Cold Tuscan Stone by David Wagner (ebook reader for pc and android TXT) 📗

art, but this artist had devoted an entire panel to the scene. Each of the babies looked strangely alike, as if the painter could only afford to pay for one infant model, or decided to use a relative, perhaps a nephew, at no cost. Like the other depictions of Bible stories in the chapel, this one’s figures were dressed in contemporary clothing and armor, no doubt very recognizable to the illiterate twelfth century audience which had viewed it with a mixture of fear and inspiration. Rick returned to the twenty-first century, opening his phone to check its digital clock. Enough sightseeing, it was almost time to meet Zerbino. He walked out of the chapel, turning off the lights with a switch on the wall as the handwritten sign next to it had requested. The honor system was still alive and well in the San Francesco church in Volterra. As he stepped outside, the cell phone rang. It was not a number he recognized, but the voice on the line, while it wasn’t Santo, sounded vaguely familiar.

“Signor Montoya?”

“Yes. Who’s calling?”

The question was disregarded. “About your need for some Etruscan pieces. We may have something of interest. One of our colleagues will be in contact and take you to where they can be viewed.”

“What kind of pieces?”

Apparently the man didn’t like questions. “Do not be alarmed when he appears.”

The line went dead, and Rick looked again at the number on his phone before scrolling down to see if it matched any of his other calls since his arrival in Volterra. Nothing. He went over what the man had said, which given the length of the phone call was easy to do. There was no mention of Santo, or any reference to Rick’s conversation with him in the cathedral. This was probably more of Santo’s love for the cloak and dagger. But there was another possibility; what if this were someone else? Good God, he thought, how many gangs of grave robbers could there be in this town? But if the call wasn’t connected to Santo, who else had his cell number? Better to ask who didn’t. He had left it with nearly everyone he’d met, from the police to Donatella, and he’d even told the hotel they could give it out if anyone was trying to reach him. Before walking down the church steps to the street, he made another call. Beppo answered on the first ring.

***

Conti carefully placed the phone in its cradle and stared at it, as if it could provide answers to his questions. “Once again it came from a pay phone, this one about two blocks from where we’re sitting. I’m still amazed that the telephone company maintains public telephones, given how much Italians love their mobiles. A service to the criminal class, I suppose, for those who don’t want to spend their hard-earned Euros on disposable phones.” He looked up at Rick, who sat across from him in front of the desk. “You say you recognized the voice?”

“I said it sounded familiar, but I can’t remember where I heard it.”

“An accent?”

“Vaguely Tuscan, but it was hard to say.”

Conti frowned and nodded. “We have television to thank for that. Everyone wants to talk like the news anchors, with no accent at all. When I started out it was easy to tell where someone was from. Now…” He caught Rick’s eye. “Do I sound like I’m ready to retire?”

“Perhaps, Commissario.”

I can only get a frank answer like that at home, thought Conti.

“And you have given out your phone number to everyone in Volterra, you said. That would include Landi, Signora Minotti, the exporter Polpetto, and various people who work for them, as well as the hotel. And of course the mysterious Signor Santo has it.”

“Also Dr. Zerbino, of course.”

“Of course. Have you notified the ministry?”

Rick was still pondering his conversation with Beppo. He had expected at least a modicum of pleasure from his friend since it appeared that the plan was now successful, the plan that Beppo had worked so hard to get accepted by the ministry. Instead his voice betrayed concern, though once again it was not easy to detect nuances on a cell phone call. They had discussed who could be behind the call, concluding that it had to be Santo. At the end of the conversation Beppo’s message to Rick had been simple: don’t take any chances. Exactly what chances he shouldn’t take was not clear, but perhaps the news of Canopo’s murder was starting to sink in at the ministry.

“Yes, I told Beppo what I just told you.” He wondered if the policeman would be annoyed that he wasn’t the first to know of the call. Conti’s face showed nothing.

“Signor Montoya, if this wasn’t connected to Santo, then which of your contacts so far do you think could be behind this phone call? The bait was put out with each of them, now even the exporter, so you must have some hint as to which one has taken the hook.”

Rick pondered the question. “Well, as I told Beppo, the most logical would be Landi. He was the top name on the list I had from the ministry, although they didn’t tell me exactly why. Signora Minotti is a mysterious character, I must say, but it isn’t likely that she could be behind this kind of operation. Polpetto? Well, he’s the least likely, in my mind, because he seems more like a character in opera buffa than someone running a smuggling ring. And as I found out when I saw him today, his secretary appears to be the brains behind his business.”

“Really? Tell me about it.”

Rick described the meeting. He omitted any description of the man’s office decorations, detailing instead the interplay between Polpetto and Claretta. Conti listened without comment until Rick was finished, then shook his head.

“In the Abruzzi we have words to describe such men, but I don’t wish to be judgmental without having met him. Perhaps the ministry made a mistake and should