Chapter 20
Detective Roberto Gallo stepped off the train at Venice Santa Lucia station and looked around him. He was a staid, serious-looking figure, wearing a dark grey suit and a black wool overcoat, incongruous amongst the eager tourists who were arriving from all over the continent. Even here, people were dressed for Carnevale in extravagant costumes and bright colours.
Though he was outwardly unmoved, Detective Gallo was daunted by the city. He’d rarely left his home province, save for the occasional holiday in the Italian countryside, or beach holidays in Puglia with his wife, and this was his first time in Venice. He felt like a country mouse amidst the crowds. Outside the station, the Grand Canal itself lay across the small piazza, the domed church of San Simeone Piccolo dominating the background, flanked by magnificent palazzos in faded shades of cream and terracotta.
Detective Gallo knew that the Doge’s Palace and the magnificence of St Mark’s Square were just a short boat ride away, and part of him was tempted to do some sightseeing, but that wasn’t what he was here for. This was business, not pleasure, and he needed to get started right away.
He strolled over to the line of water taxis, approaching the first in the queue, and said in low tones, ‘The White Palace Hotel.’ The driver nodded, and Roberto stepped on board, settling himself in his seat, his overnight bag resting on his lap as the boat pulled away into the traffic of the canal.
It was a bright and sunny February day, though the temperature was hovering just above freezing, and Venice was looking splendid. Detective Gallo was open-mouthed at the views, wondering why he hadn’t visited before. The city was astonishing, over a thousand years of history proudly on display, like a living museum.
His journey took him almost the full length of the Grand Canal, chugging beneath the Rialto Bridge as scores of tourists leaned out from the distinctive balustrade. A handful of them waved; Roberto Gallo did not wave back.
They passed the Palazzo Grassi, then wove beneath the Ponte dell’Accademia, before the iconic church of Santa Maria della Salute hoved into view to the south, with the Piazza San Marco to the north. Then came an enormous white building on its own private island, familiar to Detective Gallo from photographs he’d seen in the many travel brochures he’d browsed.
‘There it is,’ said the driver, a surly man with a balding head and a shabby overcoat. He looked Detective Gallo up and down. ‘Are you staying there?’ he asked, his tone betraying surprise.
Roberto was aware that he didn’t look like a typical guest of the White Palace Hotel. He wasn’t rich, he wasn’t beautiful, and he was carrying a single small, unbranded bag, not a clutch of monogrammed Louis Vuitton luggage.
‘No,’ he said shortly, meeting the driver’s gaze and handing over the fare. The driver shrugged, unbothered, and turned his gaze towards his destination.
The White Palace Hotel was certainly impressive, Detective Gallo thought. It was a four-storey palazzo painted, as its name suggested, completely white, with its roof tiled in the distinctive terracotta that was used throughout the city. He knew that all kinds of extremely wealthy, high-profile people stayed here: celebrities, CEOs, heads of state. If she was here, then she’d done well for herself.
Detective Gallo paid the fare without tipping and requested a receipt, which made the driver grumble. The cost of the journey was extortionate enough, Gallo reflected, without adding extras, and he wasn’t sure he’d be able to claim the expense back without his superior questioning it. But how else was he supposed to reach a private island, if not by boat? The vaparetti didn’t stop here – yet another plus point for those guests seeking complete privacy. No one could set foot on the Isola dell’Angelo unless they were a guest or a member of staff.
The driver wasn’t permitted to take the private channel that led directly inside the hotel, so he’d stopped at the jetty on the north of the island, where Roberto disembarked and strode up the steps. A uniformed bellboy, stationed just inside the enormous glass double doors, rushed across to help, but Roberto Gallo irritably waved him away.
Detective Gallo found himself wondering about the lives of the people who would stay here. They would be in complete contrast to his own, mostly unremarkable existence as a country policeman solving unremarkable crimes. Except this one.
He’d seen photographs in the paper of Lucia de Santis arriving earlier that week, and knew that the Hollywood actor Brad Redford was also staying at the White Palace while he worked on a new film in the city.
Still, Roberto mused, if he could resolve the case that had been plaguing him for a decade, it would bring its own rewards.
The inside of the hotel was even more impressive than the outside, with a polished marble floor and ornately carved pillars, frescoes decorating the walls and chandeliers made from handblown glass. A pianist played gentle background music on a grand piano, and the entire building had an astonishing air of calm and sophistication that Roberto had never experienced before.
He approached the long, polished-wood reception desk, where the woman greeted him with a practised smile.
‘Good afternoon, welcome to the White Palace Hotel, how may I assist you?’
She wore a name badge that read ‘Vittoria’, and she had dark hair pulled back into a neat chignon at the nape of her neck. She wore a white shirt beneath a navy waistcoat, and discreet gold jewellery at her ears and neck. Detective Gallo stared at her for a moment before ruling her out; her face was rounder, her nose wider.
