Read Online Isle of the Dead by Alex Connor - Free Book Online Page A

marriage?’
    â€˜Yes.’
    â€˜Did you have other women?’
    â€˜No.’
    â€˜Did Seraphina have another man?’
    He smiled oddly, shrugging his shoulders. ‘No.’
    â€˜Were you happy?’
    Without answering, Tom stood up and moved over to his dead wife’s photograph. Picking it up, he traced her face with the tip of his forefinger, pressing it firmly into the glass as if he wanted to break through to the image beneath.
    â€˜We met, fell in love, and got married. My company sent me here to work, and Seraphina was thrilled. After all, it was her birthplace; she loved Venice, knew so much about it.’ He put the picture down and pushed his hands deep into his pockets. ‘For the first six months it was heaven – I couldn’t believe I could be so happy. My first marriage was shit—’
    â€˜You were married before?’
    â€˜Yeah, and before you ask, my ex-wife isn’t dead. She went off with someone else.’ His tone was abrasive. ‘Then, when Seraphina and I moved here, things got even better.’
    â€˜So you didn’t always live in this apartment?’
    â€˜No, she didn’t like the one we first lived in, so we moved. Anything to make the little woman happy, hey?’ He walked over to Nino. ‘Are you married?’
    â€˜No.’
    â€˜I wondered, what with you being prematurely grey and all.’ He smiled at his own joke, turning to look out of the window. ‘Why was Seraphina visiting this Gaspare Reni?’
    Lying wasn’t difficult. ‘She was just looking up an old friend.’
    â€˜She didn’t tell me about it. Seraphina told me about everything else she did in London, but she didn’t mention you or Gaspare Reni. So maybe,’ he said, his tone challenging, ‘I should be suspicious of
you
. Maybe I should be asking
you
questions. Like why was she visiting Gaspare Reni?’
    â€˜Just a social visit.’
    â€˜Nothing else?’
    â€˜No.’
    â€˜So my wife visited a man she hadn’t seen for years, just to say hello?’
    â€˜That’s right.’
    Pausing, Tom Morgan stared down at his bare feet. With his left foot he traced out the pattern in the carpet, his hands still in his pockets. Silent, Nino watched him. Did he know about the painting? Despite Gaspare’s warning,
had
Seraphina told her husband about it? And had he told someone else? He was an interior designer – a Titian portrait would have fascinated him. And it would have been very profitable if he’d been able to sell it. Perhaps Tom Morgan had been angry, wanting his wife to get the painting off Gaspare Reni so he could sell it on to one of his wealthy customers. Perhaps they had fallen out over it. Fought over it.
    â€˜How’s your business doing?’ Nino asked suddenly.
    â€˜Fine. How’s yours?’
    â€˜This place,’ Nino said, looking around, ‘must cost a lot to maintain. Do you rent it or own it?’
    â€˜Rent it. We still own the other apartment.’
    â€˜You owned the one you moved from?’
    â€˜Yeah.’
    Nino didn’t know why he asked the question, it just came out. ‘Why did you move from the other flat?’
    â€˜It had bad vibes …’ Tom said, laughing and regaining his seat. He rummaged around in the ashtray for the stub of his joint and relit what was left. ‘Seraphina found out there’d been a murder there. It was supposed to have happened centuries ago. But then, I reckon every apartment in this city has a past. The place is so old, it must be littered with murders.’ He paused, remembering his dead wife. ‘Seraphina’s just one more, isn’t she? Just one more victim.’ His left hand waved idly in the air. ‘The police tell me that I can’t leave Venice. But I didn’t have anything to do with my wife’s death. I loved Seraphina, I couldn’t have hurt her. Her parents