The Devil in Music (58 page)

Julian
was resolved to speak his mind before he was given his conge. "Do
you seriously mean to arrest Marchesa Francesca?"

"If
I did," said Grimani, "it would be no business of yours.
However, since you've been good enough to assist me, I'll admit I
haven't made an official decision yet. I want to question the
household and hear from the soldiers who are making enquiries in the
neighbourhood, to see if anyone can substantiate this fairy-tale she
told us."

"It
could be true," said Julian. "There's nothing impossible
in it, and it's consistent with all the evidence."

"Barely
consistent," said Grimani. "The best that can be said for
it is that we can neither prove nor disprove it. No one is likely to
have

been
watching that side of the villa at that hour. And if Marchesa
Francesca left any smears or footprints on the balconies or walls,
the rain would have washed them away. But her story leaves all
manner of circumstances unexplained. If she escaped as she says she
did, why was Marchese Rinaldo's chain unfastened, the bloodstained
key in the lock, and the front door unbarred?"

"Oh,
there's no doubt," said Julian softly, "if Marchesa
Francesca is innocent, then someone has deliberately set out to pin
the murder on her."

"That's
pure fancy," scoffed Grimani.

"You
will allow, Signor Commissario, that there was no reason for anyone
but Francesca, who was locked in with Marchese Rinaldo, to take his
key after he was dead and use it to unlock the door. That he was
killed with his own razor would be all of a piece with the scheme to
implicate her. So would the unbarred front door, meant to suggest
that she left the villa that way."

"Why
should we pursue such a tortuous theory, when we can make sense of
all the evidence by concluding that she's guilty?"

"But
we can't," Julian objected. "Take the nightgown, for
instance. You seem to think she disposed of it because she was
wearing it when she killed Rinaldo, and it was stained with his
blood. But if she were so concerned to cover her tracks, why the
devil did she leave Rinaldo's chain unfastened, and the bloodstained
key in the lock?"

"I'm
aware that such inconsistencies intrigue you. For my part, I accept
that a woman who has just atrociously killed her husband is unlikely
to behave very rationally. Last night she was mad; today she is
sane, and has made up a clever story to account for her disposal of
her nightgown, and at the same time gain sympathy for herself and
throw blame on her victim."

"A
medical examination would tell us whether she was roughly handled
last night," said MacGregor.

"She
may have one if she likes," said Grimani, "but it's
immaterial. If that's all the evidence she can muster, she'll
certainly be convicted."

Julian
asked musingly, "Don't you wonder that she didn't try to escape
from the neighbourhood, assuming she'd killed her husband? She had
hours to get away. She might have taken one of the boats or lost
herself in the mountains."

"We
would have found her," said Grimani imperturbably. "She
probably knew that."

"When
the soldiers found her in the chapel, she came with them

willingly,
though if she'd resisted I can't think they would have dragged her
from the altar."

"She'd
made up her mind by then to pretend she didn't know her husband was
dead," said Grimani. "So naturally she had to return with
the soldiers as if nothing were amiss."

Julian
played his trump card. "What about that drop of candle wax on
top of the blood on Rinaldo's sheet? The only candles in the room
had never been lit."

Grimani's
brows came together. "She could have had a candle hidden in the
room and used it to commit the murder, then afterward thrown it into
the lake along with her nightgown."

"Why
should she have needed a candle, when the oil lamp would give her
perfectly adequate light?"

"The
lamp might have gone out," said MacGregor.

"Then
she would have had no means of lighting a candle," said Julian,
"except by striking a light with the under box, which takes a
long time and makes an infernal amount of noise. More to the point,
Tommaso said he'd removed all the old candles. That means Francesca
would have had to smuggle a candle into the room before she went to
bed. And why should she have done so?"

Grimani
glared at him and took an impatient turn about the room. "One
drop of wax is nothing, compared with all the evidence against her."

"How
can it be nothing," Julian countered, "when it can't be
explained?"

Grimani
resumed his pacing. He had integrity of a sort, Julian thought.
That drop of wax was an objective fact he could not blink away. It
might not prevent him from convicting Francesca, but all the same, he
wanted it accounted for.

"What
are you suggesting?" he said at last. "That someone came
into the room and killed Marchese Rinaldo after Marchesa Francesca
had left by the balcony? By her own account, the door was locked,
and the key was around Marchese Rinaldo's neck. Neither the lock nor
the door was tampered with. So how would this person have gotten
in?"

"I
suppose that if Francesca escaped by the balcony, the ledge, and the
south terrace wall, someone could enter by the same means. But I
suspect there was an easier way. With your permission, Signer
Commissario, I should like to try an experiment one that won't
disturb any of the evidence."

"Very
well." Grimani sounded sceptical, but also a little intrigued.

Julian
led them upstairs to Rinaldo's room. Curioni was there, making out
the death certificate. When they had all exchanged greetings, Julian
and Grimani went out of the room, and at Julian's behest, MacGregor
locked the door from the inside.

"Now,
Signer Commissario," said Julian, "I should like a key to
one of the nearby rooms. Your own will do."

Grimani
eyed him dubiously but fetched his key. Julian tried it in Rinaldo's
lock. The door opened.

Grimani
stared. Then his eyes flashed angrily. "Exactly what do you
claim to have proved?"

