“The Arma dei Carabinieri requires your assistance.”
“I’d love to help, Luca. But I’m unavailable.”
“Great,” said Rossetti before killing the connection. “Colonel Baggio and I will pick you up in front of the Salute in twenty minutes.”
***
The patrol boat was configured like a typical Venetian water taxi, low and sleek, with an open forward helm station and a cabin aft. Gabriel sat next to Rossetti on one of the upholstered benches, and Colonel Baggio sat opposite. After leaving the Salute, the vessel had rounded the Punta della Dogana and turned into the Giudecca Canal. They were now headed westward across thelagunatoward the mainland.
“Would you mind telling me where we’re going?” asked Gabriel.
“Terraferma,” replied Baggio.
“I gathered that. But why?”
“It is my understanding that Capitano Rossetti explained the situation.”
“He said you required my assistance.”
“That about covers it,” said Baggio.
They put in at a small marina near the airport and climbed into a waiting unmarked Alfa Romeo, which ferried them at high speed across Mestre, the largest of Venice’s four mainland boroughs. Eventually it delivered them to a drab official building above which hung a limp Italian tricolor. Inside, Gabriel followed Rossetti and Baggio into a small conference room. They were soon joined by a man clad in pale blue scrubs who carried with him a case file and the smell of death. Baggio introduced him as Dottore Massimo Ravello, the Veneto’s top medical examiner.
The pathologist opened the case file and addressed Gabriel with courtroom formality. “The woman you discovered in thelagunawas probably in her late twenties, thirty at most. She was 170 centimeters in height and wore a size thirty-eight shoe. At some point during her brief life, she suffered a fracture to her left wrist. Theshape of her skull indicates that she was of Northern European ethnicity.”
“Cause of death?”
“Determining the manner of death is always difficult in cases where the body is discovered in water. But in my opinion, she died by drowning.”
“When?”
“A week ago, I’d say. Perhaps a day or two earlier.”
“Was it an accident?”
“Unlikely.” Ravello removed a photograph from the file and placed it before Gabriel. It showed the lower portion of the woman’s right leg—or what remained of it. “It appears as though someone tied a line around her ankle. Whether it was before or after her death I cannot say. It was undoubtedly attached to something heavy.”
Gabriel returned the photograph to Ravello. “What does any of this have to do with me?”
The medical examiner deferred to Colonel Baggio. “As you probably know, Signore Allon, we have been unable to identify the woman, in part because no one seems to realize that she is missing. We were hoping you might agree to help us discover who she was and why she was killed.”
“How?”
“By giving her a face.”
“A forensic sketch?” Gabriel shook his head. “I’m sorry, Colonel Baggio, but I have no training in that sort of thing. You require a professional.”
“We have one on retainer. She feeds precise measurements of the skull in question into a computer program, and the program produces digital sketches. None of which,” Baggio added pointedly, “has ever led to the identification of a set of human remains.”
“What makes you think I would have any better luck?”
Baggio exchanged a look with Rossetti before answering. “My colleague tells me that you are an unusually gifted painter, especially when it comes to human anatomy.”
“That might explain why I was hired to restore the Titian.”
“From what I hear, you could paint a copy of that Titian, and no one would ever be able to tell the difference.” Baggio shot another glance in Rossetti’s direction. “Isn’t that right, Capitano?”
Rossetti delivered his reply to Gabriel. “Would you at least try?”
