Текст книги "Alibi"

Автор книги: Joseph Kanon

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CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

They’re going to kill him,” Rosa said. “That’s what it means.”

“What, shot trying to escape? Come on, Rosa.”

We were walking on the waterfront of the Giudecca, heading toward Redentore, somewhere public but out of the way, Rosa’s request. She had called from a café to arrange the meeting, convinced now that her Bauer phone was tapped.

“You’re imagining things.”

“I don’t have time to argue with you. The minute I heard, I knew what it meant. There’s no reason to move him. You think there’s something wrong with the jail in Venice?”

“Cavallini said he was becoming a symbol.”

“Of what? Their incompetence? They have no case, they know that. So they have to win some other way. It’s what the Germans used to do. Something happens on the way. Or there’s someone in the new place, a grudge they didn’t know about. Fut.” She waved her fingers.

“You’re serious.”

“They’re going to kill him,” she said, stopping and turning to me, her voice steady, certain.

I said nothing, waiting.

“They’re moving him tomorrow night,” she said, starting to walk again.

“You know this?”

“A bird told me. To Vicenza, by train. So it’s difficult. The station’s a trap, and once he’s on the train—A car would be easier. There are possibilities between Piazzale Roma and Vicenza. Even Piazzale Roma would be better—there are several ways out—but no, it’s the train.”

“Possibilities for what? What are you planning to do, kidnap him?”

“I’m not going to let them kill him. So it’s necessary, an action,” she said, slightly excited, back in the game.

“Are you serious? They really will kill him then. Trying to escape. You’ll be setting him up.”

“Listen to me. They are going to kill him. You have to understand that. So this is his only chance now. Do you think we’re amateurs? We did this many, many times.”

“During the war.”

“His father was killed. It’s enough for one family. I want the son to live.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Because you’re going to help.”

“Me?”

“Yes. You owe him this much. Both of us. This never would have started if we hadn’t—well, that’s done.” She raised her eyes. “But there is an obligation here.”

“Rosa, I was in the army, not the commandos. A paper pusher.”

“So sometimes you leave the desk. It’s not enough, files. We can’t save him with files.”

“Rosa, the war’s over. Over.”

“Not for him.”

“Christ.” I turned away, exasperated.

“I’m not asking you to take any risk,” she said, her voice softer now. “Just leave a door open.”

“A door open.”

“Yours. On the canal.”

“Then what am I supposed to do?”

“Nothing. You won’t be there. There is no risk to you.”

“A little commando raid, but no risk.”

“For your piece, no. But I need someone I can trust. You’re not one of us, in the group. You don’t even know who we are. So you can’t betray us. I have to be careful of that.”

“I know you.”

“And you’d betray me?” She shook her head. “Then you betray Moretti. No.” She looked at me again. “I know you a little. There is an obligation here. We have to save him.” I looked away. His only chance. Just leave a door open. “I can do this without you, but no one suspects you. No one thinks to suspect you. An American. So it’s perfect.”

“Perfect,” I said. “All worked out.”

But she didn’t hear any irony in my voice. “It’s important to plan,” she said.

“And after I open the door?”

She said nothing.

“I stick my neck out, but no questions,” I said.

“You’re not sticking it out very far. It’s for your protection.”

“I’d like to know what I’m getting into, at least. Since I seem to be in it.”

She looked at me. “Then it’s agreed?”

“Not yet.”

She nodded. “Come, see the church.” She took my arm, starting up the broad Palladian steps. “But no names. I can tell you what will happen, your part. But it’s better if you don’t know the rest.”

“All right. So they put him on a train,” I said, beginning.

“Yes. Think how difficult. The police boat to the station is impossible. Look at the route. Canale di Cannaregio, always crowded. The station? A cul-de-sac, you can’t get out. So the first likely place, they think, is Maestre. Over the bridge. And they’ll be prepared. After that, there’s only Padua, no other stops.”

“But there’s Vicenza itself. They’ll have to put him in a car there.”

