Il Torre del Passo
(The Fool's Tower)

Tom Rynard

The murder of Abruzzo Abruzzi was twelve years in the making. Even when it was finally accomplished, it was done secretly and it was only by accident that it was discovered seventeen years later. The tower, long in disuse and sealed shut from intruders, had suddenly taken to leaning. Three days later it collapsed, crashing down into the piazetta. The brown bricks of the tower were crushed into dust or small particles. Only a few bricks remained unbroken. The tower was not the first in Venice to topple as the loose, sandy soil beneath it finally shifted and gave way. It would not be the last to lean or to end up as a pile of rubble in the area surrounding it.

As the rubble was being removed, the body of Abruzzo Abruzzi made its appearance. By the time of its discovery, the body was a skeleton and was without means of physical identification. It was a silver medallion hung around the neck and engraved with the name “Abruzzo Abruzzi ,” along with a dedication to the man, which gave the skeleton its identity. The apparent cause of death was evident by the hole slightly above and to the right of the socket for the right eye.

* * *

“Abruzzo Abruzzi . Mean anything to you ?” Jacopo da Ferrara called over his shoulder. Jacopo stood at the front of the gondola working the oar in its socket. In the rear of the craft working an identical oar but on the other side of the boat was Reginaldo Morosini. Ahead on the small canal that cut through the sestiere (“district”) of Castello was the piazetta where the bell tower had fallen. However, it was not yet in view of the two men propelling the gondola. The small canal curved left and right as it made its way between the three-story red brick and stuccoed buildings that bordered it.

“I'd not heard the name until this morning,” Reginaldo answered. Reginaldo and Jacopo were thinking the same thing. Abruzzi was not nobili. That class had been closed for two hundred years and the names of the families of that class were easily recognized, especially by one, like Reginaldo, who was himself a member of the nobili. No, the Abruzzi name was not written in the official book registering the members of Venice 's patrician class.

“And they told you nothing else of the man ?” Jacopo followed up with another question. The “they” he was referring to was the Council of Ten. From time to time the Council called on Reginaldo to serve as special consultore to investigate crimes of particular interest to the Council. In some instances, the interest was clear, particularly if the crime was related to the politics, domestic or foreign, of the Republic. At other times, the reason for the investigation was not clear and Reginaldo merely did as he was asked without inquiring why such an august body as the Council was taking an interest in a particular case.

“Nothing of the man. Just how they came to know his name and how they found him,” Reginaldo said.

“The Capi may know something they are not telling us,” Jacopo observed. The Capi were the three members of the Council – the triumvirate of the Council of Ten – appointed to oversee the day-to-day management of the Council.

“They could,” was the response, although Reginaldo thought it possible that they did not. It could be they were just curious about how a man that no one had heard of had come to have a hole in his head and to be locked up in a sealed tower for so many years.

The gondola rounded another curve and the buildings on the right gave way to an opening. The pile of debris that had once been a tower made evident to the two that they had arrived at their destination.

* * *

“I would like to examine the skeleton, or what is left of it, more closely,” Reginaldo told the vigile from the sestiere polizia that was guarding the rubble in the square. “I would like Dottore Zapudin's assistance as well,” Reginaldo added. The vigile nodded his head in understanding.

“An interesting head wound, wouldn't you say.” Reginaldo now addressed Jacopo. “Any idea what caused it ?” Jacopo knew that Reginaldo had already formed an opinion about the injury, not that he was asking Jacopo for suggestions. Neither was Reginaldo testing him, though. He was simply involving his assistant in the investigation.

“A thin hammer perhaps. Not a regular hammer, though. A small headed instrument but from the nature of the hole, it was a round instrument, not a sharp one. Maybe a cobbler's hammer. I don't know. It is an unusual wound like I have never seen before.”

“We'll know after the examination but I think we will find that Signor Abruzzo Abruzzi 's wound was caused by a pistol shot. We'll know once we open the skull and recover the ball. If there is one, I mean.” Enough of the skull was visible that Reginaldo could see the back, front and the two sides. The projectile had not exited the skull at the rear or side. If a pistol had been used to kill Abruzzi , the ball should still be within the brain case of the skull.

* * *

The ball was indeed recovered later once the body was removed to Dottore Zapudin's examining table and the skull cap removed. The gunpowder charge in the pistol must not have been very great or the shooter was an incredible marksman from a distance, Dottore Zapudin observed. Otherwise, the ball would have exited the back of the skull or at least struck it. Clearly, it had remained inside the skull and the examination revealed no mark on the back interior of the skull where it might have struck. Both Zaprudin and Reginaldo, who also was a doctor of medicine, agreed that the wound was not self-inflicted.

“I would estimate that Signor Abruzzi was in his late thirties or early forties, wouldn't you agree?” Reginaldo had been examining the teeth from the lower jaw as he made the statement. His estimate of age was based on the mature development of the jaw and the wear of the teeth, especially the molars. He moved aside to allow Dottore Zapudin to look for himself. He grunted his agreement.

They had been lucky, Reginaldo observed to Jacopo earlier in the day at the site of the collapsed tower as Reginaldo supervised the removal of the skeleton from the rubble. The tower could have collapsed in such a way as to crush the skull into dust, much as had occurred to a good number of the bricks. Something had kept the skull from being touched by any of the collapsing structure. Still, Reginaldo and Dottore Zapudin had only a partial skeleton to examine. A relatively small part of the skeleton, Reginaldo thought to himself.

The larger bones of the arms and legs had also survived, although both the right humerus and femur had been snapped in two from something falling on them. All parts of the two bones had been recovered, however. These two bones disclosed little of interest to the two men but the same could not be said for the bones from the lower left leg. Those bones had been broken at some time during the man's life and the break healed over.

“Not a very good job of setting the bones,” Dottore Zapudin observed.

“No, not at all,” Reginaldo agreed. “Signor Abruzzi walked with a limp.”

* * *

That evening Reginaldo sat with Jacopo at the table where Reginaldo both took his meals and worked on his academic pursuits. As was often the case when he had someone over, his books and writing materials were at one end of the table while he and Jacopo sat at the end that had been cleared for meals. While Reginaldo had been examining the skeleton with Dottore Zapudin, Jacopo had first returned to the academy owned and operated by Reginaldo and where Jacopo also served as an instructor. It was difficult, if not impossible, for both Reginaldo and Jacopo to be gone from their teaching duties at the same time. When Reginaldo was consulting for the Council of Ten and Jacopo assisting, one had to cover the classes of the other. The third instructor at the academy, an elderly priest named Prete Sipi, also would help with the classes of the absent member of the faculty. Both Jacopo and Prete Sipi attended to Reginaldo's classes but when Reginaldo returned, he switched with Jacopo who left to do what Reginaldo had asked him to do. With the day done and supper served, the two talked of what each had learned during the day.

