Alex Connor - Isle of the Dead

‘No,’ Nino said confidently. ‘Johnny Ravenscourt isn’t like that. He’s no thug, just a rich man with time to indulge his interests. His obsession with The Skin Hunter came from his research into serial killers. The fact that there’s a portrait in the mix means little to him – except for the legend that its emergence would bring back Vespucci.’

‘He believes that?’

‘Oh yes,’ Nino said emphatically. ‘He believes it – and it scares the shit out of him. I reckon the reason he gave me his notes was to get them off his hands. I’d say that Johnny Ravenscourt wants to put some distance between himself and his subject.’

‘But Vespucci’s victims were women—’

‘That makes no difference – logic doesn’t come into this. Johnny Ravenscourt’s spooked. The moment he gave me his research I could see him relax. It was like watching a man jump over a gate to escape a charging bull.’ Nino paused for an instant. ‘His notes connected him to The Skin Hunter. By getting rid of them he severed that connection.’

‘And?’

‘I think he also believes that if the legend is true, Vespucci will come after me now, not him.’

19

There is a passageway from Kensington Church Street that leads through an archway to a scruffy path around the back of the church. Over the years the figure of Christ has hung in a shrine there, crucified and on view to the passing traffic. At times yobs have thrown paint over Him, others have laid flowers at His feet, and at Christmas tinsel is wound gently around the brutal crown of thorns. He has stood under the wind, under the snow, and hung His head when summer sun cracked His painted face. And He was still standing as Nino cut through the passageway, heading for the convent gallery.

Unlocking the back door and turning off the repaired alarm, Nino made himself a drink and then moved to the drawing room on the first floor. In Gaspare’s absence he flicked on all the lights, spreading out Johnny Ravenscourt’s notes on the table and sitting down. Above him loomed the caramel angels, the Japanese suit of armour on duty by the door, a globe – dented in the Horn of Africa – holding up a Turkish rug.

Painstakingly Nino began to sort out Johnny Ravenscourt’s research. On his left he placed all the scraps of paper and hasty notes, on his right the photographs and reproductions, and in the centre he put the two notepads. He then started to read, choosing the journals first. Ravenscourt’s handwriting was surprisingly small for a big man, but every word was readable.

Angelico Vespucci b. 1510 – not known where he died. Last heard of February, 1556. His list of victims is open to debate, but there are records in the chapel of the Mazzerotti church. (The priest was so difficult, I had to donate to the renovations before he would even talk to me and then he was evasive. No one wants to talk about Angelico Vespucci. They pretend he never existed, until you come along with proof or asking questions. He’s like Venice’s dirty little secret.) Anyway, their records list the deaths of Larissa Vespucci, Claudia Moroni …

Nino paused. Claudia Moroni. He knew about her. The woman who had once lived in the house where Seraphina had owned an apartment and lost her baby. Claudia Moroni, the second of The Skin’s Hunter’s victims … He scribbled down a note of his own, and continued to read.

The Moroni family were respectable, long established in Venice.* They were merchants, notable for the quality of their silks. Claudia Moroni came from a wealthy family and had one – or two, the accounts differ – sons, neither of whom survived infancy. Apparently her brother came to live in the household soon after she was married.

Weirdly, when I visited the Moroni house I knew I’d been there before. It turned out to be Seraphina’s first flat after she married Tom Morgan.

Nino scanned down the page to a note at the bottom.

*N.B. There is a painting of Claudia Moroni and her husband in the house.

Johnny Ravenscourt had pinned a photocopy of a portrait on to the page and Nino studied the couple depicted. The man was vulgarly handsome, the woman blonde, diffident, rather unremarkable except for the richness of her clothes. She certainly bore no resemblance to Seraphina, he thought, turning back to the notes.

I wanted to find out about the victims, but after spending two months searching for clues in 2008, I hit a brick wall. So I changed emphasis and looked at Angelico Vespucci himself.

Nino turned the page to find the familiar face looking up at him, in a variety of depictions of The Skin Hunter. As well as a copy of Titian’s portrait, there were several reproductions of engravings and a sepia sketch. Curious, Nino studied it. The sketch was high quality, even he could see that. Vespucci was turned towards the artist, his expression extraordinary. He had the same unreadable, heavy-lidded eyes, but there was a tremor about the mouth, a look of unease which bordered on instability. The sketch seemed to catch the man in an unguarded moment, when his features could not fully contain his character.

It was chilling.

Vespucci’s origins are unclear, Johnny’s notes continued. He seemed to come to Venice out of the ether. But he came with a great fortune around 1539, and was living on the Grand Canal by 1541, in a magnificent palazzo. Throwing extravagant parties, with the finest wines and foods imported, he became a popular figure. Generous and affable, he was well liked, but apparently he had a servant flogged publicly for serving bad oysters. Vespucci was very generous to the Church and worshipped at the San Salvatore, marrying Larissa Fiorsetti in 1546. (This much is in the records. After that it gets more difficult.) Nothing else is heard of him until 1549, when his daughter was born. His wife Larissa was, by all accounts, a great beauty. (See photos of contemporary paintings.)

Nino paused, picking up the images of the glorious Larissa Vespucci. She had been an opulent beauty, full-fleshed, redhaired, her mouth tilting up at the corners. He could see at once why Angelico Vespucci would have fallen in love with her. And why he might well have been possessive. How could he not have been? She would have drawn attention anywhere. How difficult would that have been for a unprepossessing man like Vespucci to endure?

Stretching his arms above his head, Nino yawned, then finished his coffee. Outside it was now fully dark and he drew the curtains, locking the doors front and back before returning to the notes.

The next mention of Vespucci is in 1555, when he is referred to by Pietro Aretino. Known as ‘The Scourge of Kings’, this heavyweight had considerable influence in Venice, his friendship with Titian alone making him a powerful figure in the city. What Titian liked about Aretino is anyone’s guess; he was a crude man, but he was very productive in the promotion of the artist’s work. He travelled abroad, spoke to kings and courtiers, and generally acted as Titian’s agent. So it’s not surprising when Aretino mentions that he has arranged for Titian to paint Angelico Vespucci’s portrait.

Vespucci was respectable at this time. Larissa was still alive. (I had some difficulty accessing the records. There is mention of a boy dying and a girl surviving. All my efforts to trace any living descendants of Vespucci have come to nothing. Either there are none, or they changed their name to avoid scandal.) It was in October 1555 that the contract for the portrait was drawn up, the sittings to be commenced in November. See notebook 2.

Sighing, Nino reached for the second volume. The writing picked up immediately from where the first had left off, only this time the notes were different – short, without the conversational tone. It was as though Johnny Ravenscourt was trying to distance himself in his writing.