Chapter 23

T he next morning, Melody and Rat set off for another trip to the Jewish Ghetto. Now that they knew they were going to the Campo di Ghetto Novo, Giovanni was able to drop them off right by the bridge Luisa had described. The house with the distinctive green door was not hard to spot.

During the gondola ride to the Cannaregio district, Rat and Melody had discussed how to introduce themselves and explain why they were intruding on a house in mourning. Finally, they decided that the most respectful thing to do was to tell a limited version of the truth; having discovered the body of Signor Graziano, Melody felt an obligation to learn more about why he was murdered and to try to help identify his killer.

Now, pausing nervously before the Graziano family house, Melody wondered if that story would make any sense to strangers. Why would a young Englishwoman and her brother care? And more to the point, why would they not think that the police would do a sufficiently good job tracking the killer down?

As if sensing her concerns and perhaps sharing them, Rat laid a hand on her arm and said, "Let us try to be as truthful as we can be without revealing my real role in this." Melody nodded; they could try.

The door was opened by a stern-looking older woman in a severe black dress. Melody's first thought was that she might be a housekeeper, but then, noticing the tear on the shoulder of the woman's dress, she suspected that she was a close relative, perhaps Signor Graziano's sister. Using faltering Italian, Melody offered her condolences and explained, or tried to explain, that she knew it was not a good time to call but that they needed to speak to the Graziano brothers about their father.

The old woman did not say anything as Melody stammered through her introduction. It was not immediately clear if the woman had understood what Melody had tried to convey, but then she stepped back and indicated that they should follow her.

The house was dark and narrow. Stepping into the hallway, Melody saw what she assumed was a mirror covered in a black cloth. They followed the woman into a living room in the front of the house where another mirror was covered and a candle burned on a low table, even though it was barely ten o'clock in the morning. The woman told them to sit and wait.

Melody and Rat perched on the edge of an old, battered couch. Melody looked around the room. The most noticeable thing about it was three low stools over in one corner. They had been waiting a few minutes when two unshaven men wearing jackets with the fabric ripped on one shoulder entered the room. Melody recognised the men from the funeral they had observed on Sunday.

Standing, Rat said in shaky Italian, "My name is Matthew Sandworth, and this is my sister, Melody, who had a passing acquaintance with your father. We are so sorry for your loss."

Well, at least that is what he had intended to say. What he actually said was not quite that, and the taller of the men quickly recognised that his English was better than their visitors' Italian and replied, "Thank you for your kind words, but we are sitting shivah, and this is not a good time for social calls."

Relieved to be speaking English, Rat replied, "We realise that and would not have disturbed you and your brother at this time, except that we have questions we must ask you, and time is of the essence." He then repeated what they had planned to say.

The two men each took one of the low stools and sat on it while Rat and Melody sat back on the couch.

Seeing their looks of curiosity, the brother who had spoken before explained, "As mourners, we must be low and uncomfortable to reflect our sadness and loss." He then introduced himself; he was Avraham, the brother visiting from Vienna, and his brother, who did not speak English, was Moische.

"It must be of some comfort to you that you were already visiting from Vienna and had time with your father before his death," Rat said. He meant nothing by the comment except to make small talk but was interested to see how Avraham Graziano visibly tensed at his words. What was that about?

Melody had noticed it as well and picked up the conversation, "Had you been back in Venice for long before your father's death?"

"Perhaps a week," Avraham said in a tight voice. "May I ask, why you are concerned about my father's death? The police suggested that they believe it might be a botched robbery."

Melody had to repress the urge to sigh loudly at these words. Even though she had explained very clearly to the inspector why this could not have been a robbery, that was still the conclusion the police had drawn. She did wonder if they still believed this after Silvio Verdi's death.

"Did you know that another man was shot yesterday?" she asked. "A journalist called Silvio Verdi." Avraham's response was interesting; it was evident from the look of shock on his face that he had not heard about the second murder, but it was equally evident that he knew the name.

Deciding that there was nothing to be lost by being as candid as possible, Melody continued, "I discovered your father not long after he was killed, and my brother and I also came upon Signor Verdi's body."

"And the police do not think this is an unlikely coincidence?" Avraham said sharply, suspicion now suffusing his face. "Why are you here? And what do you have to do with these murders?"

On the spur of the moment, Melody decided to tell a lie. "In London, my brother and I are private investigators." Avraham's incredulity at the notion of a young woman, or perhaps any woman, performing such a role was evident. However, he said nothing and let her continue. "I was shopping in your father's bookstore with the Marchesa Luisa Casati, a friend of your father's, when we stumbled upon his body. I made certain deductions at the scene of the crime, which I shared with the police on their arrival. Subsequently, my brother and I searched the flat above the bookshop, and we found a list of names. Silvio Verdi was at the top of that list."

Melody had glossed over the part where Rat had picked the lock on the door of the shop, and they had entered the flat without permission. It was clear that this detail had not been lost on Avraham, yet he chose to ignore this revelation and instead said, "You found a list? What did you do with it?"