Except for the name, Abruzzo Abruzzi, which had been told to Reginaldo by the Council of Ten and the conclusions about the man's physical characteristics drawn from the examination, Reginaldo knew very little of the murder victim. What he did know was that Abruzzi had been of normal height, five feet seven inches tall, perhaps five feet eight inches. He had a medium build, or so the bones that had been recovered suggested, although Reginaldo could not say whether he had been thin or obese or somewhere in between. Nothing about the arm or leg bones indicated that his muscles were especially well-developed. The type of work he might have done was almost limitless. The only truly identifying characteristic that the earlier examination had revealed was the broken leg bone which had not healed properly and which undoubtedly produced a limp.

Jacopo's assignment that afternoon had not been focused on Abruzzi but on the place where his body had been found.

“‘Il Torre del Pazzo' (The Fool's Tower) is what the local community called it,” Jacopo began, “although I am sure the builder and its later owners would have avoided using the name.” The tower was, indeed, an anomaly in Venice but not because it was a tower. Bell towers abounded across the city. Il Torre del Pazzo had no such function. It was merely an architectural reminder to the structure's builder – a replication of the skyline the owner had grown up seeing. He had come from a city where families built their towers as fortification – refuge – from those attacking them. Such a refuge in Venice was ludicrous. The expansive waters of the lagoon were all that were needed to secure its residents from attack. Thus, the name “Il Torre del Pazzo” was attached to the structure. The residents of the neighborhood saw nothing but foolishness in the building of a fortress tower in the city and their pragmatism and sensibleness made it impossible for them to accept that it could have been built out of sentiment.

“The tower and the small palazzo it adjoined had been built by the family Sienese a hundred and fifty or so years ago,” Jacopo continued.

“I remember the name now that you mention it. Cloth merchants of some sort, if I remember right,” Reginaldo interjected.

“Silk,” Jacopo added. “They were silk manufacturers. Their silkworms and mulberry groves were just outside Vicenza . They also have family ties to Bologna . That is part of the story.”

“The Sienese from Bologna .” Reginaldo smiled. The name “Sienese” suggested the family had originated in Sienna, as undoubtedly it did. At some point it relocated to Bologna , where it was probably given the appellation “Sienese” to make clear this family was not from Bologna . From Bologna , the family continued to move, finally coming to reside in Venice .

Jacopo continued after the interruption, “Eighteen years ago, the family ran out of . . . well . . . family in Venice . The last of the Sienese who lived in Venice died out. He left no children but he did have a wife and two brothers. The brothers lived one in Bologna and the other in Vicenza . When the Venetian brother died, he not only left behind significant property, he also left behind a significant dispute over how the property was to be divided. Not long after his death, the fighting went to the courts.”

“And they haven't resolved it yet ?” Reginaldo was incredulous. Eighteen years was an extremely long time to settle an estate even by Venetian court standards.

“Not quite two years ago. It is a long story,” Jacopo explained. There was not one or even two but three wills discovered. Not only did the wife make a claim against the two brothers but the two brothers also fought between themselves. To complicate things further, a Franciscan monastery claimed that the palazzo, its tower and other of the Sienese property in Venice had been transferred to it shortly before Signor Sienese's death.

“They fought not only over who owned the property or who should own it, they fought over what should be done to the tower itself,” Jacopo continued. “The widow and one of the brothers wanted it torn down. The Franciscans wanted it to stay and the second brother didn't care, at least at first. Then he sided with the Franciscans in arguing that the tower should stay. Some claim the Franciscans paid him to join them. Otherwise, he didn't really care whether the tower stayed or went.”

“The brother from Bologna ?” Reginaldo guessed.

“Yes, the brother from Bologna . Now the one thing that everyone agreed to was that the palazzo should not remain empty. It could produce an income. So, what the court did, it ordered the tower closed up until its ownership could be determined and approved the rental of the palazzo. Four years went by. Still no resolution of the different claims to the estate although it did not look good for the Franciscans. It is speculated that they were bought out about this time, although by who is unknown. In any respect, suddenly and for no reason, they changed their mind about the tower. ‘Tear it down,' they now said. But the brother from Bologna was traveling and his representatives before the court had no instructions from him, so his challenge to razing the tower stayed in place. Close to another year passed and not only did it appear that a final order against the Franciscans would be entered by the court but that there would be a final distribution, as well. Everyone thought the brother from Bologna would emerge the winner.

“But he was in the wrong town at the wrong time as he was traveling and he went and died from the Black Death before the order came out. It was another two years before it could be decided who would represent his interest in the proceeding dealing with the estate of the Venetian Sienese brother. Finally, shortly after that fight was resolved, it was decided that the palazzo should go to the Sienese from Bologna . Or, by this time, his estate.”

“Let me guess,” Reginaldo interrupted to allow Jacopo to catch his breath, “the estate of the brother from Bologna was also disputed.”

“Mon-u-mentally,” Jacopo drug the word out. “Fourteen different claims to some or all of the property were made. All fourteen had some claim to the property that consisted of the palazzo in Venice and Il Torre del Passo. There were creditors, heirs, purported transferees of title to the property, other lien holders. A couple of the persons claiming as heirs were under age and there was a big fight over who should represent them in the proceeding. But as far as the tower was concerned, the court acted like it wasn't there. A couple requests were made about it but the court ignored them. It just said nothing, did nothing, about the tower.

“Finally, about two years ago, the estate of the Sienese from Bologna was distributed. After all that fighting, the tower still stood. The general consensus is that the two who ended up with it – they're both from Bologna and have never been to Venice – aren't even aware of the tower. Although they will be shortly when they are charged with the cost of removing the debris.”

“We should say a prayer of thanks that our criminal courts do not duplicate the glacier speed of the civil courts in the matter of the estates of the Sienese brothers,” Reginaldo observed.

