by Donna Leon
‘Buon giorno,’ she said, smiling and offering him her hand,
He stood to take it. Glancing at Brett, she included her in her next remark. ‘I’m going to make coffee. Would either of you like some?’ Then with a smile, ‘A bit early for champagne.’
Brunetti nodded but Brett shook her head. Flavia turned and disappeared into the kitchen. Her arrival and departure had, however momentarily, deflected his last remark, but now they had no choice but to return to it.
‘Why did they kill him?’ Brett asked.
‘I don’t know. An argument with the other people involved with him? A disagreement about what to do, perhaps what to do about you?’
‘Are you sure he was killed because of all of this?’
‘I think it’s best to work on that assumption,’ he answered blandly, not surprised at her reluctance to see it this way. To do so, obviously, would be to admit her own peril: with Matsuko and Semenzato both dead, she was the only one who knew about the theft. Whoever had killed Semenzato could have no idea that she had brought proof, as well as suspicions, back from China with her, and so they would have to believe that his death would effectively end the trail. If the fraud should ever be detected sometime in the future, it was not likely that the government of the People’s Republic of China could be moved to interest itself in the murderous greed of Western capitalists; it would probably search for the thieves nearer to home.
‘While they were still in China, who was in charge of the pieces selected for the show?’
‘We dealt with a man from the Beijing Museum, Xu Lin. He’s one of their leading archaeologists and a very good art historian.’
‘Did he accompany the exhibits out of China?’
She shook her head. ‘No, his political past prevented that.’
‘Why?’
‘His grandfather was a landlord, so he was considered politically undesirable or, at least, suspect.’ She saw Brunetti’s open look of surprise and explained. ‘I know it sounds irrational.’ Then, after a pause, she added, ‘It is irrational, but that’s the way it is. He spent ten years during the Cultural Revolution herding pigs and spreading dung on cabbage fields. But as soon as the Revolution was over, he returned to the university, and since he was a brilliant student, he couldn’t be kept from winning the job in Beijing. But they wouldn’t let him leave the country. The only people who travelled with the exhibition were party hacks who wanted to go abroad to go shopping.’
‘And you.’
‘Yes, and me.’ After a moment, she added in a low voice, ‘And Matsuko.’
‘So you’re the one who will be held responsible for the theft?’
‘Of course, I’m responsible. They clearly aren’t going to accuse the party cadres who came along for the ride, not when they have a Westerner to take the blame for the whole thing.’
‘What do you think happened?’
She shook her head. ‘Nothing makes sense. Or I can’t believe what does make sense.’
‘Which is?’ He was interrupted by Flavia, who came back into the room carrying a tray. She walked past him, went to sit beside Brett on the sofa, and placed the tray on the table in front of them. On it were two cups of coffee. She handed one of the cups to Brunetti, took the other, and sat back in the sofa. ‘There are two sugars in it. I think that’s what you take.’
Ignoring this interruption, Brett continued. ‘One of the party cadres must have been approached by someone here.’ Though Flavia had missed the question that prompted this explanation, she made no attempt to disguise her response to the answer. She turned and stared at Brett in stony silence, then glared over at Brunetti and met his eyes. When neither of them said anything, Brett continued, ‘All right. All right. Or Matsuko. Maybe it was Matsuko.’
Sooner or later, Brunetti was sure, she would be forced to remove that ‘maybe’.
‘And Semenzato?’ Brunetti asked.
‘Possibly. At any rate, someone at the museum.’
He interrupted her. ‘Did these people, the ones you call cadres, did any of them speak Italian?’
‘Yes, two or three of them.’
‘Two or three?’ he repeated. ‘How many of them were there?’
‘Six,’ Brett answered. ‘The party takes care of its own.’
Flavia sniffed.
‘How well did they speak Italian? Do you remember?’ Brunetti asked.
‘Well enough,’ was her terse reply. She paused and then admitted, ‘No, not well enough for that. I was the only one who was able to speak to the Italians. If it was done, it would have to have been done in English.’ Matsuko, Brunetti recalled, had taken her degree at Berkeley.
Exasperated, Flavia snapped out, ‘Brett, when are you going to stop being stupid about this and take a look at what happened? I don’t care about you and the Japanese girl, but you’ve got to look at this clearly. This is your life you’re playing with.’ As suddenly as she had started, she stopped, sipped at her coffee but, finding the cup empty set it roughly down on the table in front of her.
No One spoke for a long time until Brunetti finally asked, ‘When would the switch have been done?’
‘After the closing of the exhibition,’ Brett answered in a shaky voice.
Brunetti shifted his glance to Flavia. She remained silent, glancing down at her hands, clasped loosely in her lap.
