James Becker - The Nosferatu Scroll

Bianchi glanced at Angela, then continued. ‘But it’s only a matter of time. The currents in the lagoon can be fierce. We think that man’s corpse probably sank below the surface soon after he fell into the water, and simply drifted away. Trying to spot a body in the water at night is very difficult.’

‘But you are sure he’s dead?’ Angela asked.

Bianchi nodded. ‘We would certainly have spotted that man if he’d been swimming away from the scene. And there are bullet holes in his robe, in both the front and the back, so clearly your shots must have badly wounded him, at least. If his corpse doesn’t turn up over the next couple of days, it will probably have washed out into the Adriatic, and we’ll never find it.’

Bronson opened his mouth to object, but Bianchi held up his hand to forestall him. ‘No doubt you have your own views about this, Signor Bronson, but what I’ve just described seems to us to make logical sense, and will be what our final report into this matter will say. We already have his accomplices in custody, and the circumstances of their arrest mean that their trial should be almost a formality.’

Bronson nodded slowly. ‘Perhaps you’re right,’ he said. ‘That’s probably the best way to handle this. Stick to the facts, produce the bodies, line up the suspects and then let justice take its course.’

‘And Marietta?’ Angela asked. ‘How is she?’

Bianchi finished the last of his coffee and smiled. ‘She’s fine. Well, she’s obviously still very traumatized by her experience, as I’m sure you are, too, but she’s back with her family, and her boyfriend.’

‘Send her my love,’ Angela said, a tremor in her voice. ‘She was so brave in that cellar.’

‘I will.’ Bianchi stood up. ‘Make sure you come to the police station in San Marco before you leave Venice, please,’ he said. ‘You are both material witnesses in this case, and the prosecution may well decide that we need you here when the trial finally takes place, so it’s essential that we have your full contact details. Other than that, enjoy the rest of your holiday in Venice. And if I might make a suggestion, please try to avoid going near any other graveyards or churches while you’re here.’

Bianchi extended his hand and Bronson shook it. Then he kissed Angela on both cheeks, turned and left the room.

Bronson sat down again and looked across at Angela. ‘So they’ve got the killers,’ he said, ‘and they’ll prosecute them for the multiple murders. They might need us as witnesses, but we’ll have to wait and see. That means we might just get another trip out here to Venice, all expenses paid.’

Angela looked at him for a moment. ‘You were going to say something to the inspector? Something about the body?’

Bronson nodded. ‘Two things, in fact. I know it was dark last night, but I took a quick look at that robe when I handed it to Bianchi. He was right about the bullet holes, but I didn’t see any blood. And dead bodies don’t sink — they float.’

‘So what are you saying? That he’s still alive?’

‘No. He can’t be. That’s simply impossible. It’s just a bit odd, the way it all happened at the end. And you were about to say something when Bianchi arrived?’

‘Oh yes,’ Angela remembered. ‘It’s only a small thing. If you look back through all the accounts of vampires, from every country that has a tradition relating to the undead, you’ll find a mass of contradictions. Some say you can only kill them by beheading them, others that they’re terrified of a crucifix, or held at bay by garlic. In some countries, sunlight kills them. As far as I know, there are only two things that seem to be consistent everywhere. First, and most obviously, vampires live on human blood.’ She paused for a second, and glanced at Bronson. ‘And the second thing is that vampires have a very distinctive smell. They reek of decay, of decomposing flesh.’

Bronson caught his breath as he remembered his experience in the secret chamber, and what he’d smelt in those moments when the leader of the group attacked him. ‘I’m not sure I’m hearing you right,’ he said, trying to smile. ‘Is this really my precious, logical, scientific Angela? Are you saying that you think we really did meet a vampire out on that island?’

Angela shook her head slowly. ‘Vampires don’t exist,’ she said. ‘Everybody knows that. But we have been in contact with a very strange person, someone I never, ever want to see again.’ She got up and stretched. ‘We’ve got one more day left in Venice. I’m not visiting any of the islands, and definitely no churches, but do you think we’d be safe if we did some shopping? I’ve always fancied some handmade gloves.’

Bronson stood up too, and put his arms around her. ‘After what happened yesterday,’ he said, ‘I’ll happily buy you ten pairs.’

Venice is a maze of narrow streets and canals, lined with old buildings. Because of the continuing problems with flooding and subsidence, many of the older properties and especially a number of the early palaces, the palazzi , have been abandoned because water damage to their lower floors has fatally weakened the entire structure. Sad, crumbling and in some cases too dangerous to enter, these ancient buildings endure mainly because they are supported by adjacent properties. Without this, most of them would have collapsed decades or even centuries ago.

Beside one small canal at the southern end of the Cannaregio district stands a tall and narrow building that dates almost as far back as the founding of the city. Last inhabited in the early nineteenth century, both its doors — the canal and the street entrances — are locked and barred and the windows shuttered, as they have been for decades. It is beyond repair, the foundations slowly crumbling away into the waters below. Occasionally, the occupants of properties nearby can hear the rumble and splash as yet another piece of masonry falls away and tumbles down the interior of the building.

They have grown accustomed to these sounds, and rarely even remark on them. But these are not the only sounds that have recently been echoing through the old building.

Sometimes, late at night, the family who live next door can hear a faint slithering and swishing sound from one of the rooms on the very top floor of the doomed building, a room that they know has not been occupied for many years. Sometimes, the noises are loud enough to wake their children. And neither of their cats will even enter the rooms on the side of their house that abuts the deserted property.

They don’t know exactly what is making the noises, but they have their suspicions, because of the smell. Faint, but all-pervasive, the ruined house is beginning to smell distinctly of rotting flesh. Obviously something has got in there and died, they tell each other. And maybe the other noises are rats feeding on the remains.

Recently, the noises have started getting louder, and the smell stronger.