by Roy Lewis
Gabriel Nunza’s bony hands fluttered about his chest in alarm. His voice was dry. ‘Certainly not! We are all well aware of the sterling work that you have done over the last few years, Signorina Cacciatore, regarding the hunting down of criminals who have been robbing Etruscan tombs, and how you have exposed the workings of the links that extend throughout Europe and America. That the cordata might still exist after your efforts, who can say? I assure you, it is nothing like that. I have done nothing illegal, not consciously at least. We have little money in this institution to spend on newly acquired artefacts, our benefactions are meagre. This museum has become a kind of backwater in the world of antiques and coming here I saw it as almost a form of retirement after I left the Pradak Museum.’
Carmela glanced sideways to Karl Spedding. ‘But you still needed to apply to former colleagues to come to help you?’
‘I have become concerned … There have been … difficulties.’
Carmela glared at him suspiciously. ‘Exactly what sort of difficulties do you find yourself in?’
There was a short silence. Nunza was looking at Karl Spedding as though for guidance. Arnold’s deputy director nodded supportively. ‘I think you need to tell them the whole story, Gabriel.’
‘Karl, I am not sure—’
‘You gain nothing by prevarication. And you owe no loyalty to anyone.’ He paused. ‘And Peter Steiner is dead.’
Carmela Cacciatore’s eyes narrowed reflectively. ‘I think your friend is offering you good advice,’ she suggested.
Nunza lowered his head, shielded his eyes with his left hand. He sighed despondently. ‘I came here, to this post, five years ago. Like Karl Spedding I was tired of the way the directors, our former employers, had prevaricated over the years, blocked the promotion of people who did not conform to their views, and indulged in practices that … well, that were bordering on the illegal. This post brought me closer to my family and it seemed to me it would remove from my life some of the tensions that existed in my former post.’
‘And did that happen?’
Nunza nodded slowly. ‘Life has been … easier here.’
‘But problems have arisen?’ Carmela pressed.
Nunza glanced at his friend Spedding, seated a little behind Arnold. ‘I did not at first see them as problems. I was comfortable here and thought I would in future be largely ignored by the academic world, but this did not prove to be the case. It became clear to me that I had gained a certain reputation in my former post so I was not surprised, though a little flattered, to be invited to give certain lectures at conferences. The fees were not large, though welcome, and I moved among academics whose reputations were well established. My employers were naturally happy to allow me certain short leaves of absence to undertake this kind of work: rightly, they saw it as an accolade for this museum.’ He sniffed, moistened his lips carefully. ‘After all, this establishment has no great reputation these days: it has lost its grants and government support, and I suppose they saw it as a way of perhaps improving their profile.’
‘None of this seems problematical,’ Carmela observed. ‘It’s the way things go in our world.’
Nunza nodded unhappily. ‘I thought everything was moving smoothly. And I was not concerned when certain contacts I made at these conferences and meetings rang me occasionally, discussed items with me, asked me to visit to take part in conferences where learned papers could be reviewed.’
Carmela was becoming impatient. ‘I don’t see where this is going, Signor Nunza.’
There was a short silence, broken by Karl Spedding’s soft voice. ‘You need to tell them everything, Gabriel.’
Nunza sighed. He shrugged. ‘It was perhaps inevitable. I was always too trusting, I suppose. Naive, perhaps. And the flattery went to my head. So when comments were made about certain artefacts, and learned men turned to me for confirmation, I was perhaps too … blind to see what was really happening. The reality was, I should have known I was getting in above my head, should have realized I was beginning to be asked to give opinions regarding items on which I was not really qualified to pass judgement. And to be fair, I must tell you I was sometimes excited, too eager to believe in what was being presented to me, and happy to have my name associated with recognized experts in the field.’
Carmela frowned. ‘Confirmation?’
