“I was about to leave for lunch,” Rossetti said, and at that moment, as if to accentuate his point, the antique clock on the wall behind him tolled one o’clock.
“This won’t take long. I’m here to collect the signet ring for Signore Bull.”
“The signet?”
“Yes, that’s right.”
“For Signore Bull?”
“I believe he told you that I was coming.”
Rossetti tilted his head backward and peered at the Englishman as though he were an item of questionable value and provenance. Satisfied, he lowered his head and came round from behind the counter to change the sign in the window from OPEN to CLOSED.
UPSTAIRS was a small private office. Rossetti settled himself behind the desk and invited the Englishman to sit in the little armchair next to the window.
“I received a call a short time ago from a porter at the Luna Hotel Baglioni,” Rossetti said. “The violinist and a friend have just checked in. Do you know the Baglioni?”
The Englishman shook his head.
Like most Venetians, Rossetti kept a map of the city within easy reach, if only to give assistance to a foreign tourist hopelessly lost in its labyrinthine alleys. Rossetti’s looked as though it had been purchased during the rule of the last doge-a dog-eared, tattered affair, with Scotch tape along the splitting seams, so old it had lost all color. He spread it across his desk, smoothing it with both hands, as though it showed the location of buried treasure.
“The Luna Hotel Baglioni is here”-a tap on the map with the tip of his delicate forefinger-“on the Calle dell’Ascencione, a few steps from the San Marco vaporetto stop. The Calle dell’Ascencione is very narrow, no bigger than this street. There’s a private dock in the Rio della Zecca. It will be impossible for you to watch the front and the back of the hotel on your own.”
The Englishman leaned over the map for a closer look. “You have a suggestion?”
“Perhaps I can use my resources to keep watch on the violinist. If she moves, I can alert you.”
“You have someone inside the hotel?”
Rossetti lifted an eyebrow and dipped his head, a neutral gesture, neither in the affirmative or the negative, which said he wished to discuss the matter no further.
“I assume there will be an additional fee for this service?”
“For Don Orsati? It will be my pleasure.”
“Tell me how it would work.”
“There are places you can wait around the hotel without drawing attention to yourself. The Piazza San Marco, of course. The cafés along the Calle Marzo. The Fontamenta delle Farine overlooking the canal.” Rossetti noted each location with an amiable tap on the map. “I assume you have a mobile telephone?”
The Englishman tapped his coat pocket.
“Give me the number and stay close to the hotel. When they move, someone will telephone you.”
He was reluctant to enter into a partnership with Rossetti, but unfortunately the Italian was correct. There was no way he could watch the hotel on his own. He recited his telephone number, and Rossetti jotted it down.
“Of course, there is a chance the violinist will remain in her hotel until the performance at the San Rocco,” said Rossetti. “If that’s the case, you’ll have no choice but to carry out your assignment then.”
“You have a ticket?”
Rossetti removed the ticket from his top drawer and placed it carefully on the desktop. Then, using the thumb and forefinger of each hand, he slid it gently forward. The Englishman picked up the ticket and turned it over in his hands. Rossetti looked out his window while his customer inspected the merchandise, confident he would find it satisfactory.
“It’s real? Not a forgery?”
“Oh, yes, quite real, I assure you. And quite difficult to come by. In fact, I was tempted to keep it for myself. You see, I’ve always been a fan of Miss Rolfe. Such passion. Such a pity she has to-” Rossetti cut himself off. “Do you know the San Rocco?”
The Englishman pocketed the ticket and shook his head. Rossetti turned his attention back to his map. “The Scuola Grande di San Rocco is located here, across the Grand Canal in the sestieri of San Polo and Santa Croce, just to the south of the Frari church. San Rocco was the patron saint of contagious diseases, and the scuola was originally built as a charitable institution for the sick. The construction was financed by donations from wealthy Venetians who believed they could avoid the Black Death by giving money to the scuola. ”
If the assassin found this piece of Venetian history the slightest bit interesting, he gave no sign of it. Undeterred, the little Italian jeweler made a church steeple of his fingers and carried on with his lecture.
“The scuola has two primary levels, the ground-floor hall and the upper hall. In 1564, Tintoretto was commissioned to decorate the walls and the ceilings of the buildings. It took him twenty-three years to complete his task.” He paused for a moment to consider this fact, then added: “Can you imagine a man of such patience? I would hate to match wits with such a man.”
“Where will the concert be? In the ground-floor hall or the upper hall?”
“The upper hall, of course. It’s reached by a wide marble staircase designed and built by Scarpagnino. The walls there are decorated with paintings of the Black Death. It’s quite moving.”
“And if I’m forced to carry out the assignment inside the upper hall?”
Rossetti pressed his church steeple to his lips and whispered a silent petition. “If you have no other choice, then you will have no trouble making your way down the staircase and out the front entrance. From there you can vanish into the alleys of San Polo, and no one will find you.” He paused a moment, then said: “But as a Venetian, I implore you to find some other way. It would be a tragedy if you damaged one of the Tintorettos.”
“Tell me about the area around the San Rocco.”
“The church and the scuola share a small square. Behind them is a canal, the Rio della Frescada, which gives access to both structures. There are only two ways for Miss Rolfe to reach the San Rocco on the night of the concert, on foot or by water taxi. If she walks, she will be exposed for long periods of time. She will also have to cross the Grand Canal at some point, either by vaporetto or traghetto. ”
“Could she cross by bridge?”
Rossetti considered this question carefully. “I suppose she could cross the Rialto Bridge or the Academia Bridge, but it would add a great deal of distance to her journey. If I were a gambling man, I would wager that Miss Rolfe will take a water taxi from the dock of the hotel directly to the San Rocco.”
“And if she does?”
“The Rio della Frescada is a very narrow canal. There are four bridges between the entrance on the Grand Canal and the landing for the San Rocco. You will have ample opportunity there. As the Americans like to say, it will be like shooting fish in a barrel.”
The Englishman cast the Italian a dismissive look that said no job could be so crudely described, especially when the target was under professional protection.
“Don Orsati said you would require weaponry. A handgun and perhaps something with a little more firepower in the event things don’t go as planned.”