Jacopo had not only focused on the history of the tower but he also checked on any property that might be recorded in the name of Abruzzi and whether the man had been involved with the courts, criminal or civil. As far as the courts were concerned, Abruzzo Abruzzi did not exist.

Jacopo was ready to begin to recite what he had learned from the property records when he was interrupted by Josef, Reginaldo's servant, clearing his throat as he stood in the doorway to the room.

“Ser Dinardi is here to see you,” Josef announced as both Reginaldo and Jacopo turned their heads in the direction of Reginaldo's servant.

Teodoro Dinardi, segregario to Venice 's principal prosecutors, the Avogadori di Comun, stepped forward and looked over the shoulder of Josef as his name was announced. Taller than the average Venetian and lanky, Dinardi wore the black togata. Unlike the one worn by Reginaldo when he went out in public, Dinardi's togata was marked with the indicia of his position: the bell-shaped sleeved with their stripes of white, two in number. In his hands he also held the black bareta, or beret, proscribed for wear with the togata.

“Ser Morosini, Signor da Ferrara, buon giornio, signori.” He smiled and stepped through the doorway as Josef made way for him to enter. As a young man Dinardi had attended and graduated from Reginaldo's academy. His family did not have the money, and Dinardi did not have the desire, for a university education on completing Reginaldo's academy. He entered the service of the Republic instead.

Reginaldo and Jacopo rose from their seats and after greetings were properly exchanged, Dinardi sat with the two at the table.

“Would you like to join us for supper ?” Reginaldo asked. The meal had not yet been served. A bottle of wine and rolls of bread sat on the table.

“Please. No thank you. I must eat at home tonight. For my wife's sake. No. For may sake. I mean no offense to your cooking, Josef.” The last comment had been directed to Reginaldo's servant who had re-entered the room and placed a glass for wine in front of Dinardi. Josef nodded his head, smiled, and left the room. “Ser Dinardi will not be dining with us,” Reginaldo added, in case Josef had not understood the significance of Dinardi's apology.

“I'm here to help you with Signor Abruzzi 's death,” Dinardi began, pouring wine into his glass as he spoke. “It was a slow day at the courts. No pressing investigations and word made its way through the Palazzo that you had a new assignment from the Capi, one that was thought to be shrouded somewhat in mystery. At least it was said you had very little to work on.” The offices of the Avogadori di Comun and the Capi of the Council of Ten were both located in the Palazzo Ducale, or simply the “Palazzo.” “I thought you could use some help and no good comes of my investigators sitting around idle in the office. I sent a couple out to hone their investigative skills.”

“Excellent,” Reginaldo answered as he slapped his hands palm-down on the table in front of him. “And have you learned anything that would interest me or might be useful ?”

“Background. Just background.” When Dinardi entered the room he had a satchel slung over his shoulder, which he had hung on the back of his chair when he sat. He turned in his chair and fished out a handful of papers from the satchel.

“A fairly complete list of Signor Abruzzi 's financial affairs,” Dinardi said, handing the papers to Reginaldo. “As Jacopo was probably getting ready to tell you when I entered, Signor Abruzzi owned very little in his own name but quite a bit was owned for him in a number of trusts by the Procuratori.”

Jacopo nodded in agreement. The property records had shown the existence of a number of properties held in trust for Abruzzi by the Procuratori. The Procuratori had a number of functions, foremost of which was overseeing the care and operation of the Basilica of San Marco. Almost as a side business, the Procuratori also served as trustees and executors of private trusts and estates. The fees the Procuratori collected for these services were deposited into the account of San Marco.

“They held everything for him?” Reginaldo asked. He studied the list as Dinardi talked.

“Everything except for some money on account with a couple of the Republic's more prominent bankers. And there were some additional investments with at least two moneylenders, at least as far as we can determine.”

“And the income from these investments, where was it being paid?” Jacopo asked the question before Reginaldo could.

“That is the interesting thing about Signor Abruzzi and his investments. Over all the years, he received no payment of income or principal. The principal stayed put and the income was added to it. At least as far as the Procuratori was concerned, Signor Abruzzi could call on them and ask for distributions from the trusts being held for him but he only made two such withdrawals and on those two occasions it was for very modest amounts. His wealth just kept increasing and increasing under the very capable management of the Procuratori.”

“From your list here, it looks as though Signor Abruzzi kept adding to his trusts, at least up to about seventeen years ago, give or take six months,” Reginaldo observed.

“Yes, that's true,” Dinardi answered.

Reginaldo continued to look through the papers Dinardi had handed him, studying them carefully. “He established the first trust twenty-nine years ago, with a modest but still not insignificant amount ?”

“Whatever the papers say,” Dinardi answered, “that is what the Procuratori told us.”

“Were all his investments in cash – payments to the Procuratori to invest on his behalf ?”

“No. Sometimes it was money, sometimes he delivered title to property naming them as trustee, sometimes it was ownership in a business. But talk to the Procuratori. They will answer your questions.”

“Do we know what happens to the property and the money now that Signor Abruzzi is dead?” Reginaldo asked.

“The trusts, the bank accounts, the moneys invested with the moneylenders all say the same thing. When Signor Abruzzi dies, everything goes according to how he has directed in a will that will be left at his death.”

“And there is no will ?” Jacopo guessed. From all indications the man had been dead for seventeen years when the tower was closed up. Seventeen years dead and no one missing him in all that time.

“No, actually, there is a will,” Dinardi corrected him. “We haven't gotten it yet, though. No, let me correct myself. There is a document with the Procuratori that tells where the will has been deposited. We have not retrieved it from notary holding the document. I wanted to wait until you could go with us.”

“This letter of instruction, when was it written?”

Dinardi shrugged his shoulders. “I didn't pay attention to that. I thought it good enough to take down the name and address of the notary where the document was kept.”

“It is of no matter,” Reginaldo waved his hand as he said this. Jacopo knew not to ask, knew it was too early in the investigation, but Reginaldo was beginning to work out the mystery of the death of Abruzzo Abruzzi .

* * *

Dinardi had one additional item of interest in his bag. It was the medallion that had been draped around the neck of Abruzzi when his body was found. It had been removed before Reginaldo and Jacopo arrived at the scene of the tower collapse so the two had not seen it until Dinardi removed it from the bag.

Dinardi handed it first to Reginaldo, who held the long silver chain in one hand and the medal in the other. After inspecting the front and back closely, he passed the medallion to Jacopo.