Nunza nodded. ‘Identification. Etruscan. Greek artefacts. To obtain my confirmation some of the items were deposited here for a few months in order that I could study them at my leisure. I was happy to receive these items into my safe keeping. I was able to display them from time to time. My employers were happy at the increased prestige this gave their rather faded collection in the museum. And articles that I subsequently wrote regarding some of them were accepted by the academic press.’
‘I read them,’ Spedding intervened. ‘They were well regarded and seen as carefully researched.’
‘Thank you, my friend.’ Nunza extracted a handkerchief from his top pocket and wiped his damp hands. ‘And, of course, I was happy when some of these journal articles were quoted in other learned publications. And sales catalogues. Initially, at least.’
‘Why only initially?’ Arnold asked.
The museum director glanced at Arnold with a furrowed brow. ‘Things changed slightly over time. I came across a reference to one of my learned articles on one occasion, which seemed to imply that the artefact I had written about, which had been in my possession for some months, had in fact been held at this museum for a much longer period than had actually been the case. It was also implied that the artefact in question had been purchased by this museum from a named private collection. I wrote to the editor of the journal to point out the error and received a reply, quite courteous, to say the mistake would be corrected. It never was.’ He hesitated. ‘I cannot say this put me on my guard, but it did sow a seed of concern. Six months later something similar happened. There came into my possession a sales brochure in which a certain seventh-century impasto ceramic was described as authenticated by and purchased from the Abrogazzi Museum.’
Carmela glanced at Arnold. ‘I think in English, such ceramics are called coarseware. We have heard of illegal digs near the Liri River, particularly at Teana where a sanctuary suffered from clandestine activity. Some such ceramics have been recovered.’
Gabriel Nunza fingered his grey moustache nervously. ‘By the time the brochure came to me the sale had been concluded, and it was too late to protest, but my concerns were growing, as you must appreciate. The ceramic in question had been sent to me by a Spanish collector with whom I had been in contact: I had been asked to advise on it, confirm its authenticity, which I was happy to do, and I was allowed to retain it for six months for display purposes.’
‘And now your confirmation, and holding of the item, was being used—’
‘To provide provenance,’ Nunza muttered.
There was a short silence. Carmela Cacciatore glanced at Arnold and nodded. ‘An old trick. There are many ways in which provenance can be assumed and I fear the world of collectors is sufficiently unscrupulous to turn a blind eye to such practices. To say an item comes from a private collection is to shield the truth: it is a meaningless phrase, tells the purchaser nothing of the actual provenance, which may well be a looted tomb, an illegal importation, a naked theft. But since governments have started to clamp down on such practices – even Switzerland has changed its laws recently, although the country is still to be treated as a place from which antiquities should be treated with suspicion – it is not unusual for other methods to be used, such as the suggestion that the artefact in question comes from a museum collection. In other words, your contacts were using you, Nunza; to cover the lack of provenance they have been implying that the Abrogazzi had acquired the item legitimately. It was a stamp of approval. It would convince buyers, or at least allow them to fool themselves. So when you realized what was happening, what did you do about it?’
Nunza hesitated. He licked his lips. �
��I went to the owners of the museum. I explained my position. I told them I was unhappy about what seemed to be happening. They were … unsympathetic. I told them I wanted nothing more to do with such practices. The discussion became a little heated, I’m afraid. And then it became clear to me that while I could not say that the owners had been involved, I realized that certain significant bequests that had been made to the museum, helping it to keep afloat over the years, had probably come about as a result of actions by my predecessors and now by these … latest confirmations. And it was made clear to me that these bequests helped pay my salary. I was angry. I announced I would not undertake any further confirmations.’
‘But you didn’t resign from your position,’ Carmela said coldly.
There was no response from Nunza. He stared at Carmela in owlish despair.
‘And you made no report to the authorities,’ she added in a disgusted tone.
Karl Spedding cleared his throat. ‘That’s a little unfair. Gabriel rang me. Told me what was happening. Asked my advice.’
Carmela looked at him, dark eyebrows raised. ‘And you reacted?’