‘Good afternoon,’ he smiled shortly, pulling out his ID card and pushing it across the counter. ‘My name is Detective Roberto Gallo, and I’m looking for a missing person. I wondered if you’d seen her before.’ He pulled a photograph from his inside pocket and slid it across the desk towards her, taking back his ID.
It was a passport-style photo, a head-and-shoulders shot showing a young woman of around fifteen or sixteen years old, with long dark hair and a pretty face. She had green eyes and an innocent expression.
Vittoria picked up the photograph, stared at it and frowned.
‘Yes, she does look familiar,’ she said finally. ‘But we have so many people pass through here, I couldn’t place her. I’m sure you understand.’
‘Her name is Maria Monti,’ Detective Gallo pressed. ‘Does that mean anything to you?’
Again, Vittoria paused for a moment, clearly thinking hard, then shook her head. ‘No, I’m afraid not. I could look through the guests’ records if you give me some time – perhaps come back another day when I’ve had time to check?’
Detective Gallo smiled politely but without warmth. ‘And you have no employees of that name?’
‘I don’t think so, although I can’t be certain. We might have had someone in the past. We have a lot of seasonal workers in the summer, and for Carnevale. But we do keep scrupulous records,’ she said proudly.
‘Naturally.’ Detective Gallo inclined his head. ‘Well, thank you for your help, Vittoria. Here’s my card if you do happen to remember anything. It has the details of my station and department. While I’m in the city, you can contact them; they can get a message to me if needed.’
Vittoria took it without glancing at it and put it in a drawer behind the desk. ‘I understand.’
‘Perhaps, while I’m here, I’ll stay for a coffee. Could you point me in the right direction?’
‘Of course, Detective. Our lounge is just across the lobby and to your right.’
‘Thank you for your time. You’ve been very helpful,’ Detective Gallo said, as he turned and walked away. Before he took the boat back across the lagoon, he would take a good look round the White Palace Hotel. It wasn’t that he distrusted what Vittoria had told him, but it never hurt to check everything thoroughly for himself.
The detective settled himself into a quiet corner seat in one of the lounges and ordered a black coffee from one of the waiters. He took out his notebook, and looked once more at his notes.
Of facts there were few, but they were straightforward.
Lorenzo Mancini had disappeared ten years ago, and now his body had been found. The relative isolation of the ledge, its aspect out of the sunlight and the detritus that had accumulated over the decade had meant that the body was remarkably well preserved.
The boy’s watch was still on his wrist, and caught up in the strap had been a cluster of hairs. They had been lucky to be able to identify some of the DNA, and it was tracked down via a family member to the Montis in Cannegia. This was where he had met Maria’s mother. Wizened and crippled by arthritis, she had no doubt about her daughter’s culpability.
‘The only thing I can tell you is that Maria was always going to be trouble. Her father worshipped her, but I knew she had something bad in her, il diavolo .’ The old woman glared out at him from her chair in her small, one-bedroomed apartment, handing him a photograph of a teenaged girl. She was smiling; her dark hair circled her face in long curls.
‘But she was only fifteen years old?’
The flat was filled with pictures of her other children at various moments in their lives, but her mother had no pictures of Maria on display.
‘What has that got to do with it? I was made a young widow because of her, causing her poor father so much grief!’
Inspector Gallo sighed as he looked out over the Lido. Was he just a foolish old man? Why wasn’t he out fishing on the lake back home, instead of chasing the shadows of the past?
‘A penny for them?’
He was awakened out of his reverie by a warm English accent, and turned to look at the woman who had seated herself at the next table.
‘Do forgive me, you looked quite lost in thought,’ she said to him.
The woman was attractive, and in her fifties, though her lively eyes could have been those of a curious child. Inspector Gallo thought that there wouldn’t be very much that those eyes missed.
‘ è un piacere conoscervi , my name is Roberto. You are English?’
‘Oh yes, very.’ She laughed and Gallo couldn’t help smiling too. ‘I’m Olivia. Are you on holiday here, Roberto? Venice is a wonderful place, isn’t it?’
‘Oh yes, I have never been to Venice before, it’s even more impressive than I was led to believe, but I am … how shall I put it, it’s not exactly a holiday as such … maybe you’d call it a working holiday.’
Olivia rubbed her hands, ‘Oooh I do like a mystery. Now let me guess, you’re having a madly passionate affair … No, you look too honest for that. I know, you’re a secret agent from Interpol looking for public enemy number one. He’s in disguise and you have to work out which guest he is?’
Gallo hesitated, thinking that this English lady was closer than she thought.
Olivia clapped her hands, ‘Oh, I am right, how marvellous!’ Her voice dropped to a stage whisper. ‘I mustn’t give the game away!’
Gallo smiled reassuringly, ‘Don’t worry, I’m not from Interpol, but I am trying to get to the bottom of an old case.’
‘You’re a detective?’
