Isle of the Dead by Alex Connor Page A

gallery, his own personal assembly of freaks. He might have found out nothing, but he knew that his call would have immense repercussions. The American would realisethat the news was out, and that it had travelled as far as Japan. There was no doubt that Triumph Jones had earned his sobriquet and his impressive cunning would ensure that he investigated any trail, even a false one.
    What would happen next was anybody’s guess, but the Titian was up for grabs and at least three dealers were after it. With such a coterie of egos nothing – not even Angelico Vespucci’s portrait – could remain hidden for long.

18
    At one time there had been some sort of order to Johnny Ravenscourt’s notes, but as time went by the precise jottings had been replaced with slips of paper and reminders etched on the back of serviettes and empty cigarette packages. Old, barely decipherable newspaper cuttings were shuffled in among reproductions of Angelico Vespucci’s portrait, along with contemporary engravings. In every one of them the same bulbous, heavy-lidded eyes gazed out, the eyes Nino remembered seeing the night Seraphina brought the portrait to Kensington. The eyes which had been covered by a blanket when the painting had been lodged, temporarily, in the eaves above the convent gallery.
    Concerned for Gaspare’s safety, Nino was pleased that the dealer had to stay in hospital for further tests. Nothing serious, the doctor reassured him – ‘just to be on the safe side’. He didn’t know how true the words were. Back at the Kensington gallery, Nino discovered where the thief had broken in and had the window repaired, changing the door locks as an added precaution.
    But when he visited Gaspare in hospital that afternoon, Nino was unprepared for the dealer’s refusal to involve the police.
    â€˜Keep them out of it!’ he snapped. ‘I don’t want anyone to know about the painting. No one knows about the break-in – and no one will.’
    â€˜You were attacked—’
    â€˜
For the painting!
’ Gaspare remonstrated. ‘Now they’ve got it, why would they bother to come back? There’s no danger for us.’ He pointed to the newspaper which reported Sally Egan’s death. ‘We have other things to think about. That girl, for instance. Why was she killed in that way? Not another coincidence, surely. She must have some connection to the Titian portrait or Vespucci himself.’
    Nino shrugged. ‘Why? It’s rare, but victims have been skinned before—’
    Gaspare cut him off.
    â€˜But why would it happen
now
? Just when the painting of
The Skin Hunter
’s come to light? No. There’s a connection, there has to be.’ He looked around the private room, grateful that no one could overhear them. ‘Did you talk to the Raven-scourt man?’
    â€˜Yes, I did, and he gave me his research, all his notes, everything he’d ever found out about Vespucci.’
    â€˜Really?’ Gaspare replied, wary. ‘What’s in them?’
    â€˜I dunno, I haven’t had a chance to read them yet. I’m going to look at them when I get back to the gallery.’
    Picking up the newspaper, Gaspare read the headline again.
    â€˜First Seraphina, now this woman … You think they had something in common? I do. I’m sure something connects them.’
    â€˜Like Vespucci?’
    Gaspare nodded thoughtfully. ‘We need to go back to where it all began – in Venice. We need to know about Vespucci’s victims. See if they had any connection to each other. Then we can see if they have any connection to Seraphina and Sally Egan.’
    Nino paused, thinking back.
    â€˜You told me that Vespucci got away with the murders because there was another suspect—’
    â€˜But I don’t know who. No one does.’
    â€˜Unless he’s named in Johnny Ravenscourt’s notes,’ Nino