‘We had been through much together in our former posts.’ He shrugged. ‘I said I would do what I could to help.’
‘Which was?’ Arnold asked.
‘I spoke to various people I knew at other museums. And I also made contact with someone in the Guardia di Finanza, who promised to look into it. He had been helpful in the past, supportive in some enquiries I made when I was at the Pradak Museum. Meanwhile, I told Gabriel to hang on, stay in the job for the time being, but keep his head down.’
‘And that’s what happened?’ Carmela asked sternly.
Nunza shuffled uncertainly in his seat. ‘All went quiet. And then, out of the blue, I received a telephone call from Peter Steiner.’
Arnold saw Carmela’s shoulders stiffen. ‘What was that all about?’
‘I was taken aback. I had had no dealings with the man; I had met him of course, before he was exposed and sent to prison, but I was taken completely by surprise that he should contact me after his release from incarceration.’ Nunza mopped again at his hands, twisted the handkerchief into a ball. ‘He had read some articles, he told me, and was interested in some of the items I had authenticated, along with other experts. But I didn’t want to talk to him. I made that clear. He was persistent. And finally he asked me about some specific items, asked if they’d been submitted to me at any time. And we talked in general about the problems of provenance.’
Carmela’s tone had become careful; there was a new tension in her voice. ‘What specific items did he mention?’
Nunza hesitated. ‘It was a general discussion. Specific items … well, as I recall there was the matter of five kantharoi with cusped handles; a biconic vase painted in the white and red technique; some fibulae decorated with a motif previously found only in Villanova necropolises in Bologna, a bronze head … I told him a request had been made to me to consider some of these items, but I had refused to deal with them after my meeting with the Abrogazzi owners.’
‘Anything else?’
Nunza hesitated, glanced at Spedding and then raised one reluctant shoulder in a shrug. ‘There was also a bronze statuette.’ He licked his lips uncertainly. ‘This one … it worried me. It has a history.’
‘The statuette of Artemis?’ Arnold asked.
Nunza glanced at him sharply, with nervous eyebrows, then nodded silently.
‘What else?’ Carmela pressed. ‘Pottery, for instance?’
‘There were some further items of pottery: I can’t recall details because I was determined to have nothing more to do with this business. I felt I had been tricked. And I didn’t want to talk such matters with Steiner. So I cut off the conversation. After all, Steiner’s reputation was bad; he had probably been involved in such activity himself. I did not know what he wanted from me so I did not allow him to dwell on such matters.’ Nunza hesitated, glanced at Karl Spedding. ‘But I was getting worried. I felt I was in over my head. I needed advice. So I spoke to my friend Karl again, and he agreed to come over, meet me, stay a few days, go over the learned articles I had written, check references, discuss what was to be done … and then I saw in the newspaper, heard Peter Steiner had been murdered.’
The room suddenly seemed stuffy. Arnold was aware that each of them seemed to be waiting for something to happen, something to change, a key to be turned, a ray of light shone on the murky world that had been spread out before them. At last, Carmela murmured, ‘The pottery items Steiner was talking about, so he didn’t describe them?’
Nunza shook his head regretfully. ‘I told you. I didn’t really want to be involved. I cut him short.’
Carmela grunted in dissatisfaction. She glanced at Arnold, then rose abruptly. ‘This all requires further investigation. I think, for the moment, I need to discuss matters with my colleagues and you, Signor Nunza, you should prepare a written report on what you have told us. No doubt we will be in touch with you again.’ She turned, frowned at Karl Spedding, seated quietly behind her. ‘I imagine your work here is now done. You will now be returning to England?’
Spedding nodded. ‘Tomorrow.’
‘You say that to help your friend you made use of contacts, to discuss matters. And you mentioned the Guardia di Finanza. Why did you make an approach to that office? They have nothing official to do with the recovery of stolen antiques.’
