Deadly to the Sight (27 page)

“She's fine, but I can tell that she misses you. Rebecca sends her love.”

Habib sneezed.

“It's cold and damp in here,” Urbino said. He took off his scarf. “Here. Put this on. You should be wearing the heavy sweater I sent you.”

He checked his watch. Nearly two minutes had already gone. Loud male voices rang on the other side of the door, followed by a woman's shrill weeping.

“Habib, we don't have much time. I must speak quickly and ask you some questions. I'd like to speak the way we usually do, but we have to use our time well. First tell me about the man from the Moroccan embassy who visited you today.”

Habib frowned.

“He was angry, like I was a criminal. He said I was giving a bad word to Morocco. I told him I was innocent, but I do not think he believed me.” He shook his head. “He wants to order a new lawyer but I said I want to keep the one you gave me. Signor Torino is nice, and I am sure he is very clever, if you have ordered him for me.”

“Hired him,” Urbino corrected automatically.

Habib gave a weak smile.

“I was happy to get all what you sent me.” He sighed. “But it also made me sad. You think I will be in this miserable place for a long time.”

“You will be out soon. We will have a celebration at Barbara's ball. I promise.”

“Do not promise. Perhaps the big party will come, and Habib will not be there. Then you will feel guilty. If I must stay here, it is my destiny. You cannot change it.”

“You know I don't like that way of thinking. There are things that can be done, Habib,” he went on in a softer tone. “When Giorgio's killer is found, you will be free.”

“The police think I am the person! You know that is too true! Poor Giorgio! I do not know why someone would be bad to kill him.”

“You must tell me everything, even if you think I will be angry. I promise I won't. I need to know why you went to Giorgio's apartment after you left me.”

“To get my paintings for you. I said when I was angry that I would show something to you. Paintings of Burano that you like! Of the colorful doors you like so much, and the house with the strange patterns! They were my gift to you to try to thank you a little. Giorgio was saving them. You always like to poke around, and also Natalia. When Giorgio got his apartment, he said that I could hide them there.”

“Why did he do that?”

“Because he liked me! He was good to me and to some of my friends.”

Tears were shining in Habib's dark eyes.

“Like Jerome?”

“Yes. They did things together, the two of them.”

“What things?”

“The things that I did with Giorgio for my part. To sit at a cafe and go for a walk, and sometimes to have a ride in the Contessa's boat when she wasn't there,” he added with a slight air of defiance. “You will tell her?”

“No.”

“You tell her many things.”

“We're friends. She's yours as well. She says hello and promises she will do whatever she can to help you. She's already done a great deal you don't know about. I'm happy Giorgio was nice to you and your friends,” Urbino said, bringing the conversation back to more pressing matters. “It's even more reason to find out who killed him. Tell me what happened when you got to his apartment.”

“I got there very fast! I ran all the way. I knocked on the door. It was open. I—I went in.” Habib covered his face with his hands. “Oh,
sidi
, it was terrible. Poor Giorgio was on the floor. There was blood on his head, and on his face, and it was all over the floor! I went down by him and touched him, but just a little! His—his clothes, they were all messed up and out of the right place. I got blood on my hands and my trousers. I ran out. Two men were at the door. I thought they had been the ones to hurt Giorgio. They stopped me. One of them telephoned the police. And then you saw the police take me to this place. Poor Habib! Are you angry with me,
sidi
?”

“Of course not.” Urbino wished he had more time so that he could comfort him but he was obliged to continue with his questions. “Is there anything else you remember? Any loud voices from Giorgio's apartment when you were approaching it?”

“I have told you everything. I swear by God!”

“And the reason you didn't tell me that you went to Burano by yourself those times was because of the paintings?”

“Yes. I didn't want my good surprise to be spoiled and I didn't want to lie to you. You asked me too many questions.”

Perhaps I should have asked even more, Urbino said to himself, or certainly different ones. He sensed that Habib was afraid of what he was going to ask him now, and what he would have to answer.

“Did you meet any of the people we know when you went there?”

“I did not meet anyone. I saw that evil old woman once, on the day before the German lady's party. She was speaking with the art man, the one who has a twisted body. He frightens me just the way that she did!”

“Marino Polidoro. He is in the hospital. He was attacked in his shop on the night you and Giorgio were moving into Giorgio's apartment. Was there any time then when the two of you weren't together?”

“Oh, no,
sidi
, Giorgio and I were together all the time, except when he went back into the Contessa's palace and I stayed to guard his things in the boat. You do not think I hurt that man?”

“No.”

“And Giorgio did not hurt him either!”

Urbino found his loyalty to Giorgio both touching and exasperating.

During the past few minutes the odor of backed-up sewers had started to invade the room and overpower the carbolic smell. Habib took a handkerchief from his pocket and pressed it against his nose. The scent of the cologne Urbino had packed for him wafted across the table.

“The guards and the prisoners laugh at me when I use my handkerchief. Sometimes the smell is too much worse in my room.”

This was one occasion when Urbino was grateful that the more appropriate word didn't come easily to Habib's lips.

“Were Polidoro and the old woman talking in a friendly way?”

“I don't know! I didn't want to look. She could have thrown the evil eye on me. Or maybe both of them could have done it! I am sorry to say it, but I am glad that she died. I would have been afraid to go to Burano all those days to do your paintings. It was very hard to go that time when I saw her with the art man, but I did it for you.”

“I know she wasn't a good woman, Habib, but perhaps you will have a little sympathy for her when I tell you that I am sure she was murdered.”

“Murdered, too? Like Giorgio? Oh,
sidi
, now I am sure I will never get out of this terrible place. The police will find out that I was afraid of her, and then they will ask me all confusing questions about her, and—”

“Don't worry about that. But tell me why you were so nervous about staying in the restaurant the day we had lunch there. You said it was because it was dirty, but I think it was something else.”

