The Bernini Bust (25 page)

“That’s the law. That’s the way it is.”

“This is ridiculous. You can’t prove anything.”

“If you were defrauding Moresby about the bust then all the rest follows naturally.”

“If,” he replied. “But I stand by my story. I bought it from di Souza, and di Souza stole it, as far as I’m concerned. You can’t prove that case was empty.”

Flavia smiled sweetly. “Oh, yes we can.”

“How?” he said scornfully.

“Because we know where the bust is.”

“Do you?”

“Yes.”

“Where?”

“Still in Italy. And, of course, we’ve arrested Collins.”

“But in return for a co-operative attitude…’ said Morelli, striking while the iron was hot.

Langton thought it over. “Do you think I can have a talk with you for a moment, Detective?”

He and Morelli went into the kitchen to discuss matters. Despite the rather strained circumstances, Langton clearly entered into the spirit of the occasion. Once a dealer, always a dealer; it gets into the bloodstream. And he evidently believed that, once you had reached a decision, you should go ahead with it as quickly as possible. As the bargaining went on, voices were raised, both of them flounced about, positions were stated, withdrawals were made.

And the upshot was that Langton would testify about seeing Jack Moresby leave the administrative block, that he would give full details of the phone call that led to the death of di Souza and would refund the two million dollars that he had absentmindedly transferred into a bank account in Switzerland.

In return Morelli would do his best to arrange matters so that the court looked sympathetically on his genuine sense of remorse and contrition and would not overstress the argument that Langton had incited Moresby to murder di Souza. Jail was likely, but not for very long. All very satisfactory.

While this was going on, Thanet and Barclay were in another corner, staring out of the window and also doing a certain amount of hard bargaining. They suddenly had a lot to talk about.

“I’m glad to hear about the Bernini,” Thanet said, crossing the room with a satisfied look on his face. “Now we won’t have the embarrassment of having to send it back.”

“No. But you can send di Souza back if you want,” Argyll said. “It is the very least you can do, in the circumstances.”

“I suppose we should. I’m sure Barclay will oblige with the money. We don’t have a penny at the moment. Not until this is all settled.”

“You’re not going to have a penny, anyway, settled or not,” Anne Moresby chipped in from her lonely position on the sofa. “I’m still going to close you down.” Despite being saved from innumerable years in jail by the efforts of others, the experience did not seem to have softened her much.

Oddly, the remark did not have the usual effect on Thanet’s demeanour. He looked at her with interest, then glanced at Barclay.

“I don’t know that this is a wise move, Mrs. Moresby,” Barclay said.

“Why not?” she asked.

“Because of the circumstances. If you go to law over this, the museum will fight. There is a more than fair chance that it will win.”

“It doesn’t have a leg to stand on.”

“I think that if it came out in court how you persuaded your lover to bug Mr. Thanet’s office to get material for blackmail…’

Morelli and Flavia exchanged glances.
Streeter?
Well, why not. She was having an affair, they were old college friends, she had got him a job, he was useful as a spy in place. No wonder he’d looked so upset when the subject was raised the other day. Another mistake, they thought simultaneously. Anne Moresby looked furious and Streeter had an air of almost childish sheepishness about him.

“Go on,” she said.

“Mr. Thanet has made a suggestion…’

“Which is?”

“A billion to the museum and the rest to you. Even you should be able to rub along on that. And you give up your place as a museum trustee.”

A silence greeted this remark.

“You’ll abandon the Big Museum?” she asked eventually.

Thanet nodded regretfully. “No choice, really. Not much you can do with a billion these days.”

“Well, at least that’s a blow for sanity.”

She thought carefully, calculating risks, costs and options. Then she nodded. “OK. Done.” Also a decisive person.

Thanet smiled, and so did Barclay. Both were highly concerned that their role in the income tax affair should be kept under wraps. This seemed the best way of doing it. Admittedly, preserving their careers had just cost Anne Moresby a fortune she would otherwise have undoubtedly won, but nothing’s cheap these days.

“Get it settled as quickly as possible,” she went on. “Then I can wash my hands of the entire place.”

“That will take time, of course,” Barclay said, thinking of his fees.

