Page 74 of The Venice Murders

The second officer was swift, grabbing the girl from behind before she could slip away, and holding her fast.

‘Cosa è successo qui?’

A third man had joined the group, demanding to know what exactly was going on. And well he might – the kitchen had become rather crowded. This one was in plain clothes, a detective, Jack surmised.

‘Signorina Benetti’ – Jack pointed to a furious Bianca struggling unsuccessfully to free herself from the policeman’s grip – ‘is responsible for the death of Franco Massi. She admitted as much before she attacked my wife. Massi’swasan accidental death,’ he added.

The detective’s head swivelled around, his eyes trained on Bianca. ‘This is so?’

The girl said nothing, refusing even to look at the speaker, but it was pointless her denying the charge. Only feet away were two witnesses to her guilt.

‘And you did not report this accident?’ the officer continued, shaking his head in sorrow. Again, Bianca refused to speak.

He gave an irritated shrug of his shoulders. ‘Portala alla questura.’

The handcuffs went on and the younger of the police officers propelled a still struggling Bianca forward, out of the kitchen, out of the front door, and into a waiting car, the police station their destination.

The detective turned, taking his time to assess them, Jack realised. A smart man in dress and intelligence. But then you didn’t get to be an investigator without those qualities.

‘I think,’ the man said slowly, ‘that I may know you. You are the English people my colleagues from Rome found at La Zucca – after you had swum the canal to escape?’ He looked severe.

‘We are,’ Jack admitted, feeling stupidly guilty.

‘And now you are here,’ the man continued in perfect English, ‘with a woman who has killed and with a dangerous knife. How is this? Did you not come to Venice for a holiday?’

‘We did.’ He must sound even guiltier, he thought. Best not to mention the honeymoon.

‘Then I suggest that is what you do. You have the holiday. First, though, you must give your names and your English address to my officer here, but then you may go. It is possible we will contact you when you have returned to England.’

‘I understand,’ Jack murmured, hoping devoutly that Bianca would have the good sense to confess exactly what had happened on that wretched night, and that the Venice police would have no reason to speak to them ever again.

‘But for the rest of your stay in our beautiful city,’ the detective allowed himself a smile, ‘please – keep out of trouble.’

He strode to the door, signalling to the remaining police officer to record their details in his notebook. The interview was over.

‘Before you go…’ Flora said bravely.

‘Yes?’ The man stopped, his hand on the door.

‘How is it that you and your colleagues arrived here at just the right moment?’

‘Serendipità, signora. We came to question Signorina Benetti and look what we found!’

‘Question her about Franco Massi?’

‘No, no, no. It was a small matter of a disturbance. In England, some time ago.’ He consulted his notebook. ‘At a hotel called the Old Ship in the town of Brighton. You may know it.’

‘We were aware that Bianca attacked someone there. A man who had promised her a job and refused to keep his promise.’

‘This I did not know. Only that the young woman is accused of injuring a man who now wishes to see that she is punished. We have been asked by his lawyers to discover everything we can.’ He beamed. ‘You see, signora, it was Fate that brought us here at the right moment.’

Just occasionally, Jack decided, Fate could work in one’s favour.

29

It was a police vessel, anchored off the Lido jetty, that took them back to the Cipriani. No waiting around for the nextvaporetto, Flora thought gratefully, and feeling as wrung out as she did, that could only be good news. What the hotel would assume when they arrived yet again in a police launch, she refused to think. It was as well they were leaving early the next morning before they could tarnish their names any further. She was sad, though, very sad, to be leaving the city.

A long bath, she was thinking, as she climbed the steps from the hotel landing stage. A warm soak with a glass of something cold maybe, then a swift packing of the suitcases and a delightful dinner together in the floating restaurant with its magnificent view of an illuminated St Mark’s and beyond.

---