Sent to the Devil (34 page)

I stared at the large clear teardrop. “No. What's so important about it?”

My friend sighed. “You must have been paying all your attention to the wearer, not the jewel. She was wearing it the night we went to the ball at the Redoutensaal.”

My ordeal with Urbanek must have affected my brain somehow, because all I could do was stare at the earring. I had no idea what Casanova was talking about. “Who was?” I finally asked.

“Your lady, Lorenzo. Miss Cavalli.”

 

Thirty-nine

“No, there must be some other explanation,” I stammered as I took the earring from Casanova's palm. “It is a common design. Many women in Vienna must own a pair. Someone lost it last fall. I'm sure of it.”

Casanova picked up the brooch the constable had shown Benda and me at the Belvedere that awful morning. “Look, Lorenzo. This brooch is covered with dirt. The earring is clean. It was lost recently.” He sighed and took the earring from me. “I know my jewels. This is not from a common pair. It is expensive, made to order for a wealthy lady.”

I said nothing. My thoughts were in a muddle. Casanova took the leather pouch and started to put the items in the pile back into it. “What are you doing?” I asked.

“Let me take the bag, my friend. I'll throw it in the river. Let us agree that Felix Urbanek killed von Gerl.”

I shook my head. “But—”

Casanova held up his hand. “Yes, I know. No Dante excerpts were sent to von Gerl. Very well. There's a simple explanation for that—they were in the palace somewhere. You weren't able to find them, that is all.”

“But Urbanek didn't seem to know who I was talking about when I mentioned von Gerl,” I said.

Casanova was silent. He rolled the earring back and forth between his large fingers. “Why would Marta kill von Gerl?” he asked.

A sudden weariness swept over me. “He seduced her back in Venice. She believed they were married, so she traveled here to be with him. He rejected her.”

Casanova exhaled loudly. We sat quietly for a moment. My stomach churned.

“But how would Marta know to carve the forehead?” he asked. He set the earring on the desk in front of him. “Did you tell her anything about the previous murders?”

“No, not until after von Gerl was killed. But she's been about in the city. Rumors are everywhere. She could easily have heard that the killer was carving the foreheads.”

Casanova put the last items into the pouch and drew the string closed. He placed it gently on the desk next to the earring. “What will you do?” he asked.

“I don't know.”

He stood. “Listen to me, Lorenzo. Don't be a fool. It is obvious that you love this woman.”

I opened my mouth to speak, but my friend continued.

“How old are you?” he asked.

“Thirty-nine last month,” I answered.

“Learn from my experience, my friend. A man's attractiveness to women begins to fade as he ages. I am loath to admit it, and I confide in you only because you are one of my dearest friends. It happened to me just when I was your age. Suddenly the young beauties no longer responded to my charms.” He drew on his cloak. “Urbanek is dead, Lorenzo. He is facing God's judgment now. It matters little whether he killed four men or five. Take my advice. Seize your chance for happiness.”

 

Forty

After Casanova left I sat at my desk for what seemed like hours.

Marta had murdered von Gerl. She had been distraught about his rejection of her. She had heard rumors about the killings, and had somehow lured him out to Christiane Albrechts's summer palace. What better place to kill her former lover? She knew Christiane's household had not yet moved out to the palace, and that the grounds would be empty. What message had she sent von Gerl to summon him to the gardens that balmy night?

Now that I thought about it, it was probable that she had considered killing him all along, even before she left Venice, when it was apparent that he would not send for her. She must have taken a dagger from her uncle's collection and carried it with her. I lifted my head. She had certainly played me for a fool. Sensing my attraction to her, she had pretended to return my feelings, made love with me—no, I should admit it, whored with me—to deflect attention from her own motives for von Gerl's murder. Her tears when she told me she felt abandoned, her happiness the night we attended the theater together, her cries of passion during our lovemaking—all had been an act.