“I felt something bad about it! I got a cold feeling. The old woman, she was like a witch. Inside her there could have been an evil spirit. They like to live where there is a lot of food and water.” He looked down. “Venice has a lot of water. I can hear it all night long. It keeps me awake.”

Urbino knew that this wasn't the time to try to persuade Habib from any of his deep-seated superstitions. And, he thought, there had been something bad about Il Piccolo Nettuno, hadn't there? It was where Nina Crivelli had met her death, and the reason for her death might be directly connected with the place. It was possible that Habib, with some greater sensitivity, had perceived something that day that had been lost on Urbino.

“You saw no one else but Polidoro and the old woman?”

“I saw the young restaurant lady with the smart clothes. She was nice to me. It was one time when Giorgio brought me to Burano in the Contessa's boat. She was very friendly with Giorgio. One morning they were together at a cafe near the language school. Many people liked Giorgio!”

“But someone did not like him very much. Someone murdered him.”

Habib held his head in his hands.

“Sometimes I get too confused with words. The police ask so many questions, and sometimes they can turn what is green into red. My head turns around.”

“I hope you're telling them the truth, even if it's embarrassing.”

He wasn't emphasizing this for the sake of whoever might be listening, but because he believed it to be an absolute necessity.

“They made me say things about you and me. They asked me about Morocco. About how we met and other things.” He gave Urbino a nervous look. “About my family and my life there. Oh, there are too many things they want to know!”

“Like about your brother who drowned? Why didn't you ever tell me?”

Habib looked sad and defeated.

“I was embarrassed.”

“Did you tell Giorgio?”

“Yes,” he said in a low, frightened voice.

Anger and disappointment coursed through Urbino.

“Why did you tell him?” he said in a tone, which he hoped held no reproach.

“Oh, I'm sorry! Believe me! It was easier to tell him. Forgive me.”

“It's all right, Habib. But I need to know why it was easier.”

Habib's brows drew together. He was silent for a few moments.

“It wasn't because I liked Giorgio more than you. I swear to God! But—but he was always speaking about the sad problems of the poor immigrants. Like the Senegalese men who sell the purses and belts in the Piazza. He didn't scorn them. I do not mean that you scorn them. I know that you have a good heart. You gave money to that woman by the Church of Health.” He sighed. “But—but maybe money cannot help poor Habib. Oh,
sidi
, it is too difficult to explain!”

He threw Urbino a helpless look.

“Did Giorgio speak to Jerome in the same way?”

“He did! Jerome told me. So you see it wasn't just me.”

Urbino took this in.

“Please understand. I was afraid that you wouldn't trust me if you knew about how my brother broke the law. Lotfi and I were brothers, but different brothers. He—he was braver than me.”

“You don't need to explain anymore. But Signor Torino and I can help you only if you tell us important things like that, especially once you've told them to the police. Important things, and also things that you might not think are important,” he added. “For example, did you ever see a lot of photographs altogether, ones of Jerome and other young men?”

Habib's long, dark lashes flew up in alarm.

“Photographs of Jerome and other boys?” Habib repeated. “I don't understand.”

“Did you?”

“No. But we have many photographs, Jerome and me. The school and the police need them for our dossiers. You know that.”

“The photographs might have been in a large envelope like the one I found in your studio. The one that was pushed almost all the way under the divan.”

Habib was silent.

“Where did you get that envelope?”

“From Giorgio.”

“When?”

“The day before he—he died.”

“Why did he give it to you?”

“He asked me to tell him what the pages inside say. They are written in German. I am sure you have read them all with no trouble. I could not understand more than the first sentence, even with your big dictionary. I was very bad to deceive poor Giorgio. I said that I know German well. I was too proud.”

“Did he say where he got the envelope?”

“No. And he said for me not to tell anyone, but it doesn't matter now, and you have already found it and read it. What does it say?”

“It's just a story.”

Urbino checked his watch. Their time was almost up. He reached out and patted Habib's hand. It was surprisingly cold.

“You must be strong. We both must. And remember that for every minute you're in this prison, I am too.”

“Forgive me for saying this,
sidi
, but you do not look well.”

“Perhaps not, but at least I do not have a bruise like yours.” He reached out and touched the purplish area over Habib's eye.

“Take care of yourself,
sidi
. We will be in worse trouble if you become sick again. You should not march over the city the way you do, especially not at night.”

“Speaking of that, did you follow me one night when I was walking near the Church of the Salute?”

“Yes, on that night and on others. You could have fallen into a canal or tripped down the steps of a bridge.” He reached into his pocket. He took out a prayer card of the Black Madonna from the Church of the Salute. “Here. Take it.”

“No, Habib, you—”

“It is your religion,
sidi
. I want you to keep it until—until later.”

“Thank you.”

Urbino slipped it into his pocket and got up. A moment later the stocky guard opened the door. Beside him was the sallow young man.

“I'll come to see you again as soon as I can. If there's anything you want or any problem you have, no matter what it is, let Signor Torino know.”

He paused at the door.

“The mother of your father's nephew!”

Urbino's voice resonated in the small, bare room.

Habib gave him a bright smile.

“My aunt!”

Let the police figure that one out, Urbino thought, as the guard conducted him back to the entrance.

9

The first thing Urbino did when he returned to the Palazzo Uccello was phone Torino and tell him about his meeting with Habib. The lawyer knew nothing about the death of Habib's brother, or the envelope that Habib had got from Giorgio. Urbino described Frieda's story, and then told him how the German woman had been mugged and had lost an almost identical envelope with photographs of young men, among whom had been Habib's friend Jerome.