Nino gazed at the model in Danae with a Nurse: her knowing look, the easy way she exposed her nudity, one arm lying on a pillow, her left hand between her legs. She had certainly been beautiful, but there was no resemblance to Seraphina. Her descendant had been slender and dark-haired, without any of the pulsing eroticism of the countess.

Turning back to the notebook, Nino continued to read.

She was accused of witchcraft, but escaped punishment, various powerful men coming to her aid. (She also took one of her maids to court for theft, insisting that the woman be banished from Venice.) When her husband lost money on a fleet of ships which sank with his property, the Contessa applied to Pietro Aretino for help.

Nino looked at Aretino’s portrait: a fat, greedy-looking man, with cunning eyes.

Not long after there is a record of the Contessa taking Angelico Vespucci as a lover, circa 1554. (Rumour has it she bore him a son, but this is not proven. Check the facts on this.) Their affair became the talk of Venice, the Contessa sharing her favours with Aretino and Vespucci at the same time. During one magnificent party, the trio put on an exhibition for their visitors, the sexual antics all but visible behind a transparent veil. On another occasion, gondolas were hired to cruise the Grand Canal, the couples in them making love in full sight. From the doorways and balconies people watched, throwing money to the most adventurous lovers.

In revenge the Contessa’s husband took a courtesan lover from the Jewish Quarter. (Check name on this? Rena? Caterina? Nothing definite about this. Seems she came to work as a servant and was hired as a courtesan.) Some sources say she was an older woman, some say no more than a child. Certainly she had come from Milan. The count and Vespucci shared her favours.

Suddenly the phone rang beside Nino and a familiar voice came down the line.

‘I’ve just got back to London. How are you getting on?’ Johnny Ravenscourt asked, the dogs barking in the background.

‘Pretty good.’

‘You all right for money?’

‘Yes, fine, thanks,’ Nino answered, glancing at the papers in front of him. ‘I’m just reading about the Contessa di Fattori. Personally I’m surprised her husband didn’t kill her.’

‘There was a theory at the time that he hired Angelico Vespucci to murder her—’

‘Hired him? Why would he need to pay someone as rich as Vespucci?’

‘He wouldn’t. I imagine The Skin Hunter would have done it in the name of friendship … I suppose you’ve seen the website? The one that’s just gone up on Vespucci? angelicovespucci.1555.com.’ He laughed, but the sound was strained. ‘Whoever put it up certainly knows a lot about him.’

‘Anything you didn’t already know?’

‘No!’ Johnny replied shortly. ‘I’m the bloody expert! I’ve spent years on Vespucci and now some upstart thinks he can set up a website and steal my thunder. Bastard.’

Amused, Nino tried to mollify him. ‘Should I look at it?’

‘Suit yourself,’ Johnny said, his tone sulky. ‘To be honest, I emailed the site, but no one’s come back to me yet. They’re on to the Titian though. They know the portrait’s turned up.’

Leaning back in his seat, Nino listened. His doubts about Johnny Ravenscourt were not lessened by the news of the website. Perhaps he had set it up himself, pretending there were other interested parties, other suspects. What was surprising was that the site announced the re-emergence of the Vespucci portrait – but then again, hadn’t Johnny Ravenscourt been one of the first to know about it? Hadn’t Seraphina told him? Certainly none of the dealers – Jobo Kido, Farina Ahmadi or Triumph Jones – would have deliberately made the news public.

Mistrustful, Nino chose his next words with care. ‘So the portrait’s common knowledge now?’

‘It’s on the net, so everyone will know.’

‘Give me the website address again, will you?’ Nino asked, jotting it down then returning to his previous theme. ‘The Contessa di Fattori was an exhibitionist.’

‘The Contessa was a one-off. After she died, the family became reserved, kept away from society. They were ashamed of her life and her death. But Seraphina admired her beauty.’ He changed tack. ‘Have you spoken to her husband lately?’

‘Yeah, I talked to Tom Morgan yesterday. He’s not been arrested. The police have questioned him again, but they let him go.’

‘The Italian police couldn’t find a dog in a tin can,’ Johnny replied dismissively.

‘Have they got any other suspects?’

‘Not that I know of.’

Nino rifled through the pages in front of him until he found the piece of paper he was looking for. ‘You made a note of a name – hang on, it’s here somewhere – yes, that’s it. Someone called Sir Harold Greyly, in Norfolk.’

‘What about him?’

‘Did you talk to him?’

‘I was going to, but he was travelling overseas every time I got in touch. In the end, I moved on.’

It was a lie, and Nino sensed it. ‘You wanted to talk to him about Claudia Moroni. Why?’

‘I can’t remember,’

‘But it must have been important. Claudia was one of Vespucci’s victims.’

‘Like I say, I can’t remember.’

In the background Nino could just catch a faint noise. A ping from Johnny Ravenscourt’s computer to say that he had an email.

‘I have to go, I’ve got a message!’ he said, obviously excited. ‘It’s from the website. Somebody’s finally answered me.’

With that, Johnny Ravenscourt clicked off the phone.

Thoughtful, Nino went back to his notes. Unable to concentrate, he turned to the computer and brought up the Vespucci website. On the last page, under CONTACTS, it read WEBSITE CREATED BY JEX. Jex, Nino thought, frowning as he made a note of the name.

He turned back to the paper on Vespucci. Johnny Ravens-court had been lying, not in what he had said but in what he hadn’t said. If Nino wasn’t mistaken he had deliberately ignited his interest, then encouraged it by feigning indifference. Ravenscourt might act like a dolt, but Nino suspected that he was more devious than he appeared.

Reaching for the notes, Nino checked the name he had noticed earlier – Sir Harold Greyly, Courtford Hall, Little Havensham, Norfolk.

The address which would change his life.

28

New York

The body count was now up to three. Three women, all killed in the same way Vespucci’s victims had met their end. The new Skin Hunter was active, inspired by the legend Triumph Jones had created. Had he never set his plan in action he could simply have bought the Titian portrait for himself. That would – should – have been enough for any dealer. His peers would have admired and envied him, his nickname gaining a platinum lustre. The prestige of owning a Titian should have been sufficient for even a mammoth ego.

But not for Triumph.

The same ambition which had cost him his marriage would now cost him his peace of mind. Sleep had deserted him, the lure of his business turned off. Even the pleasure of dining out had somehow become little more than a chilly formality. His friends might still gather about him, still engage him in conversation and gossip, but Triumph’s mind never stayed with them for long. Instead it fixed on the names of the murdered women. It threw up images of their corpses, not seen but imagined in every terrible detail.

It seemed that every few days there was a report in the paper of another murder. In Venice, London, Tokyo. Perhaps only a ghost could travel so easily and so unnoticed? But this was no ghost, no legend that he had callously drawn up. This was reality. A man was killing women. Inspired by the original Skin Hunter someone was seeking to emulate – God forbid, exceed – his murders. It was as though a lunatic was now recreating what Vespucci had done four centuries previously.

Triumph suspected the police were likely to have connected the killings already. The publicity had ensured intense activity, the media demanding answers. What would happen next was inevitable: the news of a woman being skinned would travel quickly from Tokyo and they would remember Sally Egan in London, then, after a while, Seraphina. The police were bound to make the connection because there were too many similarities for the killings not to have been committed by the same man. And although Triumph had not engaged in the act of killing, he was indirectly responsible for the murders. It had been his PR which had drawn a lunatic out. His ego which had brought The Skin Hunter back to life.