“Yes, it was my first thought. So their first thought too, no? Ha, the city of Palladio. Maybe that’s why I thought of this place,” she said, opening the doors.

The inside was stark white, unadorned, something rare in Venice, architecture left alone. Rosa dipped her fingers in a font, crossed herself, then took a pew in the back. An old woman was arranging gladioli in vases on the altar, but otherwise the nave was empty, a perfect meeting place. For a second I wondered if it was one of those churches where voices gathered at the ceiling and then swirled down to some listening spot behind a pillar, but Rosa, suspicious of the Bauer, seemed unconcerned here. She lowered her voice but didn’t whisper.

“And what if Vicenza’s too late? You understand, we don’t know when they’ll do it—a few days, right away, we don’t know. And the train worries me. So easy to fall off. And people might believe it, not like in a car. Who jumps out of a car?” Her voice fast, caught up in it. War stories.

“Do you really believe this?”

“Cavallini doesn’t want a trial. You told me yourself.”

“To protect the Maglione name.”

“Because he’ll lose. The name is disgraced and he loses. A double loss. So, another solution. One he knows. Another thing he learned from the Germans. You think it’s the first time for him?”

I thought of the arm shooting out to the boy’s throat.

“I know him a little too. So,” she said, already moving past it, “Vicenza, maybe it’s too late. Maybe everywhere it’s too late. The best thing is if he never leaves Venice.”

“But they’ll have people in the station.”

“Yes,” she said, her voice eager, “but not in the yards. We have people in the yards. A signal delay. Once the train’s over the bridge, he’s gone, but in the yards—there’s no one but the guards on the train.”

“How long will you have?”

“A few minutes. But after, if we make the boat, then we have the advantage. The police will be out front, in the Grand Canal. By the time they get behind the station, we’re already gone.”

“To Maestre.”

“One boat, yes,” she said, her eyes bright, watching my reaction. “Where they expect to follow. Another where they don’t expect—back to Venice.”

“A reverse. Like a football play.”

“Yes? I don’t know.”

“And then what?”

“And then we get off the water. We have to expect by this time the alarm is made, all the boats are out. Police boats are fast, they can outrun almost anything. So they chase to Maestre, they chase somewhere else, looking, but there’s nothing to see. The fox has gone into his hole.”

“At Ca’ Venti.”

She spread her hands. “Ecco.”

“With the boat parked out front?”

“No, of course not. We don’t even tie up. We don’t need long, just enough time to drop him off. The boat keeps going; he stays in the hole. Then, later, another boat comes, one the police have never seen.”

“And if they do catch the first?”

“What do they catch? Only the driver.”

“And meanwhile they’ve lost the scent and the new boat takes the fox—”

“Somewhere else.”

“That I won’t know.”

“Nobody knows. Just your piece. The first boat doesn’t know the second boat. No one can betray anyone. Not this time.”

“You don’t need Ca’ Venti to make the switch. You could do it anywhere in Venice.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Not so many of us have our own canal entrance. I told you, no one suspects you. If we use one of our own people, maybe the police have a list. They’ll look. But nobody looks for you. Besides, the house is convenient, close to the channel.”

“You’ve already been there.”

“Rio di Fornace, yes,” she said, precise. “Two ends. One the Grand Canal, the other Giudecca channel. Two exits, not a trap.”

“Not busy, either. Not at that hour. A boat might be noticed.” I thought of us looking at the bedroom light across the canal, afraid to make a splash.

“Yes, I know. Just leave the water gate unlocked. It takes a minute. There’s nothing to make people look. And you’ll be out.”

“Where?”

“A restaurant, anywhere people will see you. You don’t know anything about it. You weren’t there. You didn’t think to lock the gate, that’s all. You don’t know.”

“Do you think they’d believe that?”

“No,” she said, smiling faintly. “But nothing will go wrong. They’re not expecting this. And if we think the police are right behind us, we don’t stop. I give you my word.”

“And what about Angelina?”

“Who?”

“The maid. She lives there.”

“Che bella. The problems of the rich. Give her the night off.”