I reached over and picked up the earring. Casanova was right. I had been so wrapped up in Marta—in her silken, gold-flecked hair; her soft green eyes; her full lips—that I had never really looked at the jewels Christiane had loaned her. To me, her beauty needed no adornment. A pang of longing stabbed me. Despite what I now thought about her, I still wanted to rush back to my lodgings, take her in my arms, and make love to her again.

I tossed the jewel on the desk. Maybe I should heed Casanova's advice. After all, perhaps Marta had felt herself justified in killing von Gerl. He had seduced her, made promises to her, and then thrown her away. I was not a woman. I had no idea how desperate she may have felt. I should just return the earring to the pouch and let everything be.

I buried my head in my hands. I did not know what to do. Should I confront her with the earring? Or should I lie to myself and convince myself that Urbanek killed von Gerl? The horrible memory of Alois's mutilated body lying at the base of the Capistran Chancel filled my mind. I had found my friend's killer. His soul could now rest in peace. But what about von Gerl's soul? Shouldn't his true killer be punished? And what about my own peace of mind? Could I go home to Marta, make love to her, and live with her the rest of my life, knowing she was a murderer?

 

Forty-one

I found Marta sitting on the garden bench. She jumped up when she saw me.

“Lorenzo! What happened to you? Your neck—you look terrible!” She gingerly reached out to touch the bandages.

I brushed her hand away. “Where were you the night von Gerl was murdered, Marta?” I asked.

Her eyes widened as she hesitated. “I don't remember, Lorenzo. Is it important?”

“Think. You spent the day with Christiane Albrechts. Benda told me you had left the palais before he arrived home at six. But when I knocked on your door at eight, you were not here.”

She sat back down on the bench.

“Why are you asking me this, Lorenzo?”

“Please, Marta. Answer me.”

She chewed on her lip and looked away from me. “I heard you knock,” she said in a small voice. “I just didn't wish to speak to you that night.”

I sat down next to her and grabbed her arm.

“Where were you?”

She jerked away from my grasp. “I just told you! I was in bed, asleep.” She rubbed her arm. “You hurt me, Lorenzo.”

“Don't lie to me,” I said.

“I don't understand!” she cried. “What is this all about?” She peered into my face. “Why are you looking at me like that? What is it you think I have done?”

“Were you with von Gerl?”

“No!”

I remembered what had seemed odd about von Gerl's body when Benda and I examined it. Only the top button of his breeches had been fastened.

Jealousy surged through me. “You were at the Belvedere with him, weren't you?”

“No! I don't know what you are talking about! What is the Belvedere?”

“The Albrechts summer palace. You must know of it. Surely in your conversations with Christiane she mentioned it to you. The household has been preparing to move out there.” I stared into her frightened eyes. “You were with von Gerl in the gardens, making love to him, weren't you?”

She rose to her feet. “I don't know what you are talking about, Lorenzo,” she said. “You are mad!”

My voice turned to ice. “Did you moan with pleasure at his touch the same way you did with me? Tell me!”

She turned away from me, buried her face in her hands, and wept. “No, no! You don't understand! You have everything wrong.”

I pulled the earring from my coat pocket. “Look at this, Marta! It was found near von Gerl's body. Tell me how it got there!”

She raised her head and stared at the earring. She shook her head violently. “No, no! You cannot think—no, how can you think that? I swear to you, Lorenzo! I didn't see Valentin that night. I swear!”

“I don't believe you. You are hiding something from me.”

Her body crumpled onto the bench. “I was not with Valentin that night,” she murmured. “But I had planned to be.”

“What do you mean?”

She sighed. “The night you and I went to the theater—the night before Valentin was killed—he had sent me a message that afternoon. He wanted to see me again. He apologized for ignoring me. He told me he wished to make amends for his behavior and resume our relationship.” Her voice faltered. “He asked me to come to his palace the next night. He said he wanted to make love to me again.”

I sat silently.

