30
St Bartholomew’s Hospital, London
Bored, Gaspare stared at the television and then clicked it off. He had worked his way through all the books Nino had brought for him and dismissed the art magazines. His respiratory infection now under control, he was feeling more alert but aching to be home, back at the gallery. He knew that he would have to remain in hospital, but his enforced idleness had made him restless, keen for an update on Nino’s progress.
Having heard nothing from him since the previous day, Gaspare had spent an uneasy night making notes, drawing up a list of possible suspects. He dismissed the idea of a re-appearance of the original Skin Hunter. The killer was no supernatural force, so who was he? Someone copying Vespucci? Someone with a past record of violence? Someone who was known to be obsessed by the Venetian?
Jotting down two names, Gaspare considered them – Tom Morgan and Johnny Ravenscourt. Then he added the name Jobo Kido as an afterthought. Why not? The Japanese dealer was an oddity, his collection depraved. Could he have crossed over? Instead of collecting the memorabilia of killers, might he have started to collect his own? Harriet Forbes had been killed in Tokyo, where Jobo Kido lived. It was possible.
The door opened, interrupting his thoughts, and Nino walked in with a takeaway Italian meal. Putting it down on the bedside table, he split the food between the two of them and passed some to Gaspare.
Smiling, Gaspare looked at it. ‘Rubber pasta.’
‘But pasta nonetheless,’ Nino said, taking a mouthful and then pulling Gaspare’s notes towards him. ‘What’s this?’
‘Suspects.’
He read the names, shaking his head at the last. ‘Jobo Kido? Are you kidding?’
‘The man’s twisted,’ Gaspare said firmly. ‘Years ago I saw his private collection. He’s fascinated by killers. Don’t tell me that’s not relevant. Kido would do anything to get that Titian painting. Which, in case you’ve forgotten, is still out there somewhere.’
‘Unless the killer’s got it,’ Nino replied, pointing to the sheet of paper. ‘You can add another one to that list of suspects – Sir Harold Greyly.’ He wiped some tomato juice off his chin with a paper napkin. ‘His name came up in Ravens-court’s notes and I went to see him yesterday. One of the Greyly ancestors was The Skin Hunter’s second victim.’
Gaspare’s eyebrows rose. ‘Claudia Moroni?’
‘Yeah,’ Nino agreed, taking another mouthful.
‘Did he tell you about her murder?’
‘No. And he got very twitchy when I started asking questions.’
‘But why suspect him of being involved with the current murders?’
‘I dunno,’ Nino replied, putting down his food and staring at the old man. ‘Something about him. Something off-key. He’s travelled a lot, was in the Army and then made a killing with his contacts, arrogant bastard. He’s now inherited a country pile after turfing out his old aunt, and she seemed a bit miffed. She also said something about Harold being a keen hunter.’
‘He lives in the country – most of them hunt.’
‘She said he could skin anything.’
Gaspare paused, putting his fork down and pushing the food away from him. ‘Before you arrived, I was just thinking about the killer. I mean, three women, in three different countries. Who could do that?’
Nino was still eating. ‘How d’you mean?’
‘He’d have to have funds. He’s either rich enough not to need a job, or he’s self-employed. If he had regular employment, he’d have to keep taking time off work.’
‘Not necessarily,’ Nino replied, finishing his food and throwing the containers in the bin. ‘Sally Egan was killed at night. After work hours.’
‘But the killer had already been to Venice and then went on to Japan. A plane ticket to Tokyo costs money—’
‘I agree. But surely the more important question is: why did he choose them? Before we wonder about his means, shouldn’t we try and work out why he picked these particular victims? That’s the key, Gaspare. The women must have something in common.’
‘But if the killer’s copying Vespucci, shouldn’t we look at his victims first?’
‘OK.’ Thoughtful, Nino nodded. ‘I’ve been reading Johnny Ravenscourt’s notes – not finished them yet – and they list Larissa Vespucci, Claudia Moroni and the Contessa di Fattori. But a website dedicated to The Skin Hunter lists a woman called Lena Arranti as the penultimate victim.’ Nino paused for effect. ‘Somebody out there’s been doing their research. This information isn’t readily available. It took Ravenscourt decades to find it. And this website only went up forty-eight hours ago. Doesn’t that strike you as odd? A website glorifying The Skin Hunter appears at the same time as his crimes are being reenacted?’
‘You think the killer created it?’
‘Yes,’ Nino replied. ‘Yes, I do. I think the man who made the website killed the women. Perhaps it all started with him getting curious about Vespucci, then he became obsessed. Then, when he heard about the painting turning up – thanks to Triumph Jones’ PR stunt – he flipped. Took it as a sign and started his own tribute. He wants to copy Angelico Vespucci – he wants to be him, to have his power, his legend.’
‘It makes no sense—’
‘Not to us. But to a fanatic, it would. About five years ago I was working for a company who were making a film about Jack the Ripper. One of the many. I remember that the director said it would make a fortune. Even if it was bad, it would bring in a profit, because everyone wanted to know about a killer. Especially killers who had never been caught. Glamorous murderers. And The Skin Hunter has a kind of sick glamour. He created havoc in his time. He terrorised the Republic of Venice and yet he got away with it. Vespucci disappeared, and a scapegoat took the blame.’
‘I wish we knew who that was.’
Nino turned to Gaspare. ‘You think it’s important?’
‘I think everything we find out about Vespucci’s important. Did the victims have anything in common?’
‘Vespucci killed Larissa because she was unfaithful, but Claudia Moroni was a respectable married woman.’
Nino thought back over his conversation with Harold Greyly, repeating his words.
“My relative was very excitable … She eloped, thank God. Saved us a lot of gossip.” He glanced over at Gaspare. ‘Perhaps she wasn’t quite the innocent she appeared?’
‘And the Contessa di Fattori was a whore.’
‘Yes, everyone agrees on that. And the website said that Lena Arranti was a courtesan, working from the Jewish Quarter in Venice.’ Nino paused. ‘There is a link between the women – sex. Larissa Vespucci was an adulteress. Lena Arranti was a prostitute. The Contessa di Fattori was promiscuous. Perhaps there was some sexual secret about Claudia Moroni? Perhaps that was why her descendant said that her elopement saved them from scandal?’ Nino got to his feet. ‘If the theme is sexual – if Vespucci set out to punish these women – is that why women are being killed now? Does our killer want to punish women too?’ He walked to the door, then turned. ‘I’m going back to the gallery to finish Ravenscourt’s notes. Then I’ll talk to him—’
Gaspare flinched. ‘Don’t be stupid! We’ve just agreed that Ravenscourt could be the killer—’
‘And if he is,’ Nino said simply, ‘someone has to stop him.’
31
New York
The news had only been out for an hour when it came to Farina Ahmadi’s ears. Good God! she thought, hurrying back to her gallery on 45th Street. Who had ever heard anything like it? A top dealer virtually advertising for help in finding a famous work of art. Why didn’t Triumph just put a fucking sign up in Times Square? she thought angrily, slamming the door of the gallery behind her and moving into her office. Once there, she made a call on her mobile and stood by the window waiting for someone to answer.