I started to smile, in spite of myself, then stopped. Out for the evening. No risk. The plan already in motion, whether I helped or not.

“Do you want to save his life?”

“Yes,” I said, nodding, suddenly believing it would happen, Moretti safe, Claudia and I happy again, maybe on the train he never took.

“Then just leave the gate unlocked. Come on, she’s finished with the flowers.”

She got up, crossing herself again, and turned to the door before the woman could see her. Outside, she pulled her sweater tighter, an automatic reflex even in the warm spring air.

“What’s going to happen to him?” I said.

“We’ll hide him until it’s safe. Who knows, maybe they’ll find the one who did it.”

“Maybe,” I said, glancing away. “And if not?”

“Then he becomes someone else. Anyway, he’s alive.” She stopped at the foot of the steps and looked across the channel. “You can see it from here, the house. It’s a good plan, yes?”

“I hope so. It’s your neck.”

She brushed this away. “It’s an old neck. He’s just a boy. And to carry this burden now, blaming himself. How I wish I’d never talked to him.”

“But we were right. If that means anything to you. Gianni was working with the Germans.”

“Yes?” she said, not really interested. Yesterday’s files.

“His brother kept papers, it turns out. Giulia has them. Gianni was friendly long before he turned up at Villa Raspelli. Business partners.”

“Business partners,” she said, dismissing this.

“And then more, after Paolo was killed. When he found out Moretti had been one of you—” I stopped, backing away from her husband, what must have happened next, but her mind had gone elsewhere, still Herr Kroger with files.

“These papers, you can get them?”

“No. Anyway, he’s dead. They’re no use to us now, except to know.”

“But there must be others. People he mentions, Italians. We need—”

“She’d burn them first. It’s her family. I thought you didn’t care anymore about Gianni.”

“Him, no. But the others? Not care? Do you know what’s happening in Italy? No, an American, all you see is this.” She spread her arm to the view. “Not what’s really here. You think the Fascists have gone away? No, back again, the same people. Back where they were, head of the table. Magliones. The Church. My god, the Church.” She waved her hand, the same fingers that had just dipped in holy water, made a quick cross at the pew. “The Germans’ friends. ‘We did nothing. Patrioti.’ And soon everyone will believe it again. All patrioti. Trials? That’s all in the past. And then it’s too late. I don’t have time for a dead man, but the living? To get just one more?” She lowered her voice. “She told you about them. She’ll let you read them?”

“Yes.”

She nodded. “Good. Just get the names. I’ll do the rest.” She glanced up, sensing my reluctance. “You asked me once to look at files for you.”

“Another obligation.”

“To me? No. You know what these people are. You saw it in Germany.”

“That was different.”

“Yes? Imagine if it were your country—what would you do?”

I stared at her for a minute, a bulky figure in a sweater, still in combat, then looked away.

“I’d get the names,” I said.

“So. You married an Italian. You’re not a tourist anymore.”

“A patriota.”

She smiled. “A real one.” She nodded her head toward the vaporetto approaching the landing. “You go first. I have some business here.”

“On the Giudecca?”

She wagged her finger. “Just your piece. Unlock the gate.” Then, before I could turn toward the dock, she put a hand on my shoulder, soft as the air, a thank-you. “And the names.”

We could have spent the evening anywhere—Harry’s, Montin’s—but I got the idea of asking for Gianni’s seats at La Fenice because it gave me an excuse to go to Ca’ Maglione and look at Paolo’s journals. I had planned to spend the afternoon, but I arrived to find Cavallini there having tea, a surprise visit, and Giulia edgy, handing me the tickets with an expression that said the library was now out of the question. Another day.

“One minute and I will walk with you,” Cavallini said, holding up a finger.

Giulia gave me a wry “Your turn” look. Then there was a fuss in the hall about his hat and more good-byes, so it was five minutes before we were finally out on the street, walking to Santo Stefano.

“What is on tonight?” he said.

“La Bohème.”

“Ah, romantic. For the newlyweds.”

