The Etruscan Net (17 page)

He was looking through the collected set of
The Times
which was stacked on a side table beside his desk. ‘This is the one, I think.’

‘What is this?’

‘It’s the solution to the crossword puzzle which was set in last Wednesday’s paper.’

‘A crossword puzzle?’

‘As I understand the matter, they are set by several different people. Commander Comber constructs one each week. He is better at the actual putting together of the diagram than at thinking out the clues. These are done for him by an old naval colleague, Commander Robin Smith, in London.’

‘I see,’ said Colonel Nobile.

‘His clue to “Dichotomy” was particularly apt, I thought.
A backward police force has roast duck. And, goodness me! A split
.’

The Colonel looked baffled.

‘“cid” – reversed. Then “hot”, “o”, of course, stands for a duck. Then we have the expression “my!” Clever don’t you think?’

‘Amazing,’ said Colonel Nobile. It seemed to him to confirm in every particular his previously held opinion of the English.

‘Well, now. The sun’s over the yardarm at last. And what a day it has been to be sure.’ As he spoke, the Consul was unlocking what appeared to be a filing cabinet and was really an ice-box at the side of his desk. ‘Perhaps you would care to join me in a little drink? Whisky with ice and soda water? Admirable!’

And the sun went down at last, a circle of liquid fire, turning first to bronze, and then to a deep blood orange as it slid towards the horizon, its rays refracted by an evening mist which promised further and greater heat to come.

Avvocato Riccasoli drove home through the cooling streets in his baby Cinquecento. A mile out on the Bologna road he turned right into a lane hardly wide enough for one car, and then manoeuvred to the left, through an open pair of gates, and into a quiet backwater of villa residences.

Each one was flanked by iron railings, the railings topped with spikes and interwoven with climber roses in full bloom. Riccasoli stopped his car facing high iron gates at the far end. A notice on them said ‘
Cane Mordace
’. He touched the horn and waited. There was a sound of bolts being withdrawn and the gates creaked open.

The maid who took charge of his hat and brief-case was rewarded with a smile. Riccasoli walked down the path, through the open front door, along a passageway, and out to the stone-flagged court at the back where chairs were set under a lime tree. His wife, Francesca, awaited him with a long drink already poured. Her husband sat down beside her, picked up one of her plump hands, counted her fingers, as if to see that they were all there, then put the hand down again gently.

A dog padded up to them through the shadows. Bernado was a coal-black Molosso, a Neapolitan guard dog, weighing a full hundred and twenty pounds. The amber eyes, fixed on Riccasoli, were gentle. When aroused the dog could retract the outer iris, revealing the inner eye blood red. The breed had been developed by the Dukes of Padua to hunt men.

Bernado subsided on to the ground with a windy sigh. Silence settled. Francesca broke it. She said, ‘Has it gone well? What success have you had? Can you help the poor man? Did he do this terrible thing, or is he innocent?’

Riccasoli pondered. A thrush, which had floated down on to the lime tree, had its head on one side. Woman, dog and bird all seemed to be listening for the answer.

Riccasoli said, ‘I am very sad. He is quite innocent. But I very much fear that he will be found guilty.’

Hotter

Mercurio came out from under a shower, towelled his beautifully bronzed naked body, clothed it in a white shirt, navy blue shorts and sandals, spent five minutes combing and brushing his hair, and then left his bedroom and padded down to the floor below. In the central living-room Arturo was busy with an electric polisher.

‘Your father,’ said Arturo. ‘He is in his business room. He is writing letters. He has asked not to be disturbed.’

‘
I
shan’t disturb him,’ said Mercurio. ‘He is always glad to see
me.
’ He took a quick, sideways glance at himself in the long mirror by the door.

Arturo smiled. He said, ‘You look very well.’

‘I feel very well. Feeling well, Arturo, is a matter of the mind being in consonance with the body. At this moment, it is remarkably consonant.’

