Daniel. Please. I’m doing you a great favour here. I’ve had this private storeroom a decade or more, and hardly a soul outside my circle has seen it. Some would love to know its location. Thieves.”

“I know no thieves, Hugo.”

“Really? The police, then.”

“I see no police.”

“No.”

Massiter set off at a brisk pace to the northern corner of the square. Daniel followed.

“I had a cousin in the movie business,” Massiter explained. “He worked on that Roeg film. They made it in that church, mostly. We got together now and then and…”

They crossed a small bridge, moving into darkness. “The point is, a man needs a haven. Somewhere, in those days, where we could take a couple of women. Smoke something. Be private. And later…”

“What happened to your cousin?”

“Dead,” Massiter declared without emotion. “An accident. He was a poor businessman. Tragic, really. I felt terribly let down.”

They turned a corner into a narrow alley and, after a few paces, stopped in front of a modern metal door, which Massiter swiftly opened. Daniel followed him inside. A series of fluorescent lights came on. He stared at row upon row of packing cases.

“A friend’s shipping business,” Massiter explained. “Nothing to do with me, you understand. But here…”

He walked along the left-hand wall, then halted in front of a battered green door closed with several heavy padlocks. Massiter took out a set of keys and began to throw the bars back, cursing the stiffness of the mechanisms. Then he reached inside, flicked a light switch, and Daniel saw, leading down into the earth, a narrow brick-lined tunnel with a worn floor of stone steps.

“My fancy,” Massiter said, “is that it was a wine store at one time. Perhaps converted from some ancient crypt. Who knows? You did pull the outside door shut, didn’t you? Damned if I can be bothered with all these padlocks until we go out again.”

“Of course,” Daniel replied.

“Good,” Massiter said, then reached into his pocket and pulled out a small black handgun. “Here. Take this. If we’re interrupted, shoot the bastards.”

Daniel stared at the weapon. “Hugo, this isn’t my business.”

The older man’s eyes flared. “But it’s very much your business. What’s the problem? I can make a single phone call and have the evidence out of here in a flash. It won’t be the first time, you know.”

“I see.”

“Oh, dear!” Massiter said, smiling. “Daniel, you’re a fraud, an impostor. You could have been in jail by Monday if you’d gone ahead with this nonsensical notion of baring your breast to the public. Please. Don’t play the innocent with me now.”

Daniel held out the gun. “I won’t use this thing.”

“Just hold it for me, then,” Massiter answered, and set off down the stairs. Daniel followed slowly, leaving the door open as he had with the outer entrance. There was as yet no sound behind. Giulia Morelli had warned him her timing might be difficult. The gun sat cold in his hand.

After twenty steps, the low ceiling disappeared and a maw of darkness stood in front of them. Massiter threw another light switch on the wall. Daniel suppressed a gasp of astonishment. They stood on the threshold of a vast, curved crypt supported by a forest of columns, each surmounted by a gentle brick arch. The place was spotless, as if it had been recently swept. The worn cobblestones had a dull sheen. Arranged around the capacious floor was a collection of objects hidden under wraps: furniture, the rectangular outlines of paintings, and other shapes he could not recognise. In the far corner, out of place, sat a low, modern bed.

He followed Massiter across the room, towards the crumpled sheets on the low divan. Massiter sniffed. There was the unmistakable outline of bloodstains in the centre of the white cotton.

“Damn,” he said. “The trouble with these secret places is one must, from time to time, look after them oneself. I omitted to clear up after my discussion with your friend Rizzo. But then I didn’t realise I’d have a visitor.”

Daniel’s head whirled. “Rizzo?”

“Ah. You never knew his name? The thieving little bastard who sold you my Guarneri. Told me so himself eventually, though I had guessed already, naturally. Never trust a Venetian, Daniel. They always let you down in the end.”

Daniel said nothing. Massiter laughed and slapped him on the shoulder.

“No offence taken on my part. I was grateful for it. Finally convinced me I had a pupil on my hands.”