“You like opera?” I said, marking time, eager to be away.

“My wife enjoys it. Perhaps you’ll see her tonight.”

“But not you?”

“No, not tonight. Work.”

“So late?”

“A special assignment.”

I waited, but he said nothing. We crossed a bridge into a narrow calle smelling of garbage and mold.

“Sometimes, you know, I think it’s time to leave the police. Business maybe, a position.”

“I thought you enjoyed it.”

“Yes, when you’re young. You don’t worry about anything then. But now you think, what if? Maybe tonight it’s your turn.”

“I thought there wasn’t any crime in Venice.”

“Before, no. A few robberies, like anywhere. But now, since the war, such violence. Think of Maglione, murdered. All these animosities, they don’t go away.”

“It takes time,” I said blandly, letting him lead.

“Yes, how long? The war teaches them to fight. Then how do you make them stop? It’s in the blood, an excitement. The law? Something to shoot at. They forget,” he said, opening his jacket to show me a gun in a side holster, “we were in the war too.”

I froze, staring at the gun, dark and bulky, something he hadn’t carried before. Why now? Even in the dim calle, the dull steel drew the eye, an almost hypnotic pull, ready to jump at you if you looked away.

“You’re expecting trouble?”

“In the police, we’re always expecting trouble,” he said, official again.

“But you never carry a gun.”

“Yes, sometimes. But it ruins the suit.” He brushed his hand down the side, showing the bulge the holster made, then looked over at me and smiled. “It worries you, the gun?” He put his hand on my shoulder, leading me toward the campo. “No, I’m an excellent shot.”

“But why today?”

He shrugged. “If there’s trouble, you’re prepared.”

“You mean there’s going to be? What?”

“Let the police worry.”

“But how do you know?”

“Signor Miller,” he said indulgently, “there are many ears in Venice. It has always been so, a tradition. Everyone listens. So I know when to be ready,” he said as we walked into the campo. “Sometimes it’s good, a little trouble. People show themselves. They come up out of the ground, they show their faces. You can see who they are.” He squinted at the cafés with umbrellas out against the spring sun, as if he were looking for them now. “But it’s true I’m getting old for this. Guns, at my age. One night—you never know. Well, don’t worry,” he said, amused at the look on my face. “We’ll be ready. You go to La Bohème.”

I said nothing, afraid to press, hoping he’d volunteer more, but he became withdrawn again, not so much discreet as preoccupied with something. He looked back for a second before we left the square.

“You know, a girl like that, all alone now—she may never marry. And then who looks out for her? Of course she has the protection of her family. But so many responsibilities,” he said, thinking out loud, the gun forgotten.

I didn’t know how to bring it up again without being obvious, so I let him talk about Giulia, not really listening, too nervous to pay attention. He knew. At least one of Rosa’s pieces had failed her. More than one? The one that led to Ca’ Venti? The important thing now was to let her know, before anyone showed his face, walked into Cavallini’s waiting hands. I glanced again at the bulge near his breast pocket, ready.

There were more good-byes when I turned off for the traghetto. I waited, counting off seconds, then went back to the calle to make sure he had kept going, finally spotting his head in the crowd moving toward San Marco. A few minutes later I followed, far enough behind to be out of sight.

I was halfway across Campo San Moise to the hotel entrance when it occurred to me that if Cavallini knew anything at all, he’d have somebody watching the Bauer. I stopped and turned, pretending to look at the church but scanning the rest of the square. A café at the other end would probably have a phone. I could get her to come down without having to show myself in the lobby.

After a few rings, the operator asked if I wanted to leave a message. I hung up. What if she never came back? But there was nowhere else to reach her and the café had a clear sightline to the hotel, so I ordered a coffee and stood at the window to wait. She hadn’t checked out. Maybe she was planning a routine afternoon, as blameless as an evening at La Fenice. I had another coffee. A small group of tourists stopped to take pictures of San Moise, kneeling and shooting up to get the full effect of the grimy rococo swirls. I craned slightly to the left, around them, afraid I’d miss her. A man at the other end of the window counter looked at me, then quickly went back to his book. Why did I assume the police would be in the lobby—why not here, with a good view of the door? There was no other way out of the Bauer except the gondola landing. I looked around. Why hadn’t I brought a newspaper? No one stood for this long looking out a window unless he was waiting for somebody. A meeting the man couldn’t miss, just glancing up from his book.