He made his way down the passage, breaking into the quick double shuffle of a dance step as he did so. Then he opened the door at the end of the passage and went in.

The Professor, who was writing, looked up with a scowl which changed into a smile as he saw the boy.

‘Come in, and sit down,’ he said. ‘I have nearly finished. A business letter.’ He signed his name with a flourish, blotted it, and pushed the paper away. ‘What can I do for you? You need more money? Don’t tell me. You’re an extravagant animal.’

‘Not money. Information.’ Mercurio sat on the edge of the desk and swung his long bare leg, admiring the shape of the calf and the way the golden hairs lay on his thigh.

‘On any particular topic?’

‘I desire,’ said Mercurio, ‘to know exactly what you are up to, my father.’

‘Up to?’ Professor Bronzini sounded neither surprised nor alarmed. An onlooker would have supposed that he was flattered by the interest this beautiful young man was showing in him and his affairs.

‘As your adopted son, and your heir, I have the right to ask, have I not?’

‘Hmm.’

‘Is it criminal?’

‘Come, come,’ said the Professor, with a touch of asperity. ‘If it were criminal, do you imagine I should have anything to do with it?’

‘If it is not criminal, why have you brought two Mafiosi thugs to Florence. They are not here to admire the pictures in the Uffizi and the Pitti, I imagine.’

The Professor looked genuinely surprised. ‘I knew nothing of this,’ he said. ‘Thugs. What thugs?’

‘Never having been formally introduced to them, I am afraid I cannot tell you their names. But one of them is short and fat, and the other is long and thin. And the stout one has stained his hands with blood, many times. That I detected when he touched me.’

‘But when did you encounter them? And how?’

‘The pair of them have been hanging round the Via Torta for the last two weeks.’

‘And what have
you
been doing in that quarter?’ There was a twinkle in the Professor’s eye. ‘Some girl, don’t tell me.’

“There is a girl. I intend to make her my wife.’

‘Wife! You are not old enough to think of such things. At your time of life it should be girlfriends. Lights of love. Passing fancies. When I was your age–’ The Professor chuckled.

Mercurio said, coldly, ‘We are not discussing your sexual adventures, nor mine. We are talking of more serious things. Things in which you are involved. Why have you changed the combination on your safe?’

‘Because Danilo told me that you knew it.’

‘And why was it particularly important that I should
not
see the inside of your safe at this moment? It has never bothered you before. Well?’

The Professor said nothing.

‘It contains, as I have now seen, with my own eyes, two, or perhaps three, alabaster chests of the type which might hold ashes. Also alabaster figure of a goddess. Such a one as might preside over the resting place of the noble dead. Two heavy chains of worked gold. A gold head-piece, and a number of golden ornaments. There were other objects. I had no time to inspect them.’

‘You seem to have made good use of the short time you did have. Did that transitory glance tell you anything else about these things?’

‘Yes,’ said Mercurio. ‘It did.’ He was leaning forward a little, and his blue eyes were fixed disturbingly on the Professor’s brown ones.

‘I have, as you know, certain powers of extra-sensory perception. For instance, I can always detect where human blood has been spilled. In some cases I can foretell the hour of death. Also, in certain matters, I can infallibly distinguish between truth and falsehood.’

‘You have wonderful powers.’ The old man muttered the words, scarcely parting his lips. ‘Wonderful.’

‘The objects in your strong-room are very beautiful. They were designed by a master of Etruscan lore, and fashioned by the hand of a most expert professional craftsman. Yet they are false. Every one of them.’

The Professor still said nothing. He seemed to be mesmerized by the boy; in almost willing subjection to his voice and eyes.

