Alex Connor - Isle of the Dead

‘He’d have to have funds. He’s either rich enough not to need a job, or he’s self-employed. If he had regular employment, he’d have to keep taking time off work.’

‘Not necessarily,’ Nino replied, finishing his food and throwing the containers in the bin. ‘Sally Egan was killed at night. After work hours.’

‘But the killer had already been to Venice and then went on to Japan. A plane ticket to Tokyo costs money—’

‘I agree. But surely the more important question is: why did he choose them? Before we wonder about his means, shouldn’t we try and work out why he picked these particular victims? That’s the key, Gaspare. The women must have something in common.’

‘But if the killer’s copying Vespucci, shouldn’t we look at his victims first?’

‘OK.’ Thoughtful, Nino nodded. ‘I’ve been reading Johnny Ravenscourt’s notes – not finished them yet – and they list Larissa Vespucci, Claudia Moroni and the Contessa di Fattori. But a website dedicated to The Skin Hunter lists a woman called Lena Arranti as the penultimate victim.’ Nino paused for effect. ‘Somebody out there’s been doing their research. This information isn’t readily available. It took Ravenscourt decades to find it. And this website only went up forty-eight hours ago. Doesn’t that strike you as odd? A website glorifying The Skin Hunter appears at the same time as his crimes are being reenacted?’

‘You think the killer created it?’

‘Yes,’ Nino replied. ‘Yes, I do. I think the man who made the website killed the women. Perhaps it all started with him getting curious about Vespucci, then he became obsessed. Then, when he heard about the painting turning up – thanks to Triumph Jones’ PR stunt – he flipped. Took it as a sign and started his own tribute. He wants to copy Angelico Vespucci – he wants to be him, to have his power, his legend.’

‘It makes no sense—’

‘Not to us. But to a fanatic, it would. About five years ago I was working for a company who were making a film about Jack the Ripper. One of the many. I remember that the director said it would make a fortune. Even if it was bad, it would bring in a profit, because everyone wanted to know about a killer. Especially killers who had never been caught. Glamorous murderers. And The Skin Hunter has a kind of sick glamour. He created havoc in his time. He terrorised the Republic of Venice and yet he got away with it. Vespucci disappeared, and a scapegoat took the blame.’

‘I wish we knew who that was.’

Nino turned to Gaspare. ‘You think it’s important?’

‘I think everything we find out about Vespucci’s important. Did the victims have anything in common?’

‘Vespucci killed Larissa because she was unfaithful, but Claudia Moroni was a respectable married woman.’

Nino thought back over his conversation with Harold Greyly, repeating his words.

“My relative was very excitable … She eloped, thank God. Saved us a lot of gossip.” He glanced over at Gaspare. ‘Perhaps she wasn’t quite the innocent she appeared?’

‘And the Contessa di Fattori was a whore.’

‘Yes, everyone agrees on that. And the website said that Lena Arranti was a courtesan, working from the Jewish Quarter in Venice.’ Nino paused. ‘There is a link between the women – sex. Larissa Vespucci was an adulteress. Lena Arranti was a prostitute. The Contessa di Fattori was promiscuous. Perhaps there was some sexual secret about Claudia Moroni? Perhaps that was why her descendant said that her elopement saved them from scandal?’ Nino got to his feet. ‘If the theme is sexual – if Vespucci set out to punish these women – is that why women are being killed now? Does our killer want to punish women too?’ He walked to the door, then turned. ‘I’m going back to the gallery to finish Ravenscourt’s notes. Then I’ll talk to him—’

Gaspare flinched. ‘Don’t be stupid! We’ve just agreed that Ravenscourt could be the killer—’

‘And if he is,’ Nino said simply, ‘someone has to stop him.’

31

New York

The news had only been out for an hour when it came to Farina Ahmadi’s ears. Good God! she thought, hurrying back to her gallery on 45th Street. Who had ever heard anything like it? A top dealer virtually advertising for help in finding a famous work of art. Why didn’t Triumph just put a fucking sign up in Times Square? she thought angrily, slamming the door of the gallery behind her and moving into her office. Once there, she made a call on her mobile and stood by the window waiting for someone to answer.

‘What the bloody hell are you playing at?’ she snapped, infuriated to find herself talking to Triumph Jones’ recorded message. Severing the connection, she then dialled Tokyo, knowing she would wake Jobo Kido in the middle of the night and hopefully catch him off guard.

‘ What!!! ’ a voice answered, and Farina smiled to herself. He had been asleep. Good.

‘Jobo, it’s Farina.’

‘It’s one in the morning. What d’you want?’

‘Triumph’s drumming up help to find the Titian.’ She could hear the dealer take in a breath and could imagine him sitting up in bed, shocked out of sleep. ‘You know what that means, don’t you, Jobo? Every fucking lunatic will come out of the woodwork. And now everyone will know about the Titian portrait. I mean everyone .’ Her voice plunged. ‘Are you listening to me?’

‘Every word,’ Jobo said, getting to his feet, his wife grumbling as she turned over in bed. Walking downstairs, he made for the kitchen, closing the door behind him. ‘You woke my wife—’

‘ I woke your wife! ’ Farina snapped. ‘Jesus! You moron, this is more important than your wife’s beauty sleep!’

‘Farina, calm down,’ Jobo said, tying the dressing-gown cord round his waist and getting himself some water. ‘Why did he do it? It doesn’t seem like Triumph to advertise something like that. He’s crazy—’

‘Oh, he’s crazy like a snake!’ she snorted. ‘He wants that bloody painting so much he’s going to stoop to any depths to get it. And you know what that means, don’t you? We lose.’

‘ We lose?’ Jobo repeated. ‘Why exactly are you letting me in on this, Farina?’

‘The Titian’s out there, hanging its arse in the wind. We have to get hold of it before it disappears again. Or worse, Triumph gets it. He can’t win, not this time.’ She thought of his steely confidence and cringed. ‘I refuse to let him add one more scalp to his belt – particularly that Titian. I want it. And I know you want it. But the way I see it, our joining forces would double our chances. We could share it.’

‘ Share it? ’

‘Stop repeating everything I fucking say!’ she roared. ‘Think about it. If we keep quiet, then who’s to know that we’re sharing it? We have to act! Triumph’s calling on all sorts – thieves, villains, and all the loser dealers out to make a buck. He’ll be up to his knees in fakes within a week. And even if he does manage to flush out the Titian, he’ll lose it when we offer a better deal.’

‘If we hear of it.’

‘Let it be known that we’re willing to top his offer and we’ll hear of it.’ She paused, confident. ‘Come on, Jobo, it’s a good idea. You could have the Titian half the time and I could have it the other half. East meet West – it would be a cultural gesture.’

‘It would be a two-fingered gesture to Triumph,’ Jobo replied, amused. ‘But I want the painting for my collection.’

‘And I want the painting for my husband. So what? We both want it, but Triumph wants it more.’ She paused, her tone softening. ‘He’s rich, but I’m richer. And you’re no pauper, Jobo. Together we could match – and top – any amount Triumph can offer. Naturally we would have to draw up a contract.’