“Which, I’m afraid, is the other thing I have to say,” Thanet added apologetically, his face looking concerned once more.

“What’s that?” Argyll asked, as the statement seemed to be addressed to him.

“Money. It’s all frozen, you see.”

“Pardon?”

“Until the estate is settled. It’s held by administrators. We can’t get at it too easily.”

“So?”

“So, I’m sorry to say that we won’t be able to buy your Titian. No way of paying for it. I’m afraid we’ll have to cancel the deal.”

“What!”

“It’s off. We don’t want it. Or rather, we do, of course, naturally, but can’t afford it. Not at the moment.”

“You don’t want that Titian?” Argyll said, astonishment growing as understanding seeped in.

Thanet nodded apologetically, hoping he wasn’t about to be thumped.

“I know it will set back your career…’

Argyll nodded. “Certainly will,” he said.

“And I know your employer won’t be at all happy…’

“No. Indeed not. He’ll be most upset.”

“We will of course pay a cancellation fee, as per the contract. When we get some money again.”

“That’s kind of you,” he said, feeling strangely elated.

“And I’d be happy to explain things to Sir Edward Byrnes and the owner, so that there is no misunderstand…’

“No!” Argyll said sharply. “Absolutely not. Don’t you explain anything. Leave that to me.”

Then, overcome, he gripped Thanet’s hand and pumped it up and down. There is a lot to be said for having decisions taken out of your hands. It is so much easier to accept the inevitable without regret or doubt. “Thank you,” he said to the bewildered director. “You’ve taken a great weight off my mind.”

“Really?” Thanet said cautiously.

“Yes, indeed. Of course, I have made a proper mess of this…’

‘
You
didn’t mess it up,” Thanet said, trying to console.

“Oh, yes I did. Dreadful. What a waste of time.”

“Well, I really wouldn’t go that far…’

“Of course you would. And Byrnes will think, do I really want someone like that running my gallery? Much better to have that fellow in Vienna. He may be boring, but at least he’s reliable. Don’t you think?”

Thanet had given up by now, and just stared at him blankly.

“So I’ll just have to rot away in Rome. Unemployed, homeless, no money, and the market in a mess. How awful.” And beamed happily.

Flavia had watched all this with interest. It is not everyone who watches their careers disintegrating with such contentment. And the fact that she understood perfectly why he was so happy made her come over all funny.

Sentimentality apart, though, it did seem a high price to pay for her company. Flattering though it was. Argyll’s trouble was his lack of finesse. He often missed a neat flourish because he was, essentially, much too nice to be really determined.

So she thought she’d provide that extra touch herself. As a mark of affection.

“Of course, in six months time you might come along and decide you want that Titian, after all,” she said gently. “For a bit more than you offered this time, taking into account all Jonathan’s time and trouble. Risking life and limb to save your museum, and all that.”

Thanet agreed this might be possible, but privately doubted it. Six months was a long time in the future. Amazing what you could forget. It was not as if he ever wanted the picture in the first place.

“But it would have to be with no funny business this time,” she continued, half talking to herself. “I mean, no income tax fiddles. Jonathan here has his reputation with Sir Edward to think about. Did you know that people say Byrnes is the only honest dealer in the business? Hates shady stuff. If he ever heard of any of this… I mean, he’s the sort of person who just might tell the IRS, just to safeguard his good name. It is the IRS, isn’t it?”

Thanet nodded thoughtfully. IRS it was. And the last thing he needed now was to be hauled over the coals by them. The very thought of those flinty-eyed hatchet men going through the books made him shudder. It might give Anne Moresby fresh ideas as well. So, recognising an in-built transitional overhead cost when he saw one, he nodded.

“Ten per cent over the original price?” he suggested.

“Fifteen,” Flavia corrected gravely.

“Fifteen, then.”

“Plus a ten per cent cancellation cost now, to go direct to Jonathan.”

Thanet bowed in agreement.

“Plus interest, of course.”

Thanet opened his mouth to protest, then decided it wasn’t worth the effort. Flavia was smiling charmingly at him, but he could see her eyes glinting with what looked like a very nasty combination of merriment and determination. She was, he decided, perfectly capable of paying a visit to the IRS before she left the country.

