Page 79 of Vengeance in Venice
Foscolo smiled faintly.
Solomon threw himself against the back of the sofa. “Lampl. Lampl, who was Savelli’s friend and must have seen his collection, who had plenty of time to fall in love with Elena,who could make himself the hero of the investigation into the murder, while executing whomever he chose.”
“Savelli’s prominence and the politics of the day gave him every excuse to personally oversee the case,” Foscolo said, “and he does, largely by keeping me busy on futilities. But he suspects I already know too much. I am expecting the dagger to be planted among my possessions very soon, and then he will be home and free—though whether he wins Elena Savelli is another matter.”
“She is a woman who inspires obsession,” Constance said. “Not yours?”
A rueful smile tugged at the policeman’s lips. “I am not dead. I notice her, as I notice you. And I pity her. I don’t pity you, now that you are well. But Lampl is dangerous, and he has spies everywhere. You have to keep out of this.”
“We can’t,” Solomon said briefly. “How did he get his hands on the twin dagger?”
“I’m not sure. I think he found it, pillaged it, during the war, from what I have learned from the Austrian garrison—which is vague, by the way, and even if it amounted to evidence, which it doesn’t, the government would not allow it to be used. I cannot prove he ever had it. No one ever saw him with it. When he visited Savelli and saw he had a dagger exactly the same, he must have seen his chance and made his plan.”
“That is a cold-blooded murder if was for love.”
“Love. And the conditions of power and submission that exist here. He felt entitled to do what he wanted.”
“Even though Savelli was his friend?”
“He was still a Venetian. A lower rank of friend.”
“Surely all Austrians don’t think like that,” Constance said, appalled.
Foscolo rubbed his forehead wearily. “Of course not. Nor do they go around murdering the natives. Lampl is…flawed.”
“And no one knows all this but you,” Solomon said. He didn’t quite trust Foscolo, and neither did Constance. They had been so sure they were right about him. Foscolo was surely the man with the opportunity, because he did the actual work of investigating and collating evidence. “I hesitate to ask how you worked it out.”
“Prejudice,” Foscolo said cynically. “I don’t like him, so I was doubly careful. Especially when he identified the murder weapon at once as Savelli’s own dagger. And then he never mentioned the presence of Savelli’s dagger in the study and, in fact, removedmymention of it from my report that he passed up the chain of command. I might never have known that if I hadn’t made it my business to read all of Lampl’s reports on the subject. At first, I only really suspected him of trying to take credit for my work, probably to get me removed, but it was always more than that.”
His face was bleak, and for a moment he seemed lost in unpleasant thought. Then he glanced up, his gaze bouncing from Solomon to Constance and back.
“You see, I am trusting you with the truth. You are at perfect liberty to go to Lampl and report everything I said. I hope you won’t, for your sakes as well as mine. For the record, you won’t find his house as easy to break into as this one. He doesn’t have a gullible caretaker but a very large and sour servant who shuts the door in your face while he delivers a message.”
“Would we find the murder weapon in his house?” Constance asked.
“I don’t know. It could be anywhere by now.”
“Not if he is a true collector,” Solomon argued. They had come across several of those in London last year.
“I don’t think he is. He knew Savelli before the revolution. He may have seen the dagger then, came across its twin during the war, and took it on impulse.” Perhaps Foscolo saw something in their expressions, for he added almost defensively, “I am limitedin what I can ask. I cannot be suspected of working against him or I will lose my job.”
“Then if he is guilty, how do you expect to catch him?” Solomon demanded.
“By leaving the Austrians some way of covering it up,” Foscolo said with genuine bitterness.
“Or getting privileged foreigners to make the accusation?” Constance suggested.
Foscolo smiled. “That’s the other reason I chose to trust you. Either way, the Austrians must be able to brush Lampl’s guilt under the carpet, because they will, whether or not he is punished, and hemustbe.”
There was silence for a few moments.
Solomon shook his head in annoyance. “It makes no sense. I can understand if someone chose that particular weapon, and made it look as if the killer stole it from Savelli himself. It widens the list of suspects from the only person with access to the keys—namely Elena.”
“Exactly,” Constance agreed. “What would be the point of killing her husband and then watching her be arrested for murder?”
Solomon rounded on her. “Then why didn’t he find some way to remove Savelli’s own dagger from his collection? By leaving it there, he sabotaged his own plan. Anyone could have seen it there! Foscolo did. It was pure luck that Elena herself didn’t notice it until today.”
Constance leaned back on the sofa. “That is a good point.”
