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

one has to be the most bizarre. It’s brilliant people like you, dottore, who give crime a bad name.” He smiled at his own humor. “But I will leave the theft of artifacts to the art police, who are on their way from Rome. My interest right now is in other crime.”

“Then I suppose I will be handed over to your colleagues from Rome?” asked Zerbino.

“I wouldn’t exactly call them colleagues. And you may be staying with us. Murder is considered a more serious crime and will take precedence over trafficking in artifacts.”

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