“. . . for valued and selfless service to the confraternity of Santa Caterina della Ruota. Our token of appreciation can never equal your contribution . . . ,” Jacopo read from the backside of the medallion. The medallion was silver, although a better grade of silver than the chain to which it was attached. The medallion was about four inches in diameter, Jacopo noted. Even so, the print was small since the Confraternity of Santa Caterina della Ruota (“Saint Catherine of the Wheel”) found it necessary to express their appreciation to Signor Abruzzi in so many words.

“The Confraternity of Santa Caterina. I am not familiar with it,” Reginaldo noted.

“A scuola piccola, now defunct,” Dinardi answered. Scuola, or confraternities, were of two types: scuole grande and scuole piccole. Scuole grande, as the name implied, were larger, grander, more broad-based in their membership and in the acts of a civic and charitable nature in which they engaged. Specially chartered by the Republic of Venice , their members would participate in the public ceremonies, religious and civic, performed throughout the year. The scuole piccole were also chartered by the government but their membership was smaller and their purpose more limited, often focusing on a single religious, trade or ethnic purpose. The Confraternity of Santa Caterina della Ruota was dedicated to that particular saint and to maintaining altars to her that the confraternity sponsored at a number of the parish, monastery and conventual churches in the city. Scuole piccole often came and went as interest in a particular cause or membership in the club waxed and waned.

“Defunct ?” Reginaldo asked. “How long ?”

“It has been some years, I couldn't say how many,” Dinardi answered. “I think they suffered from two problems – money and accounting. They had problems paying debts . . .”

“Maybe their principal benefactor died,” Jacopo suggested, interrupting Dinardi.

“I had the same thought,” Reginaldo added.

“It could be,” Dinardi agreed. “Apparently, they also had some trouble accounting for some of their money. This was before they had trouble paying their bills. The accounting issue was never resolved. There was some money not there that some people thought should have been there. Nobody was arrested, nobody went to jail. It wasn't a big amount and I think, in the end, they decided to let it go but to watch the books more closely. With that in their past, though, with their problems paying their debts, and with no one willing to step forward to post a bond on their behalf, the charter was taken away.”

“So, in the end,” Reginaldo summarized, “we cannot look to the Confraternity of Santa Caterina della Ruota to tell us anything of Signor Abruzzo Abruzzi .”

* * *

“I, Abruzzo Abruzzi, born of Parrocchia di San Cassiano [“San Cassiano Parish”], lifelong citizen of the City of Venice , faithful to her laws and knowledgeable of my property and its proper disposition according to my wishes on my death, do hereby bequeath property in accordance with this, my Last Will and Testament.”

The Procuratori had, as Dinardi stated, a name for the notary with whom the will of Abruzzo Abruzzi had been left for safekeeping. This was, however, a document that had existed untouched for many years and, with years, things change. The notary who took possession of the will was dead from old age some six years. Luckily, notaries were licensed and regulated by the officials of Venice . It was simply a matter of asking the right official for the identity of the person who had taken over for the now deceased notary. As it turned out, the successor notary was the man's son-in-law, the business staying with the family. The son-in-law had relocated the business, although it still remained in the sestiere of Castello near its boundary with the sestiere of San Marco.

“Did you know the testator, Signor Abruzzi ?” Dinardi asked after he and Reginaldo had arrived and had a chance to read the document.

After looking briefly at the date on the will, the notary answered, “This will was written twenty-seven years ago. I was in the business then. As you can see, I signed as one of the attesting witnesses.” The man pointed to his signature on the last page of the document. “But do I remember this one man from his one visit all that time ago ? No way ! I can check our books for you but the name means nothing to me. I doubt we ever did business with him again. All that time and just that one piece of business. And here we are twenty-seven years later, delivering the will as promised, just when it is needed.”

Reginaldo could not help but smile a little at the man's self-promotion. He also noticed the continuous reference to “we.” The man worked alone but the business retained the name of the deceased father-in-law along with the name of his son-in-law. The living member of the firm spoke as though his father-in-law was still living.

“Yes, Signor, that is commendable . . . remarkable,” Reginaldo complimented the man. The man beamed back at Reginaldo. “It will likely not help you with your memory but I will mention it anyway,” Reginaldo continued. “The man walked with a limp.” Reginaldo did not know whether this would have been true twenty-seven years earlier. He and Dottore Zapudin could not tell from their examination how many years before death the break in the leg bones had healed.

The man searched his mind for some memory of a client with a limp. He shook his head.

“He might as well have had a single eye in the middle of his forehead because I can't remember anyone like that either. I have no memory of this man.”

Reginaldo was glad at what he had seen in the will. One never knew how much information one would find in such a document. Abruzzi had not been content to simply say who got what of his property. Like many others who made their will, perhaps to smooth over ruffled feathers and hurt feelings or to make a final statement about those who had taken part in the life of the person making the will, Abruzzi found it necessary to explain why the property was being distributed in the manner chosen by him. In doing so, Abruzzi left clues about his history and who he was.

“I am an only child born of only children who have no other family,” the will said in apparent explanation of why nothing was being left to family. As further explanation, he pointed out that both his parents had predeceased his making of his will. He was drawing up his will, he stated, for the very reason that both parents were now dead, he was not married, was without offspring, legitimate or illegitimate, and lacked any other family.

One sixteenth of his estate, converted into cash, was to be given to the church of Parrocchia di San Cassiano where, it was hoped, his body could be interred and if the one-sixteenth part would allow, to build an altar in his memory to Santa Caterina della Ruota. As the will recited again, Abruzzi had been born into the Parrocchia di San Cassiano , and it went on to add that he had been brought into the sacraments there, and that he had the parish and the priests to thank for his strong and abiding faith.

The big winner under the will, Reginaldo noted, was Signor Stefano Guidini. “To Signor Stefano Guidini I owe my life and everything I am and own,” the will said. “He has been a friend when I needed a friend, a companion when I needed a companion, and a support, financially, spiritually, emotionally, when I needed support. There is no one more deserving of my property and no one I could trust more to carry out the spirit of what I ask of him now.”

