Cold Tuscan Stone, David Wagner [i read book txt] 📗

I posed on your last visit to this office. Which one do you think it is, Signor Montoya?”

He was expecting the question; he’d been asking it to himself since the drop off at the edge of the parking lot. Conti eased back in his chair with the usual creak and watched Rick’s face.

“I am still leaning toward Landi. The exporter, Polpetto, doesn’t seem organized enough to run an operation like this. And as I said, our Signor Santo appeared before I even spoke to Polpetto. So unless it is his secretary who really runs his business, Polpetto is almost certainly ruled out. And even though he is a large man, he doesn’t seem muscular enough, emotionally, to be capo of a group of criminals that must include the man who took me to the cave. Though it’s true that my driver did talk about experience with customs offices, which could link him with the exporter.” Rick stopped talking for a moment and rubbed his forehead. “But something has stuck in my head about Polpetto. Perhaps it’s of no significance.” Conti kept silent and waited for Rick to continue. “It was the way he looked at a small fragment from an Etruscan tomb, a piece from his office shelf.”

He looked at the policeman, whose expression was neutral, and shook his head. “But no, Landi seems most likely. I saw him dealing with his men in the workshop, and that was not the most wholesome of groups. And la bella Donatella? She’s somewhere in the middle. Her relationship with her maggiordomo raised questions in my mind, and I could picture her ordering around other men like she did Dario. And she is a successful businesswoman. There would be no reason to rule her out of a criminal activity, other than pure male chauvinism.” Rick again waited for Conti’s reaction.

The commissario smiled slightly and creaked his chair into a more upright position. “I was at Landi’s workshop in connection with the Canopo investigation, and I agree with your point about him and his workers. I also have a suspicion about Landi’s involvement with fake artifacts, because of some items I saw in his shop. If he’s involved in that trade, trafficking the real thing would be the logical next level for him. I don’t know Polpetto except from what you have described to me. And my only contact with Signora Minotti was a casual one. We met at an exhibit opening. None of the three have has any issues with this office, so if they are up to anything they must be very good at it.”

Or your office is not very good at your own business, thought Rick. “Is there anything new on the Canopo case, Commissario? If you don’t mind me asking.”

Conti frowned, but it was unclear to Rick if the man was annoyed with the question, annoyed with the subject being changed, or was just deciding what he wanted to tell Rick. Or deciding if he wanted to tell him anything.

“Nothing which helps prove anything one way or the other. I continue to believe that he did not take his own life, and the autopsy does not contradict murder. I don’t have a motive, but I’m sure he was engaged in some activity outside of his position with Landi, his bank accounts show it. I must assume that whatever he was doing, it would not be viewed favorably by us here in the building.”

“Doing something on the side for Landi?”

“Or someone else.”

“And that something could have been dealing in stolen Etruscan artifacts.”

“And that is another good reason, Signor Montoya, for you to be retiring from this case and leaving it completely to the professionals. Retiring with honor, of course.”

Rick was getting used to the Commissario’s ironic half-smile. He wanted to probe more about the murder, but interpreted Conti’s last comment to mean that their conversation was at an end.

After Rick left the office, Conti picked up his phone, pressed one of its buttons, and said a few words. A sergeant appeared almost instantly, pad and pen in hand.

“Yes, sir?”

As Conti talked the man scribbled. “Put out a search for a dark red late-model four door Opel. If we’re lucky there will be a large dictionary in the back seat. I know that’s not much to go on, there must be hundreds of red Opels in the province, but do what you can. Run a license check on all that you find to get the owners’ names, but don’t approach any of them, at least not yet.”

The sergeant hurried out the door as Conti rested his head in his hands. After a moment he got to his feet and went to the window, rubbing his eyes to squeeze out the fatigue. It was now completely dark outside, but a few lights were on inside the buildings around the square. As he watched, a woman came out of the tourist office and locked its door behind her before shuffling across the square, holding her coat tightly around her neck. Conti checked his watch and wondered how many card games his brother-in-law had played by now in that bar on the main square of San Giorgio.

***

As Rick left the piazza and walked down the hill toward the hotel, his thoughts were of Erica. That, at least, was the positive side of this quick end to his undercover work; he would be with her tomorrow in Rome. Where would they go for dinner? Certainly not a Tuscan place, he’d had his fill of those dishes the last few days. Perhaps something simple, like da Lucia in Trastevere where they serve the best spaghetti alla gricia in the city. He would need a reservation. At this time of year it was only the tables inside and their dining room was about as big as Conti’s office.

As he pondered major decisions of life in Italy he came to the small triangular chapel on the corner and remembered his promise to himself to make a visit. The room