“I am not—”

“Of course not! Well, what shall it be?”

Massiter set off around the room, snatching the wraps off each treasure as he passed.

“We have a very full collection here. Some Russian gold, liberated by the Nazis? A Bosnian ikon, perhaps? A reliquary from Byzantium? Or some porcelain by way of Shanghai? No…”

He dashed across the room and removed the cover from a large painting. Daniel was unable to keep his eyes off the work. It was vast and set in a fine gilt frame. The artist’s hand was plainly Venetian and familiar. It depicted, with a fluid, savage grace, two naked men grappling to the death, one wielding a flashing silver knife over the other.

“Titian, or Tiziano, if you prefer,” Massiter noted. “Cain slaying Abel. Better than the one in Salute, I’m sure you’ll agree. That was the trial run for my darling here.”

“Where do you get these things, Hugo?”

Massiter glowered at him. “Please, Daniel. One must never ask a collector that.” He stared at the painting. “My sympathies tend to lie with Cain, I’m afraid. But I imagine that’s what you’d expect.”

Daniel stood between Massiter and the tunnel leading to the ground floor. There was, he felt sure, some faint sound above.

“Well!” Massiter urged. “Let’s find a gift for you. The Titian is out of the question, of course. It would produce no end of problems for us both in the public domain, and I don’t think you’re ready — quite — for your own little treasure house. But there are items here that have no difficult antecedents. This is for you, Daniel, isn’t it? Not for the auction? I sell myself, from time to time, but I’d be offended if I thought it was mere money that you sought.”

There was a distant noise. He hoped that Massiter had not heard it.

“Why do you keep these objects, Hugo?” he asked. “What use are they, hidden away here like this?”

Massiter blinked. “They are mine. What other use do they need?”

“And are people yours too?”

“If I desire them. And only if they’re willing, of course. I can’t tempt the saintly. I go only where I’m invited. You, of all people, must realise that.”

Daniel stared at the bed in the corner. Massiter followed the direction of his gaze.

“That’s just a bed.”

“For what?”

Massiter smiled. “Many uses. Mainly pleasurable. To me, at least.”

“Tell me, Hugo. The girl. From ten years ago. Her body was found near here. You took her to that bed?”

“Susanna Gianni? Of course.” He shrugged. “At least, I tried. She was beautiful. She owed me much, and would now be even greater in my debt had she lived.”

Daniel became more aware of the weapon in his grasp.

“Don’t misunderstand me,” Massiter insisted. “As I said, I enjoy a little fight. But she was still breathing when I was done. Had she taken my advice to wait awhile and recover her composure, I feel sure she would still be alive now. Whoever threw the poor girl into that canal, it was not me. I didn’t wish her dead, Daniel. Why should I, when she had such exquisite uses left? Besides…”

He placed a hand on his chin, searching for the correct words. “I wasn’t finished with that child, to be frank. I still feel cheated. There’s a mystery there that continues to puzzle me.” Massiter walked forward to stand in front of him, eyeing the gun. “You have to choose your gift. That’s why we came.”

Daniel gazed into his face, seeing no emotion, no humanity there. “I would like the Guarneri back, of course. And I should like the music I found, Hugo. All of it.”

“Ah!” Massiter declared. “Scacchi was clever. He saw your potential. Much sooner than I did. Have you thought of that?”

Some foreign flame of anger rose in Daniel Forster’s mind. “A fiddle and some music, Hugo. You killed Paul for such small things? And Scacchi too?”

Hugo Massiter bellowed with laughter. “Do me justice, Daniel. I killed them both outright. I had a little fellow I know sneak into that hospital on the Lido and smother Scacchi gently while the stupid nurses were dozing. They were a close pair, in any case. It would have been a sin to leave one alive. I could tell that night I visited. The American was no pushover once I made my intentions clear. He left me little choice.”