Guidini was to receive the remaining fifteen-sixteenths of the estate but the estate did not come to him totally unfettered for his use. There were certain requirements and requests that Guidini was to follow. One, a requirement of an annual payment for the support of the Confraternity of Santa Caterina della Ruota, was excused now that the confraternity no longer existed. If Guidini's health allowed, he was to take a pilgrimage to Jerusalem where he was to have Mass said for Abruzzi at the Holy Sepulcher; otherwise he was to find someone both trustworthy and sufficiently devout to take the pilgrimage on his behalf. In Venice , Guidini was to also pay for three Masses to be said annually for the benefit of Abruzzi 's soul, one at San Marco, one at the church at the Monastery at San Giorgio Maggiore across the canal from San Marco, and one at the Frari. If he desired, Guidini could also arrange for Masses to be said for Guidini's soul at these same churches. If the size of the estate allowed and if Guidini could find someone deserving, he was also authorized and encouraged to pay the dowry of any poor girl from Parrocchia di San Cassiano who wished to become a choir nun at the Convent of San Zacchariah. “A life dedicated to Christ should not depend on one's social class and certainly not on one's economic station,” the will explained. “Those of the Parrocchia di San Cassiano who feel the calling of Christ should not be denied it.” Finally, and perhaps the most unusual provision in the will, Guidini was instructed to donate monies to the use of the Republic of Venice in amounts to be determined by Guidini and at times of his choosing.

“What did you think of the will overall,” Jacopo asked later that day when Reginaldo returned to the academy. “Did it tell you anything ?”

“Signor Abruzzi was not comfortable with what his fate would be in the afterlife,” Reginaldo answered, “which perhaps tells us something of his conduct in this life. Otherwise, he would not have taken such pains to see that his time in Purgatorio would be shortened.”

“And, yet, for someone who may have lived a notorious life of some sort, there seems to be little known of the man,” Jacopo observed.

“True, but that leads one to suspect that whatever wrong he was committing, he was good at it because he was never caught,” Reginaldo answered.

Jacopo would have the last word, though, noting that the piece of metal found in his skull indicated that maybe Abruzzi had finally been found out. Perhaps, Reginaldo thought to himself, but the theory that Reginaldo was forming concerning the murder of Abruzzo Abruzzi was taking him in an entirely different direction. It would not be long, as more was learned, that the direction Reginaldo was taking was the right one.

* * *

Stefano Guidini sighed as he opened his door to start another day as assistant to the chief treasurer, bookkeeper and accountant for the Republic's principal customs house. Now four months from his sixtieth birthday, Guidini was growing tired of numbers and money and numbers about money, especially since the money belonged to someone else. It had been his life this past thirty-six years, although not all of it in the service of the government of Venice . Until seventeen years ago (“Mi Dio, [“My God”] has it been that long,” he thought,) he had been the treasurer and bookkeeper of one of the largest trading companies in the city, in addition to providing similar services to other businesses and organizations charitable and civic. Early on he had embraced the relatively new system of double entry bookkeeping and was, thereby, in high demand.

“It has always been about other people's money, excessive amounts, obscene profits, money not needed and often wasted on extravagances,” his thoughts continued as he stood at the traghetto stop waiting for the gondola to cross back over and ferry him across the canal.

There had been the slightest problem in his bookkeeping, a single instance, at the trading company. The moneygrubbers at the company were very particular about their money and their books and very suspicious of those who worked with either. Guidini's error carried with it the slightest scent of a possible embezzlement and for the briefest of times Guidini's life was tinged with scandal. He opened his life to the company investigators and the polizia, let them sift and ruffle through his finances and personal affairs like a woman going through a chest of drawers looking for a missing stick pin. There was nothing for them to find and so they found nothing. But for the trading company, Guidini was marked by suspicion and distrust. The company let him go.

“It should have been different then, things should have gotten better in short order . . . . But they didn't.” Guidini, along with four others, mindlessly stepped into the gondola and stood motionless in its middle as the craft pushed off from its wooden pier to make another crossing of the canal.

Even if he had not been able to convince the trading company of his trustworthiness, he had been able to remove any doubts held by the Venetian authorities. With the backing of a friend (and the friend's bond), Guidini was given a position, albeit a minor entry level position, at the customs house. Over the course of the following seventeen years, he slowly progressed in the positions he held at the customs house until he had reached the one now held. It was not a grand position. It would not make him wealthy. However, it did provide a comfortable income and, in time, it would afford him an acceptable pension, as well.

Guidini sighed as he stood before the open door to the customs house. “Another day of numbers, of other people's money.” He entered the customs house and made his way to the room where he worked.

“There is an official here to see you.” A co-worker had been outside the accountants' room waiting for Guidini to arrive.

“An official ? Like the polizia ?” Guidini asked.

“A court official.” A man dressed in the official togata of an employee of the civil courts stepped through the doorway. “I am Signor Meringino of the civil courts,” the man introduced himself. “There has been a will filed for probate, the will of Signor Abruzzo Abruzzi . You are its principal benefactor. If you could, you need to view the will, to verify your identity, and there are some questions to answer and documents to sign. We have made the necessary arrangements with your superiors for your absence this morning. If you could come with me.”

Guidini could not suppress his smile at this news. “My salvation, at last,” he thought. “I am still not so old that I cannot enjoy this good fortune.”

* * *

“He seemed totally unaware of the collapse of Il Torre del Passo and the discovery of the body of Signor Abruzzi ,” the man whispered to Reginaldo. Guidini stood in the outer room to one of the civil courtrooms located in the Palazzo Ducale. The official who had led Guidini to the court had left him in the outer room while he went to inform Reginaldo of their arrival.

“Thank you,” Reginaldo said and then he walked from the room to greet Stefano Guidini. Dinardi, who had also been in the room, followed Reginaldo.

“Signor Guidini, thank you for coming so quickly,” Reginaldo said. Reginaldo wore neither the black togata of the nobili class nor the one with the special sleeves identifying him as a medical doctor. Reginaldo was “in disguise” for this occasion, wearing the togata of an official of the court. Dinardi, on the other hand, wore his everyday togata of the Segregario to the Avogadori di Comun. Reginaldo did not introduce himself.

“I was told that Signor Abruzzi had died, his body dis-, . . . his will discovered . . . and that I am named in his will,” Guidini offered.

“It is true,” Reginaldo answered, “there is a will and you are left a substantial part of the estate by that will. It is not an insubstantial estate either from what we can tell at this point in time.”

“I am stunned,” Guidini said, although neither Reginaldo nor Dinardi was convinced that the statement was genuinely made. “It has been so long . . . , so many years since we parted . . . . I had almost forgotten he existed . . . . No, I had forgotten he had existed.” Guidini paused and then added as an afterthought, “I am sorry to hear he is dead.”

