Zerbino’s eyes widened and he took a short breath. “I don’t understand.”
“Canopo,” said Conti. “He worked for you, didn’t he?”
“Yes, yes, he did, but I had nothing—”
“Nothing to do with his death? What was the problem with Canopo? Was he having second thoughts about his involvement in your little criminal operation? Were you afraid he might go to the police? Or did he want to get more of a percentage of the profits? It must have been something very serious to have him killed. Or did you do it yourself?”
Glistening beads were appearing again on Zerbino’s head despite the cool temperature in the room. He went to reach into his pocket for his handkerchief, but when the uniformed policemen instantly put their hands on their revolvers he made a defensive gesture and used his bare hand to wipe his forehead.
“Violence? O dio, not me, Commissario. How could you even consider such a thing? Canopo worked for me, yes, but he was one of my most trusted and valued assistants. His death was a great loss to my…to my work.”
“It will be hard to convince a judge of that, Dr. Zerbino. You have admitted that he worked for you, and the clay from your cave was on his shoes when he died. What other explanation would there be?”
“A very simple one. But when he was killed, as much as I wanted to help you with your investigation, I could not reveal it. For obvious reasons.”
“Go on.” Conti was not buying it. Nor was Rick.
The mention of murder had evaporated the little self-confidence that Zerbino had left. He talked rapidly. “You see, Commissario, one of Canopo’s duties was infiltrating similar criminal operations in Volterra, and he did it very well. I wanted to keep an eye on the competition, because if the police—I mean, of course, if you—started investigating other dealers, you could have stumbled onto our work. Then I realized that I could actually push the authorities toward other crime, and that would keep you busy and happy. And away from our business. You will have to forgive me.” He studied Conti’s face and got no reaction. “But I fear that the other group of criminals may have found out about Canopo’s double dealing, and they were not as reluctant about the use of violence as I would be.”
“What is the group you are talking about?”
Zerbino shrugged and pointed at the shelves. “They are not involved in anything of this quality. It is the usual fakes and trickery, poor copies which fool most of the people who buy illegal artifacts. But very lucrative, I am sure.” He looked from the urns to Conti. “But of course, I forgot that you have seen their work.” Conti frowned. “The shed, Commissario?”
“So it was you who left the tip with us about the shed.”
“Not I exactly, but it was done on my orders. And it was successful, I dare say. I suspect it set back their work considerably, and kept you busy.”
“Who is in this other group of traffickers?” It was LoGuercio who asked the question, surprising Rick. Apparently his work in cornering Zerbino had given him the right to interrogate the man. Remembering the deferential manner all the policemen at the station had shown with the commissario, Rick found it a bit strange. But Conti appeared not to be concerned with his subordinate, and he looked back at Zerbino for the answer to the question.
“As much as I would love to help you, there is little I know other than the names of three of their members who were Canopo’s contacts. At least the names they gave him, which were likely not their real ones. The one thing I must say about that organization, they value secrecy.”
“The more you can remember the better,” said Conti. “The judge may look more favorably on your own case if your memory improves.” To help make the point, Conti signaled to one of the policeman to handcuff the museum curator.
Zerbino smiled for the first time since Conti’s arrival. “I was expecting you to say that. I will do my best to recall as many details as I can.” As a sergeant was putting handcuffs on Zerbino he turned back to Conti. “Commissario, there is one detail I do remember.”
“Yes?”
“The men that Canopo dealt with never mentioned the name of the leader of their organization, as I said.” He looked down at the handcuffs and back at Conti. “But he told me that once, only once, one of them slipped and referred to the boss in the third person.”
“And what use is that?” asked Conti.
“He used the pronoun ‘she,’ Commissario. Could that help?”
***
Rick had argued for a straight shot to Donatella’s villa, but Conti made the decision to talk to Polpetto’s secretary first. If what Polpetto had told Rick the previous evening was correct, only Claretta Angelini would be covering the office, and it would not take long to get her story. Then, if need be, they would make the long drive to Villa Gloria. Rick didn’t tell Conti that he hoped a visit to the villa would not be necessary. Less than five minutes after leaving the museum, two police cars came to a stop in front of the exporter’s office. Conti and Rick got out of the back seat and LoGuercio exited the front. They huddled with the three uniformed policeman in the follow car.
“You are sure, Signor Montoya, that there is no other way out of the second floor office?”
“I didn’t see any other door, Commissario. The only way in and out of the office was through the hallway.”
Conti turned to the others. “Detective, take one of the men with you and check out the downstairs while Montoya and I go up to the office. Have the other two stay here on the street.” He looked back at Rick. “Are you sure she will let you in?”
“I have no reason to believe she won’t.”
Conti nodded silently and Rick pressed the button below Polpetto’s name. The door buzzed open almost immediately. They looked at each other and Rick pushed open the door to let Conti enter. They climbed the steps while LoGuercio and the other policeman began to reconnoiter the area behind the stairwell. The office door did not open as quickly as the one from the street, Rick and Conti waited several seconds after their knock before they heard the welcoming buzz and click. When Rick pushed open the door, Claretta was standing behind the desk straightening her skirt. On seeing him she smiled broadly. She had lipstick on, bright red like last night, to match the glasses as well as the earrings.