Brett sighed deeply and whispered, ‘All right. All right.’ She sat back in the sofa and watched the rain drive down against the glass of the skylights. Finally, she said, ‘She was here for the packing. She had to verify each object before the Italian customs police sealed the package and then sealed the crate that the boxes were put into.’
‘Would she have recognized a fake?’ Brunetti asked.
Brett’s answer was a long time coming. ‘Yes, she would have seen the difference.’ For a moment, he thought she was going to add something to that, but she didn’t. She watched the rain.
‘How long would it have taken them to pack everything?’
Brett considered for a moment and then answered, ‘Four days? Five?’
‘And then what? Where did the crates go from here?’
‘They were flown to Rome on Alitalia, but then they were held up there for more than a week by a strike at the airport. From there, they went to New York, and they were held up there by American customs. Finally, they were put on the Chinese airline and taken back to Beijing. The seals on the crates were checked every time they were put on or taken off a plane, and guards stayed with them while they were in the foreign airports.’
‘How long was it from the time they left Venice until they got to Beijing?’
‘More than a month.’
‘How long was it before you saw them?’
She shifted around on the sofa before she answered him, but she still didn’t look at him. ‘I told you, not until this winter.’
‘Where were you when they were being packed?’
‘I told you. In New York.’
Flavia interrupted. ‘With me. I was making my debut at the Met. Opening night was two days before the exhibition closed here. I asked Brett to go with me, and she did.’
Brett finally looked away from the rain and across at Flavia. ‘And I left Matsuko in charge of the shipment.’ She put her head back on the sofa and looked up at the skylights. ‘I went to New York for a week, and I stayed three. Then I went back to Beijing to wait for the shipment. When it didn’t arrive, I went back to New York and got it through US customs. But then,’ she continued, ‘I decided to stay in New York. I called Matsuko and told her I was delayed, and she offered to go to Beijing to check the collection when it finally got back to China.’
‘Was it her job to verify the objects in the shipment?’ Brunetti asked.
Brett nodded.
‘If you had been in China,’ Brunetti asked, ‘then you would have unpacked the collection yourself?’
‘I’ve just told you that,’ Brett snapped.
‘And you would have noticed the
substitution then?’
‘Of course.’
‘Did you see any of the pieces before this winter?’
‘No. When they first got back to China, they disappeared into some sort of bureaucratic limbo for six months, then they were put on display in a warehouse, and then they were finally sent back to the museums they had originally been borrowed from.’
‘And that’s when you saw that they had been changed?’
‘Yes, and that’s when I wrote to Semenzato. About three months ago.’ With no warning, she raised her hand and slammed it down on the arm of the sofa. ‘The bastards,’ she said, voice guttural with rage. ‘The filthy bastards.’
Flavia put a calming hand on her knee. ‘Brett, there’s nothing you can do about it.’
With no change in her voice, Brett turned to her. ‘It’s not your career that’s over, Flavia. People will come and hear you sing no matter what you do, but they’ve just destroyed the last ten years of my life.’ She stopped for a moment and then added, voice softer, ‘And all of Matsuko’s.’
When Flavia tried to object, she continued, ‘It’s over. Once the Chinese find out about this, they’ll never let me go back. I’m responsible for those pieces. Matsuko brought the papers back from Beijing with her, and I signed them when I got back to Xian. I verified that they were all there, in the same condition as when they left the country. I should have been there, should have checked them all, but I let her go instead because I was in New York with you, listening to you sing. And it’s cost me my career.’
Brunetti looked at Flavia, saw the flush that had come into her face at the sound of Brett’s growing anger. He saw the graceful line her shoulder and arm made as she sat turned towards Brett, studied the curve of her neck and jaw. Perhaps she was worth a career.
‘The Chinese don’t have to find out about it,’ he said.
‘What?’ both of them asked.
‘Did you tell your friends who did the tests what the samples were?’ he asked Brett.
‘No, I didn’t. Why?’
‘Then we seem to be the only people who know about it. Of course, unless you told anyone in China.’
She shook her head from side to side. ‘No, I told no one. Only Semenzato.’
Flavia interrupted here and said, ‘And I doubt we have to worry he told anyone, aside from the person he sold them to.’
‘But I have to tell them,’ Brett insisted.
Instead of looking at her, Flavia and Brunetti glanced across the table at each other, understanding instantly what could be done, and it was only with the exercise of great force of will that each of them resisted the impulse to mutter, ‘Americans.’
Flavia decided to explain things to her. ‘So long as the Chinese don’t know, then nothing has happened to your career.’
To Brett, it was as if Flavia hadn’t spoken. ‘They can’t keep those pieces on display. They’re fakes.’
‘Brett,’ Flavia asked, ‘how long have they been back in China?’
‘Almost three years.’
‘And no one has noticed they aren’t genuine?’
‘No,’ Brett conceded.