‘Inspector Roberto Gallo at your service.’
Olivia was thrilled with this, and her eyes sparkled with delight. ‘I knew there was something special about you, Roberto.’
Gallo didn’t normally fraternize with the public, but there was something about Olivia that was making him reveal more than he would normally. She was rather charismatic.
‘And what about you? You are here for pleasure?’
She told him all about her upcoming wedding. ‘I truly believe that this is the most perfect place in the world to get married.’
‘You have been married before?’
Olivia told him about the loss of her first husband and meeting Max for the first time in the White Palace.
Her eyes took on a faraway look. ‘Losing Simon was the worst thing that ever happened to me. And I never thought I’d get over it, but Max – and Gina – made sure that my convalescence in Venice could also heal my soul. They showed me that learning to live again was possible.’
‘So, it was love at first sight?’ he asked her.
‘Oh, not quite, Max was married at the time you see …’
Olivia didn’t think she’d ever get used to walking with a stick, but finally she was starting to think of it as a help rather than a hindrance.
There’s worse that could happen – you could be dead.
Two years after her trip to Venice, when her mind and body were still feeling broken, Olivia was learning to embrace life again. There were times after losing Simon that she had wished she could have died too, but not any longer, and certainly not today.
‘You need to get out and about Mum,’ her daughter Sarah had told her. ‘You love history and architecture. Why don’t we go on a trip?’
‘Perhaps, darling, but I don’t want to go anywhere too far away,’ she answered, with slight reluctance.
‘What about Bath, Mum?’ Her daughter’s eyes lit up, reminding Olivia of her father for a moment. ‘I’ve always wanted to see the famous baths.’
‘I went with your father, years ago …’
‘Well, now you can go with me,’ Sarah insisted. ‘I’ll drive us there and we can stay in a hotel for a couple of nights.’
Once they arrived, Olivia was delighted that Sarah had talked her into it. Bath was a wonderful city, and in the sunshine it was truly sparkling. On each corner there was something beautiful to look at in the well-preserved Georgian town. That morning they had taken in the Royal Crescent, and now they were enjoying the wonder of the ancient thermal baths. Olivia had forgotten just what an extraordinary survival from the Roman era they were. But they had been on their feet a long time, and Olivia was flagging a little. Her injuries had healed remarkably quickly, but she could still tire easily.
‘Do you mind if I sit down, Sarah?’ There was a stone seat set into an alcove that looked directly on to the Great Bath. She sat on it with relief. ‘I’ll catch you up.’
‘If you’re sure, Mum?’
While Sarah went off to look at the gift shop, Olivia indulged her imagination and thought about the people who had ‘taken the waters’ in the two millennia since they were built by the Romans. She imagined bloated bureaucrats sharing the same waters as slaves from Abyssinia, Roman wives airing their grievances with each other in the warm spring water flowing down from the Mendip Hills. She was quite lost in her imagination, and barely noticed a man take a seat beside her. That was until he spoke.
‘ Ad astra per aspera, Olivia.’
Olivia felt a strange sensation as she heard the voice, almost as if he was the person she was expecting to hear, or the person she most wanted to hear.
She turned to face the voice.
‘Max!’
‘Through adversity to the stars … It seemed appropriate for the moment – given that it’s a Roman saying, and to sum up how you seem right now. You look quite … restored.’
‘I can’t believe it’s really you! How are you? What are you doing here?’
‘I’m writing a book about Roman art and my research brought me here. What an extraordinary coincidence, running into each other like this.’
They held each other’s gaze for a moment, each revelling in the unexpected reunion.
Olivia and Max had not kept in contact since they had met in Venice, though Olivia had thought about him many times since. He was married, and that was that.
‘Well, quite a lot has changed …’ He gave her an intense look. ‘How about we grab a coffee and I’ll tell you all about it.’
‘I’m here with my daughter.’
‘Then let’s all have a coffee. I’d love to meet her.’
He stood, and put his arm out, which she took without even thinking. It felt like the most natural thing in the world, and an unbidden thought flitted across her mind.
I want this person always by my side.
They looked at each other again. A smile of a deeper connection was there for the first time, and Olivia wondered if it was her future that she could see reflected in his eyes.
‘Max told me he was in the middle of getting divorced,’ Olivia said to Inspector Gallo. ‘He and his wife had been growing apart for years, and well, it was all over. Anyway, he has been at my side ever since.’
‘That is a wonderful story, with a happy ending. I wish you every joy.’
‘Thank you, Roberto, but what are we going to do about you? How are we going to solve your case?’
Gallo shook his head. ‘There is a piece of the puzzle missing. I must find out what it is, but it is proving elusive.’
‘Well, Inspector Gallo, I always remember what I used to say to my dear old nanny when she couldn’t find her glasses.’
The detective raised a quizzical eyebrow.
‘Perhaps you should try looking right under your own nose …’