Cold Tuscan Stone (21 page)

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 was about half the size of his hotel room, and considerably darker. He crossed himself, slipped a coin into the small metal box near the entrance, and took one of the cards with a picture of Saint Christopher. He would not be a traveler for long, he thought, as he tucked it into his coat pocket. The patron saint of travelers and a GPS. What more could a tourist need? Leaving the chapel he stepped onto Via San Lino, like his hotel named after the city's most famous native son. Perhaps not that famous; everyone knows who the first pope was, but how many remember the second? Rick was thinking about Pope Linus when he heard the muffled ring of his cell phone. He smiled when he saw the number.

“I was just thinking of you,
cara
.”

“I'll bet you were, Ricky.”

“No, Erica, really. I was thinking how wonderful it will be to see you, and now, how soon we'll be together.”

“Really? Why is that? I mean, why is it going to be soon?”

Rick decided he probably should not go into any detail on the phone. Silly to think that anyone could be listening, but just the same…or was he trying to impress her. “I'll tell you all about it when I see you, but it appears that my business here is ended, and ended successfully.”

“That's great, Ricky.” He was pleased to hear the enthusiasm in her voice. If only it would last until he got back to Rome tomorrow. “I suppose that you'll be dining tonight with one of the lovely ladies of Volterra.”

Rick grinned as he strode toward the hotel door. “I'm not a very fast worker,
cara
, it will once again be a lonely meal for me tonight, probably on the thin gruel they serve in the hotel.” Was he laying in on too thick? Not a chance, these Italian ladies love it. “The only sweet part of it will be thinking about being with you soon. I'm almost to the hotel now, and when I get to my room I'll start packing my bag.”

“I can't wait to see you too.” Rick heard another voice but couldn't make out what was said. “Ricky, I'll call you back, I have to deal with something here.
Ciao
.” The line went dead and Rick looked at the phone as if it would tell him what was going on. It was not like her to break off a call, especially when she was in an upbeat mood. He put the cell phone back into his pocket, pushed open the glass door of the hotel and started across the lobby to get his room key. A woman was standing at the desk talking with the receptionist, her back to Rick. She wore a fashionably long coat, red denim slacks, and brown boots gleaming like they just came out of the shoe store window. The desk clerk spotted Rick and said something to the woman, causing her to turn and watch him approach the desk, her head tilted slightly, a hint of a smile on her face.

“I guess I don't need to call you back now, Ricky.”

***

“You have to tell me
something
, Ricky, anything. I came all the way up here, after all.”

“I was under the impression that you came here to see me.” The meal, like the afternoon, had started well, and Rick did not want it to unravel. With Erica things could unravel quickly.

“Of course I came up here to see you, but…
insomma
.”

It was the all-purpose Italian phrase to indicate frustration, and the way Erica had said it also made it irrefutable. He knew that when an Italian lays an
insomma
on you, about all you can do is hold up your hands and sigh, and that's what Rick did. “When it's over, which should be very soon, you will know all there is to know.”

He poured her more wine, a smooth Vernaccia with a slight hint of wood from its aging barrel, trying to nudge her off the topic. They were in what the woman at the hotel desk considered the best restaurant in town. “If you insist on eating somewhere other than our dining room,” she had added.

Her recommendation was proving to be a good one. It was a relatively new place, open only a year, which is an instant by Italian culinary measurement. The atmosphere was what one would expect, an ancient building completely modernized but maintaining its rustic feel. There was nothing rustic about the food, however. It followed the rule of thumb for high end
ristoranti
in Italy: the more words describing each dish on the menu the smaller the portions and the higher the prices. The first course Erica had ordered consisted of a few ribbons of fresh pasta tossed with even fewer crustaceans and some sprigs of something green. Rick's
pasta e ceci
soup was tasty, but he finished it in what seemed like seconds. At least the bread was plentiful, and it was fresh and warm. Rick pulled a crusty piece from the basket.

“Erica, I appreciate your patience on this.”

“What patience?”

“Okay, let me rephrase that. I would appreciate
having
your patience. Let's talk about something else, can we? How are your classes going?”