Brunetti picked it up here. ‘Then it’s not likely that anyone will. Besides, the substitution could have happened any time during the last four years, couldn’t it?’
‘But we know it didn’t,’ Brett insisted.
‘That’s just it, cara.’ Flavia decided to try to explain it to her again. ‘Aside from the people who stole the vases, we’re the only people who know about it.’
‘That doesn’t make any difference,’ Brett said, her voice once more rising towards anger. ‘Besides, sooner or later, someone is going to realize they’re fake.’
‘And the later it is,’ Flavia explained with a broad smile, ‘the less likely it is that anyone will link you to it.’ She paused to let this sink in, then added, ‘Unless, of course, you want to toss away ten years’ work.’
For a long time, Brett didn’t say anything, just sat while the others watched her consider what had been said. Brunetti studied her face, feeling that he could read the play of emotion and idea. When she was about to speak, he suddenly said, ‘Of course, if we find out who killed Semenzato it’s likely that we’ll get the original vases back.’ He had no way of knowing if this was true, but he had seen Brett’s face and knew she had been about to refuse the idea of remaining silent.
‘But they’d still have to get back to China, and that’s impossible.’
‘Hardly,’ Flavia interrupted and laughed outright. Realizing that Brunetti would be more receptive, she turned to him to explain. ‘The master classes.’
Brett’s response was instant. ‘But you said no, you turned them down.’
‘That was last month. What’s the good of my being a prima donna if I can’t change my mind? You told me yourself that they’d give me royal treatment if I accepted. They’d hardly go through my bags when I got to the Beijing airport, not with the Minister of Culture there to meet me. I’m a diva, so they’ll be expecting me to travel with eleven suitcases. I’d hate to disappoint them.’
‘And what if they open your bags?’ Brett asked, but there was no fear in her voice.
Flavia’s response was immediate, ‘If memory serves, one of our cabinet ministers was caught with drugs at some airport in Africa, and nothing came of it. Certainly, in China, a diva ought to be far more important than a cabinet minister. Besides, it’s your reputation we’re worrying about, not mine.’
‘Be serious, Flavia,’ Brett said.
‘I am serious. There is absolutely no chance that they’d search my luggage, at least not when I’m going in. You’ve told me they’ve never searched yours, and you’ve been going in and out of China for years.’
‘There’s always the chance, Flavia,’ Brett said, but it was audible to Brunetti that she didn’t believe it.
‘There’s more of a chance, from what you’ve told me about their ideas of maintenance, that my plane will crash, but that’s no reason not to go. Besides, it might be interesting to go. It might give me some ideas about Turandot.’ Brunetti thought she was finished, but then she added, ‘But why are we wasting time talking about this?’ She looked at Brunetti, as if she held him responsible for the missing vases.
It surprised Brunetti to realize he had no idea if she was serious or not about trying to take the pieces back to China. He spoke to Brett. ‘In any case, you can’t say anything now. Whoever killed Semenzato doesn’t know what you told us, doesn’t even know if we’ve managed to come up with a reason for his murder. And I want to keep it that way.’
‘But you’ve been here, and you came to the hospital,’ Brett said.
‘Brett, you said they weren’t Venetian. I could be anyone: a friend, a relative. And I haven’t been followed.’ It was true. Only a native could successfully follow another person through the narrow streets of the city; only a native would know the sudden stops, the hidden turns, the dead ends.
‘So what should I do?’ Brett asked.
‘Nothing,’ he answered.
‘And what does that mean?’
‘Just that. Nothing. In fact, it would be wise if you were to leave the city for a while,’
‘I’m not sure I want to take this face anywhere,’ she said, but she said it with humour, a good sign.
Turning to Brunetti, Flavia said, ‘I’ve tried to get her to come to Milan with me.’
A team player, Brunetti asked her, ‘When are you going?’
‘Monday. I’ve already told them I’ll sing Thursday night. They’ve scheduled a piano rehearsal for Tuesday afternoon.’
He turned back to Brett. ‘Are you going to go?’ When she didn’t answer, he added, ‘I think it’s a good idea.’
‘I’ll think about it,’ was as much as Brett would say, and he decided to leave it at that. If she was going to be convinced, it was Flavia who could do it, not he.
‘If you decide to go, please let me know.’
‘Do you think there
’s any danger?’ Flavia asked.
Brett answered the question before he could. ‘There’s probably less danger if they think I’ve spoken to the police. Then they don’t have to stop me from doing so.’ Then, to Brunetti, ‘That’s right, isn’t it?’
He was not in the habit of lying, even to women. ‘Yes, I’m afraid it is. Once the Chinese are notified about the fakes, whoever killed Semenzato will no longer have a reason to try to silence you. They’ll know the warning failed to stop you.’ Or, he realized, they could try to silence her permanently, but he chose to say nothing of this.