Spedding smiled thinly. ‘One way to trace illegal transactions and doubtful sales is to investigate financial matters, bank accounts, investments, taxes incurred … that sort of thing. You will recall that Al Capone, the mobster in America, he was brought down for tax evasion not murder.’
‘Somewhat before my time,’ Carmela muttered. She turned away. Arnold rose, nodded to Spedding and followed her towards the door. There she suddenly paused. ‘Nunza … you say you did not know why Steiner called you?’
‘That is correct.’
‘And he wanted to talk to you about certain artefacts? Or their provenance?’
‘It would seem so.’
‘Were no names mentioned?’
Nunza’s brow was furrowed. ‘I do not recall … although now I think of it, some of the items he wanted me to talk about, they had been presented to me by the same man. A collector, a small-time dealer in various ancient artefacts.’
‘What was his name?’
Nunza shrugged. ‘I do not know him well. I met him a few times, and he certainly sent some items to the Abrogazzi Museum for authentication. A Spaniard. His name … Zamora.’ He nodded.’That was it. Antonio Zamora. From Madrid.’
2
THE INTERNATIONAL SPOLIATION Advisory Committee was scheduled to meet at Carmela’s office in Pisa. The room was hot and stuffy, even though Carmela had opened the window to the morning sun. Arnold had arrived early after a frugal breakfast in his hotel but it was clear Carmela had already been working at her desk, which was scattered with papers, for some hours. She gestured him towards the coffee machine and continued to concentrate on the sheets in front of her while he made himself a cup of coffee, and brought a fresh cup to her. He took off his tie, unbuttoned his shirt at the throat and sat down opposite her.
‘I’m going through what we know about the items that were lost in transit from Berlin to Moscow,’ she murmured.
‘Removed by Major Kopas.’
She nodded. ‘Several items have surfaced over the years. Some have been reclaimed through us, for their original owners. There are about four, I think, where disputed ownership has still to be settled by the courts. But this list of recovered items does not include the Artemis statuette, as we already know. The photograph Steiner showed us is its first sighting since it disappearance into Russia. But the photograph implies that it has been traded, or is up for sale.’
‘Have you heard anything from McMurtaghy?’ Arnold asked.
‘He rang last night.’ She checked her watch. ‘He expects to be here this morning, but might be dela
yed since he hopes to make contact with Interpol again. He thinks that after his trip to the States he might have a lead but he was not explicit.’ She grimaced. ‘He likes to keep his information closely under control. Uses the need-to-know principle.’
‘Hardly helpful to the group.’
‘It is a result of his FBI background, I suppose.’
Which quite possibly had been a violent one, Arnold suspected. He sat back and sipped his coffee as Carmela continued to shuffle the papers in front of her. Over the next twenty minutes the other members of the group arrived: Alienor Donati, Joachim Schmidt. Alienora Donati smiled warmly when she saw him, brought her coffee to sit beside Arnold and questioned him about his experiences in Northumberland. She had heard of some of his exploits: the discovery of Kvernbiter, the Viking sword, and the sudarium, the cloth reputedly used to mop the brow of the dying Christ. She was clearly inclined to doubt the reality of the cloth but was enthusiastic in her desire to hear about Kvernbiter. Schmidt paid little attention after he arrived: he took some papers from his briefcase, extracts from learned journals, it seemed, and immersed himself in a close reading of them.
After a while, Carmela sighed, shuffled the papers together, finished her now cool coffee, looked around and said, ‘Forgive the delay. I think perhaps we should make a beginning. I’m not sure what time McMurtaghy will be arriving, so perhaps, Alienor, we should begin with an update from you?’
They spent the next twenty minutes discussing the steps the French group member had taken to recover a clutch of paintings that had been acquired by the French government and of which the ownership was disputed. The situation was proving to be more complicated than they had hoped: two had been the subject of presidential gifts, and there were signs that acknowledgement would be made of the true ownership of the looted art; others were still the subject of ongoing legal proceedings which were hampering further activity on Alienor Donati’s part. The group agreed that she should continue with her efforts.