After another cigarette I decided to play it safe and leave, but just as I turned I saw Claudia coming into the square, carrying a wrapped box. I dropped my head, a reflex. The last person I wanted to see.

“I don’t want any part of it,” she’d said when I told her Rosa’s plan yesterday.

“You won’t have any part of it. Neither will I. We won’t be here.”

“And you believe her? A crazy woman.”

“She knows what she’s doing. It’s what she did in the war. If anybody can get him away—”

“Yes, and when he’s gone, then where do they look?”

“We’ll be out somewhere. No connection.”

“Another alibi,” she’d said, turning away but dropping it, tired of arguing. After that, neither of us mentioned it.

The man with the book now looked at me again. I had to be waiting for somebody, even somebody I didn’t want to see. I rapped a coin on the window, making Claudia turn her head.

“What are you doing here?” she said after I’d kissed her, made a show of getting another coffee.

“Not too loud. I think he’s police,” I said, moving my eyes toward the other end of the window. She glanced over, startled. “It’s okay. Just have coffee with me, I’ll explain it later. What’s in the box?”

“Lace,” she said vaguely, still distracted by the man. “A special order, at the Europa. Why police? What are you doing?”

“Waiting for Rosa. I have to warn her.”

She stared at me.

“Drink the coffee.”

“Warn her. And then they’ll see you together. And me. I told you I didn’t—I’m leaving.”

But just then the man closed his book and started going through his pockets for change. After dropping a few coins in the saucer, he headed for the door.

“See if he goes to the Bauer,” I said, my back to the window, not wanting to turn around.

“No. San Marco.”

“Then there must be someone in the lobby.”

She looked at me, disturbed. “Are you crazy now too?”

“Somebody has to be watching. They know.”

“They know? And you’re waiting for her?”

“She has to call it off.”

“They’ll see you with her.”

“We just happened to run into each other. Had a coffee. That’s all.”

Claudia moved to leave, but I put my hand on her arm, holding her.

“We have to tell her,” I said. “She’d be walking into a trap.”

“Oh, but not us.” She looked down at her coffee. “How long have you been here? If they’re watching—”

“I’ll say I was waiting for you.” I glanced at my watch. “Just give it a few more minutes. She has to come back sometime.”

But we had finished another coffee before Claudia finally looked over my shoulder and nodded. “Ecco. La brigadiera.”

Rosa was coming over the bridge, improbably, with a shopping bag. I hurried out. An accidental meeting.

“You’ve been shopping?” I said, a public voice, then under it, “I have to talk to you. Cavallini knows.”

“What?” she said, surprised at my being there.

“Come and have a coffee,” I said, still public. “Claudia’s here.”

She studied me, then followed me inside. Claudia was bringing a new cup over from the bar. She handed it to her but didn’t meet her eyes, barely acknowledging her.

“You have to call it off. Cavallini knows. They’ll be waiting for you.”

“What?” she said again, loud this time, so I leaned closer to her to tell her the rest, just a murmur to anyone else, barely audible over the steam hiss of the coffeemaker. She took it in blankly, staring out at the campo. When I finished, she asked for a cigarette and glanced around the room while I lit it for her.

“Calm down,” she said, looking at my fingers, shaking a little.

“It’s the coffee—I’ve been waiting. I was afraid I wouldn’t get to you in time. I didn’t know where you were.”

“You’re panicking,” she said, blowing out smoke.

“No. He knows.”

She shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. Stop worrying. It’ll be all right.”

“How can you say that?” Claudia snapped. “How can it be all right?”

“Claudia.”

“You want to drag everyone down with you?” Claudia said, then turned away, a frustrated gesture, as if she were stamping her foot.