“It wasn't a recent death,” Dinardi now joined the conversation. “He has been dead for many years but his body was recently found. In Il Torre del Passo. Are you familiar with it ?” Either Guidini had not noticed Dinardi until the latter spoke or the significance of the markings on the sleeve of his togata had not registered with him. As Guidini took note of Dinardi, Reginaldo noted a slight narrowing of the man's eyes, a wariness, Reginaldo concluded, and a slight twitch of the muscles in his lower jawbone.

“I . . . suppose . . . so,” Guidini answered slowly.

“That's really not important,” Dinardi added quickly. “I'm very sorry to impose on this meeting, Signor Guidini, but there are some things about Signor Abruzzi's death – well, for one, he was murdered – and – well, for another, it had to be many years ago but we can't say how many except . . , except maybe at least ten. You see, he was a skeleton when he was found. Ten, maybe fifteen years to get that way.” To listen to the quickened speech of Dinardi, it would be easy to conclude that he was scatter-brained. It was an impression he was happy to create in the mind of Guidini.

“I . . . , well . . . , uh . . . , I will help in any way,” Guidini said.

“Good. I knew you would. Good. Signor Guidini, please relax. Don't worry. I have only a few questions for you. Don't concern yourself. Really, don't concern yourself with thinking you are a suspect. Although I have to tell you, in many cases, when someone is murdered and they have left a lot of money to somebody, you naturally suspect that person. It is a simple question of who benefits most from the death. And, in this case, that someone would be you, what, with all that money coming to you might make you the number one suspect. Except for one obvious circumstance. If you were after all that money, then why wait for the body to be found. The sooner everybody knew the man was dead, the better for you. Am I right ?”

Guidini did not answer immediately. “I guess so.” While Guidini still spoke slowly, Reginaldo also sensed an increase in his confidence.

“When was the last time you saw him ?” Dinardi asked.

“I really can't say. I don't know.”

“Five years ? Ten years ? Maybe as many as fifteen ? We'd like to get an idea of when, time-wise, to start to look for a killer and we figured you being left most everything in his will, you probably kept in touch with him regularly before he disappeared.”

“Probably fifteen years then, maybe a little longer,” Guidini answered. “It was a long time ago,” he protested.

“His disappearance didn't surprise you ? You didn't wonder where he went ? Didn't go to the polizia ?”

“I probably did wonder. I didn't have any reason to go to the polizia. What would I have told them ? Over time I guess my memory of him grew dimmer and I stopped thinking of him.”

Dinardi turned to less contentious matters. “What did he do as a trade ?”

“He made money. He invested in businesses, property, trade ventures, maybe did some money lending, although I think in that regard he backed the money lenders more than lending money out to the borrowers themselves. He didn't have a ‘trade,' though.”

“You know a lot about his business,” Dinardi said as an observation and not a question.

“I did his bookkeeping. Frankly, that is what surprises me about all this. Being named in his will. I was his bookkeeper. Sometime I gave him advice on certain things. When the advice worked out, he kidded that he owed his fortune all to me. If it went bad, it was ‘it's your loss as much as mine.' I thought he was joking but maybe he wasn't joking after all.”

“I have read the will,” Dinardi said. “He made much more of your relationship than you have indicated. He called you a ‘friend,' a ‘companion' and a ‘support.'”

“I don't know,” Guidini answered. “I did a lot for him. We spent time together. Maybe I was all he had. I don't remember him ever talking about family, other friends.”

“What about Abruzzi the man ?” Dinardi continued to question. If Guidini had noticed that Dinardi had become more focused in his questioning and less scatter-brained in his personality, he did not show it.

“I don't understand your question.”

“Was he in danger ? Was he afraid for any reason ?”

“Not that I am aware of. He never confided anything like that to me. But, then, I'm not sure that was something he would confide to me. As I said, we belonged to some of the same clubs, saw each other at the meetings and the festivals, and I did quite a bit of work for him. We were social friends, I guess, in that regard.” As Guidini talked, Reginaldo noticed that he was becoming more relaxed and less wary of Dinardi's questioning. It seemed as though he enjoyed talking about Abruzzo Abruzzi , as though the man were very much alive and a part of Guidini's life.

“Signor Guidini, I must apologize again about my questions. They may seem unusual to you. You need to understand. Signor Abruzzi has been dead for some time, such a long time that we were only able to identify him by a medallion hung around his neck. We really don't know anything about him – his age, physical characteristics, identifying marks like scars, tattoos, deformities. How old would he be if he were alive today ? Even a rough estimate would help.”

“Mid-seventies, even maybe eighty, easily,” Guidini answered almost without thinking. “He had to be at least sixty when I saw him last.”

“Physically, any scars or tattoos ?” Dinardi continued his questioning.

“No. Nothing like that that I know of.”

“He had all his finger, both arms and both legs, didn't walk with a gimp leg or anything?”

“No, he was healthy and robust, even at his age.”

“What about . . . .” Before Dinardi could finish his question, Reginaldo interrupted.

“Ser Dinardi. Please. Enough of this questioning. Signor Abruzzi . . . . I mean, Signor Guidini, has been taken away from his work long enough and we have things he and I need to discuss so that I can also return to my work.”

“Will it take long ?” Guidini asked.

“Our discussion ? No, it . . .”

“I am sorry,” Guidini interrupted, embarrassed by the misunderstanding. “I meant the process. To wrap up the will ?”

It was a question that Reginaldo had hoped would be asked and he was ready with his answer. “Oh that. Yes. Well, it won't be next week. I would not quit your employment just yet. These things take time. A lot of it depends on how hard or easy it is to identify those who were owed debts by the deceased. Six months, maybe a year, usually no longer. Unless, of course, there is a problem. In that case, it could be longer, much longer. Years.”

“But not in Signor Abruzzi 's case ? There are no problems there ? I don't want to seem anxious. Or greedy,” Guidini added quickly, “but if Fortune and Signor Abruzzi are going to smile on me, I would like to know if I am going to see that fortune while I am young enough to enjoy it.”

“Signor Guidini, there is a problem, I regret to say,” Reginaldo answered, pausing before doing so to give the answer a greater dramatic effect. “It happens in cases like this, although it usually does not happen so quickly. Someone has already stated that he intends to challenge the will and claim the estate for himself.”

