Page 43 of Vengeance in Venice
“What is your connection to the consulate?” Constance asked.
“None. Except they occasionally throw me a bone—a little business to keep the wolf from the door. Or the tiles on the roof.” He lowered his voice and winked. “Everyone keeps in with the British, but they prefer my politics.”
“And Premarin’s?” Constance said lightly.
He sighed. “Mostly. He is here, too.”
“I saw that. We met him earlier today. He was on his way to the funeral service. With his wife.”
Giusti was silent for a moment. Then he said, “I thought about going, but decided in the end I should not be welcome. I thought of him. I’m sorry he is dead.”
“Tell me,” Constance said, looking casually about her to ensure she would not be overheard, “was there ever as much as a whisper about Savelli and Signora Premarin?”
Giusti blinked. “Not that I heard. But then, I avoid gossip.” He considered it. “I would not be surprised at gossip, only thereality. As I said, ask Elena. If such a whisper existed, some kind friend will have made sure she heard it. Goodbye!”
He dodged around them, trying and failing to dart away before Lampl reached them.
“Signor,” Giusti said, bowing elaborately to the Austrian before blowing a kiss to Constance and sauntering off with an impudent grin.
“I’m very glad to see you here,” Solomon said to Lampl. “It will hopefully save our calling upon you in the morning.”
“Is there something I can help you with?” Lampl said politely. “Or do you have information for me? Something you have remembered, perhaps?”
“No,” Solomon said apologetically. “I merely wanted to ask what your medical examiner had to say about the body. I assume his examination is complete, since Signor Savelli was buried today.”
Lampl regarded Solomon carefully, as though weighing whether or not it would hurt to answer him. “He is satisfied, of course.”
“And what were his findings?”
Lampl frowned, casting a warning glance toward Constance.
“You may speak in front of my wife,” Solomon said.
Lampl clearly did not approve. He said stiffly, “Very well, then. Savelli was stabbed through the heart with the long, thin blade we discovered still in his body. He died, probably immediately, of that wound. There was no water in his lungs, so he did not drown in the canal.”
“And you believe this blade belonged to Savelli himself?” Solomon asked.
“We know it did. It is a weapon I have seen in his house many times.”
“I see,” Solomon said.
One of the bodyguard? Elena?“Could they tell from the angle of the wound,” Constance asked, “whether he was stabbed by a taller or a shorter person?”
Lampl looked scandalized by the very question. Or perhaps just the fact that a woman had asked it. “No,” he said coldly. “The wound was precise.”
“If the blade was Savelli’s own,” Solomon said, “that surely limits your suspects to his household.”
“You would think so,” said another voice between the table and Solomon. It was Foscolo, underdressed and out of place. “But, in fact, we believe Savelli himself carried the dagger with him, perhaps for protection. There were threads on it that could have come from his trousers, which were torn below the waist as though the knife had poked through or ripped the fabric when being drawn.”
“What are you doing here?” Lampl asked with suppressed anger.
Solomon did not give Foscolo time to answer his superior. “So, the killer snatched the victim’s own knife?”
“We believe so. Which certainly does notprecludemembers of his household.” Foscolo turned to Lampl, but Solomon had more questions.
“Signora Savelli told us about a thief her husband apprehended in San Marco a couple of months ago. He made threats against Savelli.”
Lampl gazed at him haughtily, as though he would not discuss the matter. Constance suspected he simply had no idea what Solomon was talking about.
