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

the desk chair hung the requisite flags of Italy and of the Polizia dello Stato. Between them on the wall, a framed photograph of President of the Republic. Except for the view of Volterra from the windows, it could be the office of any police commissioner in Italy. He sat down and opened a file that had been placed in the center of his desk. Ten minutes later, after reading all its contents, he closed it and picked up the phone.

“Is Detective LoGuercio here? Ask him to come to my office.”

A few moments later there was a knock and the door opened. “Yes, Commissario.”

The two were about the same height, but the slight bend in Conti’s posture made Detective Paolo LoGuercio an inch or two taller. The baggy cut of the commissario’s suit added to the illusion, contrasting with the detective’s fitted clothing. An observer would note immediately that the two were of different generations, but their outward appearance was not the only clue. More striking was the deferential manner of the younger man toward his superior, obvious in his demeanor from the moment he entered the room. Was it sincere respect for the older man or was LoGuercio simply performing the ritual dance of any Italian bureaucrat, doing what was needed to continue his climb up the ranks?

“Sit down, LoGuercio. How are you settling in?”

“Very well, sir.” He paused, hoping the older man would speak, but after no response he continued. “I found an apartment outside the walls which is very comfortable, and have managed to see a bit of the city that I probably wouldn’t visit in connection with my work. You know, the churches and the museums.”

“The city is fascinating. Is that why you requested this assignment? Are you interested in such things?”

The detective coughed nervously. “Probably no more than anyone else. But it’s a good way to get to know a new place.”

“I imagine so. And the museums and churches here are very different from those in Sicily.” The younger man seemed eager to change the subject from his own interests and previous work assignment. Conti sensed this, and before LoGuercio could answer, tapped his fingers on the file. “Do you know about this anonymous tip we got last week?”

“I’m not sure, sir. I heard something about fake Etruscan objects.”

“That’s the one. The phone call led us to a shed in a wooded area outside of town. Inside were boxes of carvings which looked like they were ready to be shipped somewhere. We asked an Etruscan expert from the museum to check them out and he said they were fakes, though good enough fakes to fool a lot of buyers.”

“Who owns the property?” LoGuercio sat back slightly, adjusting the crease on his trousers.

“Some woman who lives in Florence inherited it years ago and has been sitting on it with the idea of selling it some day. She didn’t even know there was a shed there. That’s what she said, and her story seems credible since she’s a school teacher, not the type you would expect to be involved in anything illegal. At least you would hope not.”

“Somebody was using the shed to keep a stash.”

“It appears so.”

“Why the tip, Sir?”

Conti glanced up and then returned his gaze to the papers on his desk. “Good question, LoGuercio. My guess is that someone involved in the scheme was not happy. Not getting a big enough cut, had a fight with the boss, felt some remorse about a life a crime. Who knows? Now that we have the objects, the criminals will probably disappear, at least for the moment.” Conti looked at the detective, as if trying to make a decision. He slowly pushed the file to one side of the desk. “LoGuercio, I have a project for you.”

The detective visibly perked up. Since arriving in Volterra two weeks earlier his main assignment had been to learn how the office functioned. He was bored with reading reports and learning the routine. He was ready for real police work.

“Would you like me to assist you with this investigation?” He tried not to show too much excitement in his voice.

Conti handed over the file. “Possibly, when I decide where we should go with it. In the meantime all I want you to do is read the file and return it to me.” He smiled when he saw the detective’s reaction to the prospect of more reading. “But I do need you for a case in which we’ve been peripherally involved for several months.” He pulled another file from the stack. “It now appears that Volterra may become the focus of this investigation, though not in the way I had expected.”

Detective LoGuercio leaned forward, puzzled but interested, forgetting how hard the chair felt. His supervisor continued.

“You may be just the person to work on this, given your interest in things artistic.” The younger man shifted uncomfortably in his seat at this comment, and the commissario added, “Didn’t you work on an art theft case in Palermo?”

LoGuercio was not surprised that the commissario knew about that detail of his record. The old boy network would have offered up everything about him well before he arrived in Tuscany. How deeply had the man dug into his background?

“Yes, sir. Is that what this case is about?”

“Not exactly the same, but it involves stolen objects that the Ministry of Culture considers of value. Real Etruscan objects, not fakes like the carvings we found in the shed. The art cops in Rome are coordinating the investigation. I trust you know about that office.”

The detective took a breath. “I have heard about them, yes, sir.”

“Well, our crack art police have come up with a scheme to find the source of some stolen Etruscan antiquities that could be from this area. I still can’t believe it, but what they want to do is send some American up here to pose as an art buyer.” He shook his head slowly. “This is insanity, of course. Not only will it come