It was a hard blow to Guidini, hearing these words, and the shock and confusion registered on his face before he could control his reaction.

“Challenge the will ? How ? Why ?”

“The man claims to be the son of Abruzzo Abruzzi . The legitimate son. He has promised to come forward with papers showing both Signor Abruzzi's marriage to his mother and the man's birth from that marriage. He also claims there may be a second will from Signor Abruzzi which leaves everything to him. That would make his challenge easier, to be sure, but even without the will, he can mount a formidable challenge if he can show he was born after your will was created,” Reginaldo explained.

“Preposterous ! Absurd !” Guidini was outraged by the suggestion and lost control of himself, the volume of his voice rising and the words erupting from his mouth. His protest carried outside the room and into the hallway. “There is no son and there is no second will. The man's a swindler and he is trying to steal my money from me,” Guidini continued. “If he has filed a challenge so soon he must have been put up to it by someone. Probably that notary who has been holding onto the will all these years. They can't get away with it.”

“What you say may all be true,” Reginaldo said, the calmness of his voice clearly intending to impart a calmness to Guidini in what could have been the start of an uncontrollable ranting, “but the challenge has been filed and now the matter must run its course.”

* * *

An hour later Reginaldo and Dinardi stood alone. The intervening hour had been spent by Guidini reading the will, the challenge filed to it, and filling out and signing different documents relating to his identity as the Stefano Guidini named in the will, his belief in the authenticity of the will and his intent to claim the property left him under the will. Calmer, but still fuming over the thought of a challenge to the will, Guidini left to return to the customs house.

Dinardi looked to Reginaldo. “We have enough to arrest him now,” Dinardi said. “He slipped up plenty of times on a number of questions.”

“True,” Reginaldo agreed. “You are having him followed ? Watched ?”

“Yes,” Dinardi answered.

“Let's think on it over night. Signor Guidini can worry all night that he might lose the fortune he has waited for so patiently for so long.”

* * *

Late the following morning, members of the polizia giudizaria, the judicial police force assigned to the Avogadori di Comun and under the supervision of Dinardi, arrested Stefano Guidini as he sat at his work station in the customs house. Dinardi made the decision not to wait even before consulting with Reginaldo.

“It is the right thing to do,” Reginaldo agreed. Dinardi had come to Reginaldo's academy to tell him of his decision and that his officers were on their way to arrest Guidini. “Signor Guidini has been very clever and very patient,” Reginaldo continued. “He could very well decide the money is not worth the having and thereby he would slip through your fingers. It is right that we should cancel the second act of our charade.”

The second act was to have involved a blackmail of sorts, not one intended to elicit money but, instead, designed to get additional damaging statements or even something of a confession. Jacopo, posing as the son of Abruzzo Abruzzi was to have gone to Guidini and threaten to tell all about how Guidini came to be named in the will of Abruzzi as his benefactor. Unless, of course, Jacopo would suggest, Guidini agreed to share a “fair” portion of his newfound wealth with Jacopo.

Reginaldo was glad to be abandoning the plan. There were three potential pitfalls with it. It might have even backfired and allowed Guidini to escape prosecution or punishment. First, it was possible that Reginaldo could be wrong in one or two of the essential facts of the crime. Guidini could just laugh off the blackmail attempt and call Jacopo's bluff. Or, as Reginaldo suggested to Dinardi, Guidini could just walk away from the money, kind of as a proof that he had no motive for the killing because he was never after the money. Finally, he could just agree to the blackmail, not because he was guilty of what Jacopo accused but because it was preferable at his age to share part of the money rather than risk dying of old age before seeing any of it. There was a fourth reason, as well. Guidini had killed before. Killing a second time could come easier to him. There was no reason to put Jacopo's life in jeopardy.

We did the right thing in arresting him now, Reginaldo concluded. There is enough evidence to press him closely on the matter.

* * *

“Signor Guidini confessed and told all,” Dinardi informed Reginaldo. “He goes to trial next week.” It was three days since the arrest of Guidini. Reginaldo sat at the table in his suite of rooms in the building adjoining his academy for Venetian boys. The class day had ended and he was sitting with Jacopo and Prete Sipi, the third instructor at the school, going over their assignments for the next day.

“Will you join us ?” Reginaldo asked after receiving Dinardi's news. “Josef can bring you a glass and we can celebrate our success.” At these words, Josef turned to leave the room.

“No, Josef, that is fine,” Dinardi said. “I must be home. Thank you, though, Ser Morosini.”

When Dinardi left, Reginaldo turned to Prete Sipi.

“The murder of the man known as Abruzzo Abruzzi was twelve years in the making,” Reginaldo began. Jacopo now knew the whole story, or most of it anyway, but Prete Sipi knew very little of it.

“Stefano Guidini was a patient man and a man of great discipline and intelligence. He was willing to put off and sacrifice today for a better tomorrow. Amazingly, he planned it all from the beginning and stuck to his plan throughout, even though it would be ten or fifteen years, or maybe even longer, before he realized the fruits of his efforts.

“He started embezzling money from the trading house where he was employed, as well as some of the other businesses and organizations he was doing books for on the side. They weren't large amounts – amounts that would be missed – but with the trading house, a ‘large amount' is a relative term with the volume of business it does and the amount of money it handles. Abruzzi wasn't in a hurry and he knew the money he was taking would add up in time.”

“Where does Signor Abruzzi fit into all this ?” Prete Sipi interrupted.

“That was part of the cleverness of Signor Guidini,” Reginaldo explained. “If the money was discovered missing – and Signor Guidini was really too clever for that to happen, except on one occasion – he didn't want the money traced to him. So the moneys, the properties it bought, the businesses it was invested in, all went to Signor Abruzzi until Guidini felt it was safe for him to have it instead.”

Jacopo smiled and his eyes twinkled as he thought of how Reginaldo had phrased his explanation but he said nothing.

“And when he thought it was time, he killed Abruzzi ,” Prete Sipi finished the story for Reginaldo.

“In a manner of speaking,” Reginaldo answered.

Sipi was silent for a moment, his face giving away that something in Reginaldo's story was troubling to him.

“But that doesn't make sense,” he finally said. “Why would Abruzzi make a will that left everything he owned to Guidini ? It was almost like he was begging to be murdered.”

“Perhaps not ‘begging,' but I will tell you this. Abruzzo Abruzzi lived for the sole purpose of being killed by Signor Guidini. And to answer your question, Signor Abruzzi never made a will. Guidini did it for him.”