"I showed it to Mr Burrows, the British Consul in Venice, and he recognised Signor Verdi's name as that of a local journalist," Rat explained.

"Did you leave the list with him?" Avraham demanded with increasing urgency.

"No. I still have the list." Rat told a half-truth. He did have the original but didn't mention that he had given Burrows a copy. "In fact, I have it with me," he said, reaching into the inner pocket of his jacket and retrieving the folded-up paper.

Seeing it, Avraham leapt off his stool and grabbed it out of Rat's hand.

Melody jumped up, "What on earth do you think you are doing?" she challenged.

"I am taking back something that you stole from my father's home," the man said coldly. The only way you could have searched my father's quarters was if you broke into the shop. Perhaps I should call the police and report that."

Rat could see that the situation was getting out of hand. Touching Melody's hand, he gently pulled her back down to sit behind him. Then, turning back to Avraham Graziano and attempting to defuse the tension, he said, "You are correct; we did enter your father's home without permission, and we took something that perhaps we should not have. However, we did this only because we believe there may be more to your father's murder than the police are saying."

"He is dead. That is all that Moische and I need to know," Avraham said, indicating to his brother, who had sat through this conversation in a state of uncomprehending confusion. "We will be saying prayers for our father shortly. I think you should leave." And with that, he turned and exited the room. His brother stood, shrugged his shoulders, and then followed him. Melody and Rat were left to let themselves out.

Standing outside the green front door, less than fifteen minutes since entering it, Melody said, "So, what do we do now?"

"Honestly, I'm not sure. I'm hungry and don't feel like returning to the palazzo just yet. Why don't we return to the gondola and ask Giovanni to take us somewhere for an early lunch? Perhaps sharing some wine and a hearty meal will help us think more clearly."

In another twenty minutes, they were sitting under the shade of an awning outside of an osteria that Giovanni had said was owned by his aunt and uncle and that made the best risotto in Venice. He left the gondola tied up and escorted them to the restaurant, disappearing into the kitchen to greet his family and have his own meal.

There was no menu, just a choice of fish or meat for their main course. Working men were starting to gather at the tables next to them and inside the restaurant, and carafes of red and white wine appeared on tables, including theirs. Less than five minutes later, the waiter put a large plate of battered, fried seafood in front of them and said, "Fritto Misto di Mare."

Melody took what seemed to be a shrimp and popped it in her mouth; it was delicious. They ate from the plate as they talked.

"Avraham knows more about this than he admitted," Rat observed.

"I thought the same thing," Melody agreed. "Did you see how tense he became when we mentioned that he was visiting from Vienna? And then his reaction to the list was quite violent. I was shocked." Rat agreed. They had expected to find grieving sons who perhaps resented their intrusion into their mourning period. Instead, they found a man who seemed desperate to keep his secrets close, even if those secrets were somehow related to his father's murder.

Melody had slept late that morning and had not wanted to tell Rat about her conversation with Luisa in front of Giovanni. Now, she told him everything that the marchesa had said about Herr Peetz and Alessandro.

"So, she believes that Dieter Peetz has sought refuge in Venice because of incendiary articles that his newspaper has printed?"

"Well, not just that he printed them but that he somehow had access to secret government papers."

"Just as Silvio Verdi seemed to. That cannot be a coincidence," Rat concluded.

"Neither can the fact that Herr Peetz has fled Vienna, which is where Avraham Graziano lives and is visiting from." Rat agreed; there were too many things pointing back to Austria-Hungary and the publishing of documents that might have the power to expose Austria-Hungary and challenge its alliance with Italy.

Melody then considered her conversation with Luisa about the medals and Antonio Graziano's involvement in the Risorgimento.

"If Silvio Verdi's medal was the same, then that is something else that links the two men," Rat observed. "Did Luisa know anything more about these meetings of the Risorgimento?"

"No. That was all. I think we need to talk with Herr Peetz," Melody concluded. "While I do not know how precisely, I have no doubt that he is involved in something that, even if indirectly, led to the deaths of Antonio Graziano and Silvio Verdi."

"How do we go about finding him?" Rat asked. "Foscari has already denied knowing the man, so we cannot approach him for help, even if I were inclined to," he added.

"Do you not remember what Herr Peetz said when we met him? He said that he has a home away from home at the Hotel Bauer-Grünwald. That is a very Germanic-sounding name, which is why I assume he feels so comfortable there. Giovanni seems to know every landmark in Venice. Let us see if he knows that hotel. We can go there when we are finished eating."

It took them three more courses of risotto, braised chicken, and a simple but lovely chocolate tart to finish eating. After paying, Rat asked the waiter to send Giovanni out to them. He explained to the gondolier where they wanted to go. Giovanni gave a very Italian shrug that Melody had learned meant some combination of "yes", "that's no problem", and "of course I can do that."