“That's the last thing I want to talk about, Ricky. I came up here to get away from all that.” Her eyes indicated, to his relief, that she'd decided to ease up, at least for the moment. He understood her frustration, and in fact he was anxious to tell her everything. She went on. “What are we going to do tomorrow? Tell me what you've seen already in Volterra and we can decide.” He was actually thinking more of the evening than the next day, but he told her what little of the city, at least the tourist part of the city, he had seen in the last three days. He omitted his meeting with Santo in the cathedral, and the visit to the cave. “You haven't even scratched the surface of this place, Ricky, and like all Italian cities it has layers upon layers.”

That seemed like an apt description of this case, Rick thought, surprised that he was still thinking about it. “So,
cara
, what would you have in mind to educate the rude American on his first trip to Volterra?”

The second course arrived. For Erica it was a piece of grilled fish carefully centered on a thin crisp slice of potato and drizzled with a lemony sauce. Put before Rick was a slice of beef whose pink texture contrasted with the three green strips of asparagus next to it. He had seen larger pieces of steak put in doggy bags back in Albuquerque, but he kept his thoughts to himself.

“The cathedral is a good one, there is a famous wood deposition near the main altar, and the carving on the podium is worth seeing.”

“I think I've heard of that,” he said as he stared at the plate and recalled Donatella's similar comments about the deposition. Pulling his mind back to the meal, he wondered if the flavor of the meat would make up for the portion. He carefully sliced off a small bite. “You've been reading up, or did you remember the cathedral deposition from your last trip here?”

“I did consult my Touring Club Toscana guidebook,” she replied. “It's an old edition, but the sites here haven't changed much. It's Italy, after all.”

Only the portions in the restaurants have gotten smaller, Rick thought. He carefully cut another very thin piece of his meat to make it last, and put it in his mouth. The taste was as good as any steak he had eaten. It was not for nothing that Tuscany was called the Texas of Italy, and Volterra was on the northern edge of the Maremma, Tuscan cowboy country. He glanced around the room as he chewed. No Stetsons. There were only a few empty tables left, the word was out that this was the place to eat, and the clientele appeared to be predominately local. Not that there were many tourists in town at this time of year. Rick chuckled as he watched one of the waiters leading a man and woman to a table at the opposite end of the room. She held the man's arm tightly with a look somewhere between affectionate and coquettish.

“What is funny, Ricky?” Erica was also not rushing to consume her fish.

“The couple that just came in, at the far table.” He made a slight movement with his chin, and Erica turned her head slightly in that direction. “They are two of the people I met this week, and it appears the guy's secretary may be more than just an employee. This must be the night of his wife's favorite crime show, and she preferred to eat in. Oops. He's spotted me, and here he comes.” They watched as the large man carefully worked his way across the room, forcing a few chairs to be pulled in as he walked. Rick stood when he reached their table.

“Signor Polpetto, so good to see you again.”

“
Piacere mio
, Signor Montoya.”

“This is my friend Erica Pedana, visiting from Rome.”

Polpetto bowed formally and shook Erica's hand. “I hope you will enjoy our city, Signorina, including this excellent restaurant. I see you have chosen the
coda di rospo
, one of their specialties.” Erica murmured praise for the dish. “I will let you get back to your meal.” He turned to Rick. “This is not the time for business, Signor Montoya. Let me say that I am still putting together some possibilities for your gallery, and I'll be in Florence tomorrow to gather more information. But Claretta and I are curious—did you ever find those special items you were seeking?”

Rick could get nothing from the thin smile on the man's face.

“I believe so,” he finally answered.

“Good, good. Well, it was a pleasure to see you, and to meet you, Signorina.”

Polpetto shook their hands again and walked carefully through the tables, trying to keep his bulk from bumping into any of the other diners. He sat down and bent his head to say something to the secretary, who wore her usual glasses with matching earrings. She placed her hand on Polpetto's, listened carefully, and looked across the room, giving Rick a nodding smile. He could not help noticing something new: bright red lipstick. Evening wear.

“What a strange man,” said Erica after she returned to her plate. “Will he be on the list when you eventually give me a complete report on all this?”

“Yes, of course.” Strangely, Rick's thoughts were not on the case, but rather on something else which had crossed his mind about Polpetto's appearance in the restaurant. Erica's next comment startled him; she was thinking the exactly same thing.

“I hope he manages to get enough to eat in this place.”