“You can’t go through with it now,” I said quietly.

“We have to. They move him tonight. So you had a friendly talk. So he’s wearing a gun. This doesn’t prove anything.”

“You can’t take that chance. You’ve got people to think about. Someone must have talked.”

“Maybe. It doesn’t matter.”

“Of course it does. I know, everyone just knows his piece. But one piece leads to another. One of the links breaks, the whole thing can fall apart. All it takes is one.”

She took a sip of coffee, slowing the moment. “Only if he really knows what is going to happen.”

I looked at her. “And no one does?”

“It wouldn’t be wise, would it? If someone did talk.”

“You told everybody a different story?” Claudia said. “Including Adam?”

“A man so friendly with the police.”

“You think I’d tell them?”

“The boy didn’t think he was betraying us either. Helping. Medicine.” She drew on the cigarette, then put it out. “I’m never going to be in that house again. Now stop worrying. Maybe Cavallini thinks he knows something, but he doesn’t. I told you we’d be careful.”

“You also said they weren’t expecting you. But they are. They know something’s happening.”

“That can’t be helped. We always knew there was a risk in getting him.” She looked up. “But not to you. Or you,” she said to Claudia. “So stop scaring yourselves and go home. If it’s true about Cavallini, you don’t want to be seen with me.” She put her hand on my arm. “Just open the gate.”

“If he’s coming at all. Or is that part of the story real?”

She smiled. “Someday I’ll tell you. Tonight you see nothing. Maybe someone was there. Maybe a ghost.” She patted my arm. “Thank you for the warning. I know you meant it for the best.”

“But you don’t believe it.”

“It doesn’t matter if I do. It’s too late to stop it now.”

“Not if you want to stop it.”

She gathered up her shopping bag. “But I don’t. There’s no choice—to save him. Cavallini? I can’t worry about him.”

“You have to. The boy could be killed. Do you want that boy’s death on your hands?”

“Do you?” she said sharply.

In the moment that followed, nobody moved. Then Claudia, who’d been staring out the window listening, stepped away from the counter and put herself between us.

“No. Nobody wants that,” she said gently, making peace. “I’m sorry,” she said to Rosa. “It’s just all nerves with us, worried for you. But if it’s the only way—”

I looked at her, surprised, a sudden turn midstream. Rosa, also surprised, said nothing, just shifted the bag in her hand, waiting.

“Then we’ll leave the gate,” Claudia said. “Our piece.”

Rosa didn’t reply, just nodded and went out the door. I watched her start across the campo, dragging her leg, then turned to Claudia, my face a question mark.

“You can’t stop her,” she said. “You can see that. She’s going to do it no matter what.” She picked up the box. “Have you paid? I still have to drop this at the Europa.” Suddenly business as usual.

“There won’t be any way to connect us,” I said, as if we were still arguing, but Claudia just shrugged, resigned to everything now.

I followed her out and over the bridge to the passage to the Europa, lined with gondoliers, a few of them halfheartedly making a pitch but most just smoking, waiting for tourists from the hotel.

“But she’s so pigheaded,” I said. “What if something goes wrong?”

“Then she’s caught, not you,” Claudia said coolly.

I looked up at her. “And if he’s killed?”

She turned to me, her eyes steady. “Then they’ll never look anywhere else.”

I stood for a moment, vaguely aware of the doorman holding open the door, white gloves on the handles, Claudia walking through, but not really seeing any of it, my stomach lurching as if we had just stepped off something, amazed somehow that no one had noticed us falling.

“Signor,” the doorman said, and then I was in the lobby, watching Claudia hand the box to the man at the front desk, and for an odd moment I felt I was looking at someone else. No longer just covering tracks, wiping away smears of blood. Wishing for someone’s death. So they’d never look anywhere else.

A waiter in the terrace dining room smiled, unaware that anything terrible had happened. Through the window I could see Salute, white and swirling, exactly the way it had been when we’d flirted on the boat, just across the water from where we were now.