Daniel’s rage left him speechless. Massiter seemed amused by his reaction. “Don’t be too cross with me. I would have killed Scacchi myself, out of courtesy, had it been possible. A mite risky, though. It was not done with malice, you understand. I couldn’t have him waking up and telling all and sundry about how I called on them, could I?”

“But why did you visit them in the first place, Hugo? They were small men. They were dying. This is all beneath you, surely?”

Massiter seemed disappointed. “I’m amazed you have to ask. Because they had stolen something precious of mine and refused to return it. What greater crime can there be? I was robbed, Daniel, and cheated by that old man. It was all quite uncalled-for.”

Daniel lifted the gun and pointed it at Massiter’s face. “I could kill you, Hugo. I don’t care about the consequences.”

“Of course!” Massiter shrugged. “But I can’t give you the Guarneri. Or the music. They didn’t have them. Said they’d spirited the lot somewhere else. At least they did after Scacchi started his wheezing and I’d stuck that American plenty of times to get him talking. The trouble was, by that time they made such a noise I had no choice but to be out of there. Footsteps on the stairs. I believed they were yours, and I’m not one to hang around when the numbers don’t add up. Besides, it was a ruse; I was sure of that. Those two wanted me out of the place. Yet the instrument really wasn’t there at all, was it? You see what I mean about the mystery?”

Massiter wore his most pleasant smile. Daniel felt the weight of the weapon in his fingers. The barrel was no more than a few inches from Massiter’s face.

“Well? We don’t have all evening. What is your price to be? Not the Guarneri, for sure. I don’t have it. Me instead?”

Daniel looked into the grey eyes and saw the amusement there. He knew he was being taunted. He lowered the gun and said, “After a fashion.”

“Oh?” The sense of pleasure in his expression never diminished.

There was the sound of feet moving on the stairs. Massiter turned theatrically towards the entrance. Giulia Morelli strode into the cellar, followed by a tall dark man in jeans and a white shirt who held, conspicuously, a long police revolver in front of him.

“Captain?” Massiter said pleasantly. “You surely haven’t been eavesdropping? Such a rude habit.”

Giulia Morelli walked briskly in front of them, then forced Massiter’s arms into the air, checking for a weapon. He held his hands above her, amused, holding open his jacket, exposing a fat leather wallet in the inside pocket. “How much? Take what you like.”

“What?” she snapped.

“My dear, I can bribe you. Or I can bribe your superior. Or his, come to that. There are so many fleas feeding on one another in this city. Your rank in the pecking order is of no interest to me. What crime is there here to interest you? A little smuggling—”

“Three murders, Signor Massiter,” she said. “And Susanna Gianni.”

“Ah,” he said, remembering. “You still have a bee in your bonnet about that girl. It’s all so much history, surely?”

“You’re a powerful man. But you won’t bribe your way out of this. We may behave with dignity, I think? If we go to the station now, we can avoid much fuss. Much publicity.”

“Surely not?” Massiter asked. “I wouldn’t want to disappoint you.”

She shuffled on her feet nervously. Daniel looked at the stairs. They were on their own. She seemed to expect some support. “I have limited patience,” she said. “Please.”

“Ah,” Massiter said, seeing her companion. “Biagio! You are well?”

She stared at the figure opposite, uncomprehending. The young policeman held the gun loosely at his side.

“Sì, Signor Massiter.”

Massiter nodded. “I am glad to hear it. And I still owe you, naturally, for that news of our friend Rizzo. And the rest. I remain most grateful.”

Giulia Morelli’s face fell. “Biagio…?” she asked.

Massiter yawned. “Oh, for God’s sake, man. Kill the bitch, will you? She bores me so.”

Daniel saw the revolver rise from Biagio’s side, and leapt forward, fumbling with his own weapon, struggling as Massiter pounced, then punched him once, hard, on the back of the neck, forcing him to the ground, where two powerful hands wrestled with his.