“Very well, then. I think we understand each other. Is this satisfactory, Mr. Argyll?”

Argyll, standing there and feeling that life’s infinite variety was too kaleidoscopic this evening, could do little more than indicate that it seemed just about OK.

“By the way,” Flavia continued absently. “Who is going to keep an eye on the market in Europe for you? Now that Langton seems unlikely to be in any position to keep his finger on the pulse, so to speak?”

Thanet was getting used to her now, and could see where she was heading. So he stood, feeling resigned, and waited for it.

“You really need an agent, just to keep you informed. Nothing permanent, or full-time, simply someone to be your eyes and ears on the continent. On a retainer basis. Don’t you think?”

Thanet nodded, and sighed.

“Indeed,” he said, giving way gracefully. “And I was rather hoping that Mr. Argyll…’

“Eh? Oh, yes,” said he. “Delighted. Delighted. Anything to help.”

“Drink,” Morelli said after everyone had finally gone. He’d sneaked them out of the back and into his car, over the fence and across the neighbour’s garden so the waiting press didn’t see them. Pity about the neighbour’s cactus collection, though. It would take years before Streeter won communal forgiveness. But then he probably wouldn’t be living there much longer.

“You shouldn’t. Not with all that junk in your bloodstream.”

“I know. But I need one. And I owe you one.”

A dingy bar, full of dingier people. Very nice.

“Your health,” he said from behind a beer.

‘Salute,”
she replied raising the glass. “Pretty odd about Streeter tapping the office after all. Sneaky little sod.”

“Yes, interesting, that. Another example of museum politics at work.”

“How so?”

“Well,” the detective began, “as you heard, he was Anne Moresby’s lover. More than anyone he knew die Moresbys weren’t a tender loving couple, and he suspected that Anne was behind the shooting somehow. Naturally, he was concerned that she not be arrested, so he did his best to keep what he assumed would be incriminating evidence under wraps.

“The trouble was that we started going after her anyway, and then all this business of the lover as accomplice came up. Streeter wasn’t in the camera’s view at the time of the murder, he knew that Anne Moresby had a perfect alibi and began to think that he was being set up.

“So he swapped sides. Instead of trying to protect her, he decided to incriminate her before she got him. Any indecision vanished when Argyll suggested he produce his tape. He thought Argyll had discovered it really existed. I’m not too sure who was more dimwitted, him or us.”

“If you think about it, none of them are exactly paragons, are they?” Argyll said. “I mean, tax fiddles, murder, fraud, adultery, theft, framing each other for crimes, eavesdropping, firing people. They deserve each other, I reckon.”

There was a long pause as they considered this. Then Morelli smiled at the thought, and raised his glass once more. “My thanks. I don’t know whether we would have got him eventually without your help. Maybe we would. But your comment about the bust made Langton tell all. How did you find out where it was?”

She shrugged. “I didn’t. I haven’t a clue.”

“None?”

“Not the foggiest. I made it up. I wanted to annoy him.”

“In that case it was lucky.”

“Not really. After all, not much depended on it. You could convict Moresby on the taped evidence alone.”

Morelli shook his head. “Maybe, but every bit helps.”

“What were you grinning at when you were listening to that tape, by the way?”

The American gurgled with sheer pleasure. “I told you we thought Thanet was carrying on with his secretary?”

Flavia nodded.

“Well, he was. In his office. Very passionate. I was just thinking how much I will enjoy myself when that tape is presented at the trial and is played to the entire courtroom.”

Argyll looked at them both with a rueful grin. “This hasn’t been a very impressive display, has it?”

“How do you mean?”

“We pointed the finger at the wrong murderer three times. We got Anne Moresby’s lover wrong. Someone tried to murder me and I didn’t even notice. Out of all of them Moresby was the only one I thought was basically OK. We invented a theft that didn’t happen, and in the end only have a chance of getting a conviction because Streeter completely misunderstood me and Flavia told a whopping lie to Langton. And we still don’t know what happened to that bust.”

Morelli nodded contentedly. “A textbook case,” he said.

Chapter Sixteen