Every Hidden Thing

  * * *

  On Monday morning the policeman, Enzio Baglio, arrived in good time. Libby was quite amused, for although the man was in plain clothes, she would have taken him for a cop any day. She supposed it was his bearing, maybe the short haircut, when everyone else had hair growing down to their collars, but she was glad he’d be going with them. She was really rattled by everything that had happened in the last couple of days. The luxurious taxi had curtains that could be drawn to make the cabin private and she stayed in the cabin with Enzio while Michel was in the funeral home. He could speak some English she was glad to hear, and she chatted away while he seemed to run out of words very quickly. He was a very reserved young man, but she found out that he was originally from Calabria. As her Italian was almost non-existent, they eventually had to communicate with hand signals. In this way she passed the half hour while Michel was busy. Enzio wouldn’t allow her to open the curtains as they sat there and she was feeling a bit frustrated by the time Michel returned. He spoke briefly to the pilot, then moved inside out of the wind and Enzio moved to the deck to keep the pilot company.

  ‘I think we’ll go to Murano. Chances of someone expecting to find us there are fairly slim and there is more to see than going further out to Torcello.’

  Libby looked carefully at his set face with a nerve jumping in his cheek. She put her hand in his and said lightly, ‘That would be a nice place to go on a cold day. Those places must be overheated, with their furnaces going.’

  ‘Unfortunately, there are very few of the glass blowers that give you the opportunity to watch the process and I imagine at this time of the year, when the tourist season has tailed off, the likelihood of one of the more touristy glass foundries being open is almost nil. The tourist shops never close, except perhaps in August, so I’m sure you’ll find a pretty piece.’

  Very soon they were moving up the Rio dei Vetrai. The pilot pulled to the side and throttled back, gliding expertly into the side of the fondamente. His three passengers disembarked and the quiet word Enzio had with the man, made Michel suspect that the taxi had been arranged by Venier. He was sure of that when the taxi followed them up the canal.

  ‘I did tell him to wait, and we would come back to him. Never mind. It wouldn’t hurt to have two guards.’ The cold weather had ensured that tourists were thin on the ground and they felt more conspicuous.

  ‘I don’t know if that is a good thing, but if we can be seen so can anyone who may be following us,’ said Michel to their companion. Enzio merely nodded rather stolidly. He seemed to prefer to walk behind them, looking around as he did so.

  As they walked along the fondamente, peering into windows in the quaint shops, Libby was interested to see how different Murano is in character to Venice proper. I can only think it’s more provincial, she thought. Venice has the weight of timeless sophistication, despite the fact that it is so fragile and run down, while Murano has vividly painted buildings that seem almost garish and in much better condition than those on the main island. She found and bought a beautiful paperweight that looked like a field of poppies had been frozen in its depths.

  ‘That’s very beautiful. Looking at the label, one can see it’s been created by a glass artist. This style is called millefiori, or a thousand flowers,’ he took it in his hands and held it up to the light. ‘Some of the Murano glass is made especially for the tourist trade and is inclined to be a bit gaudy, but there are real glass artists too. Many of the fornace have been around for a long time, passing down the skill from father to son. If you like we can visit a gallery or two.’

  She really wasn’t in the mood to shop and she realised that Michel was trying to entertain her but his heart wasn’t in it, and she finally suggested that they go home.

  ‘I’m sorry. I’m not much company today. I keep thinking about what still has to be done, such as sorting out Bragadin’s apartment. I also want to pop in on Tommaso this afternoon. I’ll feel better when the funeral is over, I realise. However being away from Venice has been very good, seeing other things for a change. I promise we’ll come here again and really do the tourist thing. But let’s at least have a bit of lunch.’

  They found a small trattoria off the beaten track, but Enzio and the taxi pilot wouldn’t join them, preferring to sit at a table near the door. The food was good and the atmosphere was cosy and they felt more cheerful as they embarked for Venice. Michel gave an instruction and they went straight across the lagoon and pulled into the Rio dei Mendicante outside the Ospidale Civile.

  Tommaso still had to be told of the death of Bragadin and it was just as well that he was sedated. Even so, weak tears ran down his cheeks and onto the pillow. They held his hands for a while and then said goodbye. Libby kissed him on the cheek and as they turned around at the door he smiled wanly at them before turning his face to the wall. They knew that he would not be able to attend the funeral which was scheduled to take place the next morning at the Church of the Redeemer on the Guidecca, not far from Bragadin’s apartment.

  She was very glad that Enzio and the taxi were waiting for them as she felt very vulnerable now that they were back in Venice proper. The next stop was Bragadin’s apartment. The pilot went the long way around, going south of the Arsenale and then up the Grand Canal before swinging into the Guidecca Canal around the Isola San Giorgio and stopping at the Fondamente Zitelle. Michel wanted to assess the damage at Bragadin’s apartment and check to see if the cats had returned. The police on guard at the barrier recognised Enzio Baglio and joked with him as they went through into the cordoned–off area.

  With all that had happened since they had last been there, they felt very grim as they mounted the stairs to the huge old front door. Michel had a key and they stood rather forlornly in the echoing entrance hall. The place was cold, but they were glad to see the cats all seemed to be there. No sooner had they shut the door when a timid knock was heard and on opening it, they found a rather untidy woman in an apron standing on the doormat. ‘Buongiorno, Senora Favero, I see you found the cats.’

  She nodded as she twisted her apron in nervous fingers.

  ‘Senora Favero was very helpful with Dottore Bragadin,’ he explained to Libby, ‘she often helped to look after Ettore’s needs, helping with the shopping and cleaning as Tommaso has got older and absent minded. I called her the other night and explained what had happened and that Tommaso was being kept in the hospital, and she has watched out for the cats.’ He repeated in Veneziana what he’d said, and her eyes filled with tears.

  ‘He was a good man. We shall miss him,’ she said simply.

  Michel arranged for her to help to sort out the mess in the study now that the police had been through it and she said she’d begin in the morning. The cats were curling around her legs so she excused herself and went into the kitchen to feed them. Michel gave the study a cursory glance but he didn’t have the heart to begin sorting through anything, so they left.

  Enzio had stayed at the barrier talking to his colleagues, but nodded as they approached and fell in behind them. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed a man, or perhaps it was more than one, disappearing down a side alley but when he looked again they had vanished. He shook his head and followed his charges.