‘In the ordinary way,’ Mercurio continued, ‘I should have nothing to say to such matters. I have sensed, for some time, that all of this–’ A wave of his hand indicated the Villa Rasenna and the comfortable life around him, ‘–all of this was founded on fraud. You have used your knowledge and your reputation to sell to collectors pieces supposed to come from tombs on your private property. That I divined. But I asked myself, who suffered? The collectors were happy. Many of them were foreign institutions, to whom money meant nothing. The private individuals were millionaires, indulging a whim. The only loser was the Italian State, for whose regulations I care as little as you do yourself. But now, at last, something has happened which forces me to take a different view.’

His tones were those of a master talking to a boy.

‘Your practices involved old Milo Zecchi. His was the hand that carved the alabaster, to your designs no doubt. It was in his workshop that the golden ornaments were fashioned. For long he was faithful to you. You had secured his silence, with your patronage and with your money. But in the end, something happened. Something which comes to all of us, sooner or later.’

As he said ‘sooner’ he turned on the old man a look of clinical analysis and paused in what he was about to say. The Professor shook himself, like someone waking out of a deep sleep, and said, ‘No,’ in a strangled voice.

‘Indeed, yes,’ said Mercurio slowly. ‘He felt the hand of death upon him. He saw it, as an old man always sees it, in the early hours of the morning when he woke from his thin sleep. He was not afraid of death, but he did not desire to die with sin unconfessed. So he sought advice. And he was honest enough to seek it first from you. You were his patron. But you put him off. So he sought it elsewhere. From the Englishman, Broke.
But by this time, you had taken fright.
The greatest coup of your life was in jeopardy. The treasures of the inner tomb of Thryns. A second Regioni-Galassi. Objects of untold value. But of a value which the least breath of suspicion would destroy. So you took your precautions. You sent for these men, these animals. You had him watched–’

‘I–’ said Professor Bronzini, and stopped.

‘Yes,’ said Mercurio. His eyes had never left the old man’s face. He seemed to be sucking the strength out of him.

‘I didn’t–’ The Professor stopped again. The house was very quiet. ‘It wasn’t my idea at all. I was fond of Milo. I was convinced he would do nothing to harm us.’

‘If it was not you, who was it?’

‘Not me.’

‘Who then?’

The door opened very quietly, and Danilo Ferri came in. He said to the Professor, ‘I am sorry to interrupt you, but you are wanted on the telephone.’

The fans in the Carabinieri office were turning sluggishly, hardly disturbing the hot and heavy air.

Tenente Lupo pushed his uniform hat back on his head and wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. ‘We cannot possibly guarantee it,’ he said. ‘Surely it is a matter for the Polizia Giudiciaria generally. Not for the Carabinieri alone.’ He looked across at Scipione for support.

Antonio Risso said, ‘The Procuratore has particularly asked that your office should attend to it.’ He was the only one of the three who seemed unaffected by the heat.

‘The city police–’

‘In the ordinary way we would ask them to assist. But these elections are occupying their full attention. Last night, a loudspeaker van was overturned in the Piazza della Libertà and set on fire by the Communists. This morning, in retaliation, three communist speakers were attacked and beaten. One of them is on the danger list. Every man of the Police will be on duty twenty hours a day until the ballot is closed.’

Scipione said, ‘If I might make a suggestion.’

‘Yes.’

‘I do not know a great deal about legal proceedings, but it appears to me that, apart from the experts, the only witness whose testimony is likely to be of great importance is the woman, Maria Calzaletta.’

Risso considered the matter. He said, ‘There is also the cemetery keeper.’

‘There, I fear, we may be bolting the stable door after the horse is gone. He has made and signed a statement for the defence lawyer.’

Risso’s face darkened. He said, ‘I heard of it. There was, I consider, some inexcusable carelessness there.’

‘What would you have us do?’ said the Tenente. ‘We would like to keep your witnesses on ice for you, fresh and uncontaminated. Unfortunately, they are not only witnesses. They are also people. They cannot be stored in a refrigerator and brought out when required.’

‘You must ensure, at all events, that they do not get at Maria. You can spare this man, until the trial, to see to that?’

‘I could do that, yes.’