Jacopo could restrain himself no longer. “Tell him the whole of it,” he implored Reginaldo.

“You go ahead,” Reginaldo answered.

“There never was, never has been, an Abruzzo Abruzzi. Guidini made him up,” Jacopo said.

“Ahhhh . . . ,” was the satisfied reply of Prete Sipi as he came to comprehend the case. However, the revelation of the fictitious nature of Abruzzo Abruzzi raised as many questions for Prete Sipi as it resolved.

“We don't know who it was that was found in Il Torre del Passo after all these years,” Reginaldo answered when Prete Sipi asked who had been killed and left in the tower if Abruzzi was not a real person.

Guidini might have gone on a little longer building his nest egg, Reginaldo continued, but he made a small error in his bookkeeping, not enough to catch him at his embezzlement or even to show that money had actually been taken. It was a signal, though, to Guidini that it was time to go from stealing other people's money to accomplishing its transfer to him. It was time for Abruzzo Abruzzi to die.

Guidini only had one worry where his victim was concerned and that was that he might be identified for who he really was, Reginaldo went on to explain. Guidini had to find a way to make sure the body wasn't found until it could no longer be identified. He probably figured two to three years was needed. He thought he had lucked out when he found out Il Torre del Passo was to be closed up while it was being fought over but things didn't work out like he planned.

“I don't know why he shot his victim,” Reginaldo answered another of Prete Sipi's questions. “If he didn't think the body would be found until years later when it could not be identified, there were better ways to do it. He could have choked him to death, he could have poisoned him. I can only speculate that he knew nothing of poison or could not get any. Or maybe he couldn't bring himself to have to accomplish the killing by actually placing his hands on the body. In any event, he shot him and, in doing so, ensured that murder would be on the mind of whoever discovered the body.”

“Maybe that is why Guidini shot his victim,” Jacopo interjected. “Maybe he wanted to ensure that when the body was found, that murder was evident. What other explanation could there be for the body being in Il Torre del Passo, even if it should have only been there two or three years, rather than the seventeen it turned out being.”

The thought had not occurred to Reginaldo but it made as much sense as the explanation he offered.

Reginaldo now reached the part of his explanation that Jacopo liked the best. It was when Reginaldo explained what clues led him to his solution of the case. “It seemed strange that someone could just stop existing and no one notice it or not raise any questions,” Reginaldo told the two. “It is not impossible, but the medallion, the kind praise said of Signor Abruzzi , this didn't seem the kind of person that could disappear under those circumstances.”

The medallion had also troubled Reginaldo from the beginning. It was almost as though it had been left with the body so there could be no mistake about its identity. “From the beginning I wondered whether the medallion was there to keep us from finding out who the victim really was,” Reginaldo said. “I kept this thought in my mind as I thought through all the other evidence.”

There was other evidence to support this theory, as well. From what Dinardi had learned of the Abruzzi estate, it seemed like Abruzzi was a man who accumulated wealth but never had any need for money whatsoever. Twice he had bothered the Procuratori to withdraw some money but only twice.

Then, once Reginaldo and Dinardi had reviewed the will, Reginaldo had Dinardi put his men to work in finding out what they could of Abruzzo Abruzzi and in attempting to corroborate some of the biographical information found in the will. The records of the Confraternity of Santa Caterina della Ruota could not be found but some of its former members were. Abruzzi , they all remembered, was a mystery man. He donated to the club, substantial sums as it were, but he had never attended a meeting or participated in any ceremony in which the club participated. He was not anonymous in his giving but he was anonymous is every other aspect, one of the members had explained to Dinardi's investigator. As for the medallion, no one remembered it and no one believed that the Grand Council of the club would approve such an expenditure. “That didn't mean a member couldn't have privately honored Signor Abruzzi with a medallion or something else appropriate,” one of the former members had said, “perhaps thinking some recognition was due.”

More importantly, Reginaldo continued, Dinardi's men came up empty on any record of Abruzzi 's early life. “We had his parish from the will,” Reginaldo explained, “and he had only fond memories and praise for it. But his name never appeared in the records, not once. No birth record, no baptism, no record of any sacraments, donations, anything. But I also had Dinardi's men check the parish records for something else. That they did find. Stefano Guidini had been born into and grew up in the parish. That is when I knew that Guidini's one weakness was a lack of creativity. He could not keep his life from being expressed in the one he created for Abruzzi .”

“Two things that still confuse me,” Prete Sipi interrupted again. “How could Signor Guidini be so sure the body would not be found until it decayed and how could he get things so wrong about the body he left behind in the tower ?”

“It turns out that Signor Guidini had also been the bookkeeper for the monastery challenging the ownership of the Sienese palazzo and Il Torre del Passo. He could have easily ‘discovered' the paperwork that supported the monastery's claim shortly after forging that paperwork.

“In fact, it was the sequence of events surrounding that property that convinced me not to discount Signor Guidini's guilt. It was true that he would have had no reason to wait seventeen years after murdering Abruzzi to have the body discovered. But the body was never intended to remain undiscovered that long. What little control he had over the discovery of the body was taken out of his hands when the second Sienese brother died and there was an even bigger fight over his estate.”

Reginaldo had no good answer for the second question. Perhaps Guidini never knew of the actual victim's limp, he speculated. The man could have been a vagabond, living in an abandoned building near Il Torre del Passo who Guidini shot as he lay sleeping on the floor of the building.

“But that is a little hard to believe because then you would have to believe that Giudini moved the body to the tower and carried it up the stairs,” he said. “No, I think he led him there on one pretense or another and killed the man in the tower. I think his errors, the things that gave away that the man in the tower was that over the years Abruzzo Abruzzi had become as real to Signor Guidini as though the man really existed. When Guidini was answering Ser Dinardi's questions at the civil court, Signor Guidini was describing Abruzzi as he believed he existed.”

“It Torre del Passo,” Prete Sipi said. Both Reginaldo and Jacopo looked at him quizzically. “Il Torre del Passo, it just seems fitting. Signor Guidini's fortune depended on the fate of a building called Il Torre del Passo. Signor Guidini may have been as much a fool in creating a person that did not exist as had the owner been when he had the tower erected. As it turned out, Signor Guidini may have given almost as much meaning to the name of the tower as did the Sienese who built it.”