Sharon went back to something Sanchez had said earlier. “Why do you think Ducos is the murderer, though? With this good a setup, I’d think he wouldn’t want to upset anything.”
Ruy’s little frown made Sharon realize that he hadn’t understood the colloquial term “setup.” The Catalan’s English had gotten so good that she tended to forget he didn’t necessarily know all the slang and idiom. She began to explain but Ruy stilled her with a raised hand.
“I understand the gist of your question. The answer? Two-fold. First, Ducos would have had no interest in simply spying on the Committee. Why should he? This is Venice, not Paris. His interest in them would have been simply that of tools to accomplish some other purpose. By all accounts, this Marcoli fellow is given to rashness, yes?”
The last question was aimed at Billy, accompanied by the kind of up-tilted eyebrow that translates as Don’t bullshit me, buddy.
Billy took a deep breath and let it out. “Oh, yeah. I liked the guy, mind you—almost impossible not to. But, yeah, he wasn’t exactly playing with a full deck. Well. That’s not quite right. Marcoli’s not actually nuts—and he’s certainly not stupid. It’s just . . .”
Sharon sighed. “I get the picture. I have a cousin like that. Did, anyway, back when and where. She was bright as a tack, and you couldn’t really say she wasn’t sane.” A little chuckle emerged. “I played cards with her, now and then. Not often, because she drove me nuts. She always assumed every card coming up was either an ace or a face card. Just because that’s what she wanted.”
“Yup. That fits Marcoli to a T.” Billy looked to the south. “I guess we’d better get back, ma’am. There’s only just a few more hours left of daylight. If Stoner’s kids have gone with him . . .”
Sharon could imagine the hell to be paid herself, with no trouble. But she still wished she knew more. She was now pretty sure that Marcoli had decided to try some kind of rescue attempt for Galileo. But that was just a guess on her part. And any assumption that the Stone boys were part of whatever scheme Marcoli had cooked up—assuming there was really one at all—would be sheer speculation at this point.
Nobody really knew anything. From an street urchin’s simple statement that the Stone boys had left with the Marcolis, there was only so far you could leap.
Uncertainly, she looked in the direction Billy had indicated earlier was where the Marcoli house was to be found. Ruy put her thoughts into words.
“Yes, I agree. Since we are here, we may as well see if there is any information to be found there. Marcoli or one of his confederates may have left something behind.” He tugged at his mustache, smiling a bit derisively. “Judging from their reputation, perhaps a broadside boasting of their not-yet-accomplishment.”
The Catalan looked down at Benito. “Take us there,” he commanded.
* * *
With Benito’s sure feet guiding the way, they arrived at the building where the Marcolis lived within just a few minutes. The building was old as well as big, one of those edifices that gets added on to decade after decade, century after century, in a city as ancient as Venice. Much of the front consisted of workhouses, to Sharon’s surprise, which were humming busily at their trades. Glassmaking, judging from what little she could see.
“The Marcolis live in the back part,” Benito explained. “This way.”
He led them down the side of the building, through a passageway almost too narrow to be called an alley. Then, made two quick turns to thread his way through a little labyrinth of outbuildings. They found themselves in front of a large door.
The door was ajar. “That’s funny,” Benito said, frowning. “I know they closed it when they left. Locked it, too.” The boy looked a little guilty, then. Despite the seriousness of the moment, Sharon had to suppress a chuckle. She had no doubt the little scamp had tried to get himself in. Maybe not to steal, just . . . an opportunity too rare for a respectable street urchin to pass up.