“Signor Montoya, I did not expect to—” The smile remained, but the gaunt figure of Conti behind Rick brought a questioning look to her face. “You have brought someone with you. I am afraid that Signor Polpetto is in Firenze today, if you need to speak to him…”
“We would like to speak to you, Signora Angelini.” Conti’s somber voice had its effect on the woman. She stiffened and made no movement to sit down.
“And you are?”
Conti took a small leather case from his pocket and opened it for her inspection. “Commissario Conti, Signora. I have some questions to ask you. About your dealings in the arts market, such as they are.”
Fear tightened her face now, and she clasped her hands tightly while looking at Rick for support. Was this simply the usual reaction to a sudden encounter with the police, he wondered, or could she actually be the leader of the forgery gang?
“I don’t understand, Commissario. What has Signor Montoya told you?” She looked again at Rick, now lit with anger. “And why would he be talking to you?”
Conti ignored her questions and continued. “We have reason to believe that this office, and specifically you, Signora, have been involved in some activities that cross the line between legitimate business and illegal activity. It would make your situation much more favorable if you told me about it now. But if not, we can take you to my office.”
“Tell you about what?”
The movement of her head toward the door to Polpetto’s office was almost imperceptible, but Rick spotted it. So, apparently, did Conti; he pushed back his coat and took a small revolver from its holster. Claretta was staring at the gun when the door to Polpetto
’s office opened to reveal the man Rick had last seen in the cathedral. And, to Rick’s relief, he was unarmed. Claretta threw her arms around Santo, pushed her cheek against his chest, and began to sob.
“Silvio,” she said with difficulty, “this is a policeman, and he said—”
“I could hear,” Santo answered while looking at Conti. “You can put your gun away, Commissario, we are not common criminals.”
Rick was now more convinced than ever that they in fact were criminals, but he watched Conti shrug and holster the pistol.
“I have men in the hall and outside the building, and they are armed more than I. But you have not told me who you are.”
“This is Signor Santo,” said Rick. “The man I met in the cathedral.”
Conti smiled. “Ah yes, the person who was going to offer some questionable art work to the American dealer.”
Rick watched the reaction of Claretta to Conti’s words. Forget ordering a murder to maintain group discipline, he thought, this woman didn’t appear capable of leading a girl scout troop. If anyone was in charge, it had to be Santo, but even he didn’t act the part.
“You were right, Silvio,” she sobbed, looking up at Santo, “Polpetto found out. We never should have done it.” A thin black streak of teary eye liner crept down her cheek.
Rick saw that Conti was frowning. The policeman is confused, he thought, and so am I. Polpetto must be part of all this, so what could the man have found out? Had she ordered the murder, and now she thinks her boss learned of the crime? Once again he asked himself what the hell was going on.
“Commissario,” said Santo, his arm around Claretta, “what we did was unethical, perhaps even immoral, but it was hardly criminal. And surely it doesn’t warrant coming in here with guns.” Conti was still frowning, and Rick remained silent. “I am a reputable art dealer, but I suppose my reputation will now be ruined. I—”
“It was my fault, Silvio, it was my idea.”
Santo continued to face Conti while his arms protected the woman. “She had nothing to do with it, it was my decision completely. Polpetto did not need any more business, but having an international client could have helped me, helped us, get the boost we needed.”
“So that’s why you wanted to meet me in the cathedral.”
He looked at Rick like he was being offered a life preserver. “Yes, of course, Signor Montoya, you’ll understand since you are in the art business, you know it can be vicious. So I didn’t want to risk it getting back to Polpetto.” He stroked Claretta’s face, almost knocking off her red glasses. “I had some very good pieces I was going to show you tomorrow. I don’t suppose that you might still—”
“What kind of pieces?” asked Conti. “Some good forgeries?”
The question appeared to bother Santo more than having a gun aimed at him. “Certainly not! I may have been unethical in trying to take some business from Polpetto, but the art work I sell is authentic and of the highest quality.”
Conti looked at Rick and shook his head sadly.
Two minutes later, on the street outside the office, Conti had finished giving instructions to the policemen before getting back into the cars.
“Commissario,” said Rick, pulling out his cell phone. “This trip to the villa is going to take us some time. I should call my friend to tell her I’m going to be late getting back to the hotel. Since your men were following me, I trust you know about her arrival in Volterra yesterday?” Conti flicked his wrist to indicate that time should not be wasted on a long conversation.
***
Erica spoke in a low voice so that Dario wouldn’t hear. “You’ll excuse me for saying so, Donatella, but what a strange man he is. Though he does seem to be a very careful driver.”
They were walking slowly between a row of Roman columns and a low stone wall. Other than a small group of Japanese tourists clustered together a few hundred feet away, listening intently to their guide, they were the only visitors to the ruins on this morning. The weather may have had something to do with it; clouds were rolling in from the west, covering the archeological area, as well as the rest of the city, with a gray shroud. Both women wore thick-soled boots, perfect footwear for the combination of dirt and stone that was their path. Long wool coats protected them from the cold, and they both kept their hands in the pockets as they walked. Neither wore a hat. Even on the ski slopes Italian women preferred to let their hair, and hair style, be seen. Everything in their attire was casual yet practical, though the line between casual and chic in Italy was often a fine one.