The cavernous room was filled with an explosion that hurt the ears and echoed around the bare bricks. Daniel looked up from the floor and saw Giulia Morelli staggering slowly backwards, a neat black hole in the fabric of her dark jacket, something liquid pumping from it. Biagio watched greedily, gun ready for a second shot if he needed it. Then she fell against the wall and slumped to the ground. Her mouth opened, her throat formed some unidentifiable word, she breathed blood that ran over her lips and formed a long, dark stain down her chin.

“Damn woman,” Massiter cursed angrily, then reached down and dragged Daniel to his feet. The gun was back where it belonged, tight in Massiter’s strong fist. “What on earth were you doing, boy? Running with her when you could be running with me? Me! The only one who’s never lied to you!”

Daniel looked at the fury in his eyes. It was as if this were the greatest betrayal, more cruel than any other.

“I made a choice, Hugo,” he replied. “Not the right choice or the wrong one. Merely my choice.”

The cold gaze never left him. “And I tell you such things, Daniel? That I killed your friends. That I kill who I like. You’ve a gun in your hand, and still you do nothing.”

Massiter eyed the weapon. The gun rose in his fist. He held it to Daniel’s face. There was a sound from the opposite wall. Giulia Morelli groaned, still living, but by a thread.

“You’re an enigma to me, Daniel,” Massiter declared. “At times you show such promise. Then…”

A knowing grin broke Massiter’s puzzlement. “Of course! I understand! You think I play games with you.” The barrel of the gun touched Daniel’s temple. “You think I tempt you with empty promises and an empty chamber. Oh, Daniel.”

He withdrew a little. Biagio stood next to them, immobile.

“You misunderstand me so.”

His hand rose, finger tight on the trigger, then turned. The room rang to the deafening noise again. Daniel saw Biagio’s forehead open in front of him, saw the force of the blast, despatched by Massiter’s hand from only a few inches, send the policeman flying backwards through the air. He crumpled to the floor and lay still. Massiter stared at his body. “I am a good master,” he murmured. “But the police… It’s all about money. Nothing else.”

The air stank of blood and the sharp scent of powder. Massiter came close to him again. Daniel closed his eyes and felt the metal on his cheek.

“We could clean this mess up,” Massiter said. “One phone call. I have people. It would be wise, perhaps, to stay out of Venice for a little while. Keep out of the public eye. But everything blows over here, with a little time, a little money.”

Daniel said nothing.

“I’ll reward you,” Massiter said. “More than anything you can find in this room.”

“Go to hell,” Daniel whispered, aware that he was trembling now. “I’m not like you.”

Massiter gripped his hair and pressed the weapon harder to his cheek. “Everyone’s like me. It’s only a question of the proportions.”

Daniel tried to think of Laura. And of Amy, magnificent in the nave of La Pietà, making such sounds from her instrument. A world lived inside his head, composed, ordered, complete. It could contain him forever and never allow Hugo Massiter entrance.

Shivering, prepared, not frightened, Daniel Forster stood upright in the crypt, waiting to die. Then, abruptly, Massiter’s grip relaxed. There was no noise, no sudden pain or blackness. Finally, Daniel opened his eyes.

Hugo Massiter had left the cellar without making a sound. Two handguns now lay on the floor next to the body of Biagio. On the far side of the room, Giulia Morelli was motionless, barely breathing. Daniel could hear her snatched gasps.

He ran to her, picked the phone out of her bag, knowing he would have to go outside to use it. Then he touched her forehead, felt a little warmth on the skin. She opened her eyes.

“Daniel?” Her voice sounded ghostly.

“Don’t say anything. Massiter’s gone. You’re safe. I’m going outside to call an ambulance. You’ll be fine.”

She moved a hand to her chest, felt the sticky wetness there, looked at him, and tried to laugh. “Don’t talk nonsense. Let me tell you something.”

“No. Just wait.”

“Daniel?” Her hand clutched his arm. He waited. Something was happening to her eyes. They were fading; the life was falling out of them.

“Daniel…”

Giulia Morelli whispered a single, cryptic sentence, then said no more.