“I went to Christiane's the next day. When I returned here, I washed and changed my clothes, then took a cab to Valentin's house. I arrived a little after seven. That beast Teuber let me in. He told me Valentin was dressing, and had asked me to wait in the library for him. Teuber took me there. I waited for almost an hour. Finally, when I had had enough, I went to the door to call for Teuber, to demand that he take me to Valentin's chamber. But the door had been locked, the key taken away.”

She twisted her hands together in her lap. “I waited there for hours, but Valentin never came. It was obvious that he was playing with me, that he never intended to resume our marriage. He had summoned me there to humiliate me once again. I cried myself to sleep on the sofa. I don't know how long I slept. Later, Teuber came and shook me awake. He told me his master would not be able to see me. He took me downstairs and called a cab for me.”

“What time was it?” I asked in a strangled voice.

“Very late. I heard the clock in the dining room strike as I was leaving. It was one o'clock.”

My heart was numb.

She looked up at me. “You think I murdered Valentin, don't you, Lorenzo? How can you think that? It shows how little you know of me. I loved him. He was the only man I ever truly loved.”

My mouth was dry. I said nothing. Finally, I held out the earring. “But how do you explain this? How did it get to the Belvedere if you were locked in von Gerl's library, as you say?”

She stared at the jewel. “I don't know. But I swear to you, I did not kill Valentin. And I no longer had the earrings that night, anyway. I returned them to Christiane when I went to dinner that afternoon.”

 

Forty-two

I tossed and turned in my lonely bed most of the night, my mind turning over possibilities and theories, working to avoid dwelling on Marta's confession that she still loved von Gerl. I must have slept a bit, for when I awoke, mid-morning light was streaming through my window. I groaned at the thought of the encounter ahead of me.

I washed and dressed, then took my cloak and satchel and left the house. My landlady was in the garden, tending the beds. She looked up when she saw me. “Good morning, signore,” she called.

I waved at her and turned to go out into the street. She rose from her work and hurried after me. “Is everything all right, signore?” she asked, catching my arm.

“What do you mean, Madame Lamm? I am just in a hurry to get to work,” I lied.

She flushed. “I know it should not be my concern, signore, but Miss Cavalli was down in the kitchen for breakfast an hour ago. She asked me to send a boy to inquire about the coach to Trieste. She told me she has decided to return to Venice.”

She paused, waiting for my response. I said nothing.

“She's upstairs now, signore, packing her things.”

I hesitated for a moment and then set my jaw. “I must go into the city, madame,” I said. “Would you do something for me while I am gone?”

She nodded.

“Please, if you could, try to stall Miss Cavalli's departure. I must speak to her, but there is something I must do first.”

My landlady's eyes gleamed. “I'll do my best, signore.”

“Thank you, Madame Lamm! Do not let her leave!” I hurried out of the courtyard and into the street.

*   *   *

The courtyard of the Palais Albrechts was deserted. I hammered on the door. A minute later, the steward opened the door.

“Signor Da Ponte?” he said. “Can I help you? Count Benda is not at home.”

“I must speak with your mistress right away,” I said. I pushed by him and stepped into the foyer.

“Please, signore,” the steward said. “My mistress is very ill. I am sorry, but I cannot allow you to bother her.”

A faint voice floated down the stairs. “Who is it, Altmann?”

I glanced at the steward, then bounded up the stairs and turned into the salon. Christiane, her skin gray as ash, her cheeks hollow, huddled in the large armchair.

“Oh, Signor Da Ponte,” she said. “It is you. Are you looking for Richard? He has not yet returned from his estate in Bohemia.”

“I am here to speak with you, mademoiselle,” I said.

The steward bustled in. “Shall I remove this man, mademoiselle?” he asked.

She looked from him to me, and took a deep breath. “No. I will speak with Signor Da Ponte. Please leave us and shut the door.”

The steward frowned at me as he left us.

“Please, signore. Come sit down.”

I took a seat on the sofa, my back to the door. “You must know why I am here,” I said.

She sat in silence, staring down at her hands. Across from me, the large clock ticked loudly.

“Yes,” she finally said.

I handed her the earring.

“Where did you find it? Near his body?” she asked.