"Not
that you committed the murder, Signer Commissario," said Julian
with a faint smile. "Though it does appear, theoretically, that
you might have done so. Your key opens this lock, and I shouldn't be
surprised if some of the other guests' keys do as well. It's not
uncommon in houses like this for bedroom keys to match. It
facilitates discreet visits "

"I
understand, Signer Kestrel." Grimani took stock. "So you
think Marchesa Francesca escaped as she says she did, and afterward
someone entered the room, killed Marchese Rinaldo, and tried to pin
the murder on her. It's far-fetched. To begin with, how did this
intruder know he would find the marchese alone?"

"Because
he saw Marchesa Francesca escape. He might have looked out of this
window" Julian went to the window at the end of the hallway,
between Rinaldo's and Grimani's rooms "or one of the
south-facing windows downstairs. He might even have gone for a
stroll in the garden, though that's not very likely, on account of
the rain."

Julian
was mindful that the person most likely to have witnessed Francesca's
escape was Grimani, whose window overlooked the south terrace, and
whose balcony she had actually entered. But he tactfully kept this
to himself.

Curioni
and MacGregor came out of Rinaldo's room. Curioni confirmed
MacGregor's conclusions about the time and cause of Rinaldo's death.
It was agreed that, with the permission of Conte Carlo, Rinaldo's
nearest adult male relative, the body would be cleaned, dressed, and
taken to Solaggio for display in the church.

"I'll
leave those arrangements to you," Grimani told Curioni. He cast
Julian a look of icy acknowledgement. "I'm going to ask the
marchesa how many other keys open this door."

When
Grimani, Julian, and MacGregor came downstairs, they found a
contingent of Ruga's gendarmes waiting in the Hall of Marbles to
report to Grimani. Their discoveries were mostly negative. No one
in Solaggio had seen Francesca last night or observed any suspicious
strangers in the neighbourhood. But there was one surprising fact:
Valeriano, thought to be well on his way to Venice, had spent the
night at the Nightingale and was still in Solaggio.

"Have
you made enquiries at the inn to find out if anyone saw Marchesa
Francesca last night?" asked Grimani. "She may have known
Signer Valeriano was there and gone to him after the murder."

The
gendarme who was acting as spokesman shook his head. "Signora
Frascani says she takes care to secure all the doors and windows at
night, Signer Commissario, and nobody goes in or out without her
knowing."

Julian
could well believe this, although it was anyone's guess whether the
landlady's precautions were to keep thieves out or to keep her
daughter Rosa in. "You say Marchesa Francesca never went in.
Did Signer Valeriano go out?"

"Yes,
signer," said the gendarme. "He was out from before
midnight until two or three in the morning."

"He
met her somewhere and helped her concoct that story of climbing down
from the balcony," said Grimani. "That explains any
inconsistency between her recklessness last night and her artfulness
this morning."

"It
didn't look like art to me," said MacGregor.

"If
you had any expertise in police matters, Signer Dottor," said

Grimani,
"you would know that suspects fighting for their lives develop
extraordinary acting abilities where they had none before. I know
what you will say, Signer Kestrel: that drop of wax on Marchese
Rinaldo's sheet has yet to be explained. I've been thinking about
that. All the evidence suggests that Marchesa Francesca killed her
husband, unlocked the door of their room, went downstairs, and left
the house by the front door. Someone in a bedroom along the hall
might have looked out, seen her leaving, and taken advantage of her
absence to go in and speak to Marchese Rinaldo. This person found
him dead, and while looking at his body, dropped wax from a candle he
had brought into the room."

Julian
nodded resignedly. Grimani was very far from being a fool: he was
bound to think of this sooner or later.

"Why
didn't this person raise the alarm?" MacGregor wanted to know.

"He
might have been afraid of being accused of the murder," said
Julian. "Or perhaps he feared to incriminate Francesca. Then
again, he might have seen an opportunity to do something
hole-and-corner to search the room, perhaps even take something away
with him."

"I'll
have all the rooms on the corridor searched," said Grimani.
"You," he ordered the gendarmes, "bring Signor
Valeriano here at once."

The
gendarmes departed. Grimani, Julian, and MacGregor went into the
drawing room, where the guests were still unhappily congregated. Don
Cristoforo was with them, discussing funeral arrangements with Carlo.
Grimani asked where the marchesa was, and on learning she was still
upstairs with Francesca, rang for a servant to ask her to join them.
He also sent for Zanetti to interpret and take notes.

Zanetti
hastened in with his portable writing-desk. He had finished
questioning the servants, and reported that they all slept two or
three to a room and had thus been able to give one another alibis.
It was always possible, of course, that one of them had slipped away
without awakening his companions, but Zanetti had uncovered no cause
for suspicion against any of them. Moreover, all their rooms were
equipped with chamber pots as, for that matter, were their masters'
which eliminated the most obvious reason for roaming the halls at
night.

"Do
even upper servants like Ernesto and Guido share rooms?" asked
Julian.

Carlo
looked around at him rather sharply.

"Ernesto
and Guido are doubled with one another, signor," said Zanetti.
"They gave each other alibis."

Julian
had no faith in Guido's word, but he did trust Ernesto's. Which
meant he must scratch Guido from the list of suspects.

The
marchesa came in. Carlo went to her at once, asking, "How is
Francesca?"

"A
bit more tranquil. I've persuaded her to try to sleep a little."

Grimani
walked brusquely up to her. "How many other rooms in the villa
have keys that fit Marchese Rinaldo's lock?"