“He isn’t just a driver, Erica, he does a bit of everything for me in the business. When I need some problem resolved, I usually turn to him.”
“The way he’s following us he seems to think he’s also your bodyguard.”
“I suppose so. Is that yours?” Erica didn’t understand the question at first, then fumbled in her purse to pull out a cell phone.
“Yes, Ricky. Did you call the hotel? I didn’t answer in the room because I’m not there.” She smiled at Donatella. “Donatella came by and picked me up, so we are catching up on each other’s lives while doing some sightseeing. And it was a wonderful excuse not to do my work. What? We’re at the amphitheater. You haven’t? Why don’t you join us? Benissimo. Yes, I’m being careful, and her assistant is here watching over us. See you in a few minutes.” She closed the phone and returned it to the purse. “That was Ricky, he—”
“He’s done at the museum and is going to join us. Got that.” She took Erica’s arm and leaned close to her ear. “I suppose we should talk about him before he gets here.”
Erica laughed softly. “I believe we’ve done enough of that already, don’t you think?”
Donatella did not match the laugh of her friend, and kept her eyes on the path while she formed a reply. “My contact with Ricky was strictly business, Erica, you know that.”
“Thank goodness for that, cara.” They walked several steps in silence before Erica spoke again. “Let’s leave Ricky for another day. You haven’t said much about your business, except it’s expanding. It must be going well.”
They turned to walk behind what had been the amphitheater’s stage, its outline now formed by broken walls and paving stones. At the far side of the stage a double tier of Corinthian columns was all that was left of the original decorations that ran the length of the structure. It had been a marvelous backdrop for those sitting in the arc of stone seats. Drama, comedy, Roman, Greek, all performed here. The two women made their way between what had once been the walls of the changing rooms to emerge onto the stage itself. High above them rose the north walls of the city.
“Business is going well, though there have been some set-backs, especially one recently, but that is the nature of any business. The problem that caused it was taken care of, and now we should be doing quite well. And I hope to do some business with Ricky. You won’t mind that I bring it up with him when he arrives.”
“No, of course not.”
Donatella looked up at the tiers of stone seats above them. “Isn’t this a magnificent place, Erica? You Romans build things to last, don’t you? One can imagine what it was like to be an actor in those times, the seats filled with the cheering public when you performed well.”
“No different than being an actor now, I suppose. Without a microphone, of course.”
While the two women strolled across the grass of the stage, Dario leaned his large frame against the stone and glanced back over the ruins. The Japanese tourists had moved to an excavation area that was covered with a corrugated plastic roof to protect it from the elements, a cover which could be put to use soon, given the gathering clouds. Two men in suits had come through the gate and were walking slowly toward the amphitheater. The taller one, his hat pulled well down over his head in anticipation of the weather, held up his arms like pointers, talking and gesturing toward parts of the structure as t
hey walked. The other, younger and more stylishly dressed, looked where the first man directed, and listened intently, nodding in appreciation for the history lesson. Dario glanced at Donatella and then looked back at the two men, tracking their movement with a steady eye. They stopped, the one still gesturing as he talked. The two women were now seated a few rows up from the stage where they could see the ruins spread out below them. Something caught Erica’s eye.
“There’s Ricky. He has someone with him.”
Dario had taken his eyes off the other two men and watched the new arrivals, relaxing somewhat when he recognized Rick. Donatella gave him an almost imperceptible nod, and he leaned back against the stone, returning his attention to the first two men. The taller one with the hat was now using his hands like a movie director to frame the view of the amphitheater while he talked and walked steadily toward the stage.
Rick kissed Erica on both cheeks and stiffly shook hands with Donatella.
“Donatella, Erica, let me introduce Paolo LoGuercio, who I met at the museum. He has just arrived in Volterra and had not visited the amphitheater either, so I invited him along. I didn’t think you’d mind.”
The detective bowed his head slightly.
“So you are new to Volterra,” said Donatella while looking at LoGuercio with more than neighborly interest. “What brings you to our lovely city? Tourism, I suppose?”
If Donatella was expecting a smile from LoGuercio, she didn’t get one. “No, I was recently transferred here with my work. A nice change from the south, I have to say.”
This perked up Donatella even more. “Ah, so you are here to stay.” She took in his tailored suit and silk tie. “Where do you work?”
“I am with the police, Signora Minotti.”
Donatella stiffened, but quickly regained her composure. Her reaction was not lost on Dario, who began stepping rapidly toward them. While LoGuercio kept his attention on Donatella, Rick surveyed the ruins, assessing the situation. He saw that Conti had pushed his hat back and was now trotting briskly along the path, the other plainclothes policeman at his side. They were almost to the stage. Dario’s eyes darted between the two groups of men and began running toward his boss, his eyes narrowing.
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