Scipione said, ‘The girl works at a café in the Via Torta. She sleeps above the café. For the last few days, a man had been lodging there too.’

‘What man?’

‘His name is Dindoni. He used to work for Milo Zecchi, and he had a flat above the workshop. Then the widow Zecchi threw him out. He and Maria are – friendly.’

‘So it would appear,’ said Risso. ‘If they occupy the same house. Why do you mention the man?’

‘I have a certain influence with him. It occurred to me that he could assist in ensuring that Maria did not get into undesirable company.’

‘Well now, I think that is a very practical suggestion,’ said Risso.

The blazing afternoon was lengthening slowly towards evening when Maria finished polishing a row of glasses and put the last one back on the shelf. No customer had entered the place in the past hour. Dindoni, sitting on one chair with his feet on another, was half asleep. A fly rose off a smear of Martini on the zinc bar, and settled on his face. He grunted, brushed it off, and sat up. Then he said, ‘What’s this? Are you going out?’

Maria had her hat on and her bag in her hand.

‘Certainly. I am going shopping, and you are going to watch the bar.’

‘Who says?’

‘I say. If you are lodging here free, you are to work for your living.’

‘What about those other two. They are almost living here now. I believe one of them sleeps in that little room.’

This was true. The fat man and his thin friend had cleared out a little room behind the bar which had once been a store-room and had installed a table and chairs and a pallet bed.

‘They have squared the old man,’ said Maria indifferently. ‘I think the Police are looking for them, and they are keeping under cover. It is nothing to do with me.’

‘He will get into trouble himself if the Police find out.’

That will be his sorrow,’ said Maria. ‘I shall be gone for about an hour. Behave yourself.’

As she left the café a man who had been sitting in the seat of a car parked in the shade, further down the road, got out. He closed the car door carefully, taking care not to slam it, and started after her.

Maria walked slowly. The streets were filling as people came out of their offices. This was the hour for shopping, gossip and the
aperitivo.
Maria seemed content to drift with the crowds, window-shopping as she went. The man drifted behind her; up the Borgo degli Albizi, across the Piazza della Republica, and into Via degli Strozzi.

Here, Maria seemed to conclude, at last, what it was she had come out to buy. She turned into a shoe shop. It was dark in the interior. As she stood blinking a young man came out from behind the counter and said, ‘What can we do for you?’

Maria opened her handbag and took out the card which Avvocato Riccasoli had given her. The young man scarcely glanced at it. He said, ‘I am sure we can fit you. If you would take a seat in here–’ He held open the door of a cubicle and followed Maria in. She then noticed that there was another door at the back of the cubicle. He held this open for her, too, and she went through and found herself in a small sitting-room, furnished with a circular mahogany table, three or four chairs and a cage of stuffed canaries.

Avvacato Riccasoli was seated behind the table, sorting over a folder of papers. He said to the young man, ‘Choose a nice pair of shoes for the lady, Carlo. Tell him what size you take, Maria. Pack them carefully, and have them ready in half an hour exactly. Sit down, Maria. We have no time to lose. My client’s proposition is a very simple one. He will pay you two hundred thousand lire for your full co-operation. And a further hundred thousand in the contingency that you have to give evidence in Court.’

‘Co-operation. What does that mean?’

‘It means that you have to give me all the information you have. Names, details, matters which can be confirmed.’

Maria thought about this, her peasant eyes bright with mingled greed and apprehension. ‘If I now have to say that I lied to the Police, I shall be in trouble. Possibly I shall be imprisoned. No money would pay for that.’

‘Tcht,’ said Riccasoli. ‘There’s no question of that at all. You told the Police you saw a car coming down the street. An English car, of unusual make. You noted its number. You told them also that you heard a car skidding, its brakes squealing. But that was a little later. It was not the same car. They muddled you with their questions, that was all. A girl cannot be sent to prison because she was confused. I promise you that.’