Free The Rainaldi Quartet by Paul Adam

us a little, watching us carefully. The Venetians are a green and slippery people, like their city. They have a reputation for hard-headedness, for being calculating and untrustworthy.
    Guastafeste fed him a snippet of information, perhaps trying to head off the evasive reply we could both see coming.
    â€˜We know he was looking for a violin, a violin he called the “Messiah’s Sister”. Was that why he came to see you?’
    â€˜You think there’s a connection between this violin and his death?’ Forlani said.
    â€˜We’re exploring every possibility. You’re a wealthy collector. Was he searching for the violin for you?’
    Forlani didn’t answer. He turned away so we couldn’t see the expression on his face. It was stiflingly hot and airless in the room. I was beginning to feel sick.
    â€˜Was he?’ Guastafeste asked again.
    â€˜What if he was?’ Forlani said, swinging back to face us. ‘That was between him and me.’
    â€˜Not any more,’ Guastafeste said. ‘Not now he’s dead.’
    Forlani walked across to the shuttered windows and fingered one of the catches. I hoped he was going to open it, to let some air and light into the oppressive room, but he didn’t. He shrugged.
    â€˜I don’t suppose you know the story of Le Messie, do you? A provincial policeman like you.’
    Guastafeste ignored the slur. ‘I know it. My friend here told me.’
    â€˜Did he?’ Forlani turned his gaze on me. ‘Did he tell you what it was worth?’
    â€˜Yes. He’s quite an expert on violins.’
    â€˜Oh yes?’ Forlani’s lip curled. ‘I didn’t think the police were experts on anything, except corruption, of course.’
    â€˜I’m not a policeman,’ I said. ‘I’m a luthier.’
    â€˜A luthier? Your name?’
    â€˜Giovanni Battista Castiglione.’
    Forlani screwed up his nose. ‘I believe I may have heard of you,’ he conceded. Then his eyes became wary. ‘Why are you here?’
    â€˜He’s assisting us in our enquiries,’ Guastafeste said. ‘Perhaps you would be good enough to answer my question, dottore. Why did Tomaso Rainaldi come to see you?’ His tone was sharp. He was starting to lose patience.
    Forlani gazed at him for a long moment. Then he said indifferently, as if his reply were of no consequence: ‘He had a proposition for me. He told me he was sure there was another Messiah out there and he could find it for me.’
    â€˜And you believed him?’ Guastafeste said.
    â€˜Yes.’
    â€˜Were you paying him?’
    â€˜I gave him some money for expenses, yes.’
    â€˜How much?’
    â€˜Five thousand euros.’
    â€˜That’s a lot of money.’
    â€˜It may be a lot to you. It’s not to me.’
    â€˜Did you know Rainaldi? Had you met him before?’
    â€˜No. I’d never set eyes on him until he showed up on my doorstep.’
    Guastafeste regarded the old man sceptically. ‘So this stranger you’ve never seen before comes to your door and tells you some tale about a violin and you give him money? I find that a little unlikely, Dottor Forlani.’
    â€˜Do you?’ Forlani’s voice took on an edge of aggression. ‘Do you have any idea what is at stake here? I don’t think you do. Come with me, I’ll show you.’
    Forlani went out of the room, his flip-flops slapping on the marble floor. We followed him up another flight of stairs and down a gloomy corridor. Through open doors I caught glimpses of more derelict rooms, of collapsed ceilings and piles of rubble. The smell of decay was everywhere. Forlani moved slowly, pausing regularly to catch his breath. At the end of the corridor he opened a door and we entered a small, unfurnished antechamber which contained nothing but a metal cabinet on the wall. In front of us was a large steel door, like the entrance to a bank