The Da Vinci Deception (46 page)

Walter Deats sat next to the pilot. Brassi gave him the choice of the
comandante'
s launch or the helicopter. “This is your show,” Deats had answered. “I want the best seat and that's in the air.”

Pavasi's guards came together after their patrol. “Who is with Luciano?”

“They went through the door before I could see.”

“The other one? The little man with the odd hat?”

“Someone to see Signore Kalem.”

“But the boats”—a finger pointed to the motor launch—“especially that one.”

“
Dio!
The
comandante'
s pennant is flying from it!”

Before either said another word, arms reached under their chins and tightened against their necks. Their eyes bulged like little balloons. Then,
breath spent, they sagged. “Tie them up. Carmine stays with them. The rest take your positions.”

“
Scusi,
Signore Kalem. I did not know you had a guest.” Pavasi reached the entrance to the solarium just as LaConte put the last of his papers in the briefcase.

“Our business is over. Mr. LaConte was just leaving.”

LaConte patted his briefcase. “Thank you again.” He tipped his cap and scurried past Pavasi and the man who had come with him.

“What's so damned important with the guards?” Jonas was clearly irritated. “And you didn't tell me you would bring a guest.”

Brassi, who was wearing a business suit, forced a smile. “Forgive us, signore. Luciano is not responsible that I am here. I insisted on joining him.”

“That is true,” Pavasi said apologetically.

“Then why
are
you here?” Jonas demanded.

“I am Bruno Brassi,
comandante
of police for the province of Como.”

Tony stepped back. He felt as he had in London when the police cars, their sirens wailing, flashed past him on Fleet Street. He edged toward the door.

“Luciano will talk with you about the guards. I am here regarding Giorgio Burri's death. I am told he visited here often.”

“Several times,” Jonas answered.

“What had you heard concerning his death?”

“A tragic accident. He drowned.”

Brassi looked past Jonas to Tony, who stood by the door leading to the long hall beyond. “I am sorry, but I have not met the other gentleman.”

Jonas turned. “This is Mr. Habershon, my assistant.”

Brassi stepped toward Tony, his hand extended. “Welcome to Como, signore.”

Tony put a hand forward. Brassi glanced down to the back of the hand gripping his. “It's a pleasure to be here,” Tony replied dryly.

“The circumstances of Professor Burri's death are puzzling,” Brassi continued. “He was not a young man, but strong, and from all signs, in excellent health. The autopsy revealed that he died from a heart attack, and yet he was found with his upper body out of the water and a rope twisted around one leg. We can perhaps understand the heart attack, it
can happen at any age, at any time. But the rope ...” His voice trailed off. “Forgive me, my mind was talking.”

“I'll miss him,” Jonas added. “He was good company.”

“What exactly was your relationship?”

“We were friends.”

“And you last saw him?”

“Monday. In his home. He was proud of his wife's cooking.”

“Not since then?”

“I flew to London on Thursday. Luciano met me when I returned on Sunday.”

“
Sì,
Bruno is aware of that,” Pavasi said.

“Luciano tore himself away from the gambling tables so he could meet you,” Brassi said scornfully.

The chatter from the helicopter grew louder, and as it passed over the villa, all conversation ceased. Jonas showed irritation at the invasion of his privacy, but Brassi knew differently. It was a signal.

“Signore Habershon, when did you last see Giorgio Burri?”

“On Monday. I was with Mr. Kalem.”

“Not since?”

“No.”

“Where were you on Friday morning?”

“Here, in the villa.”

“You have witnesses?”

“See here, I don't like this silly questioning at all.” Tony masked his own angry fear with Habershon's effete indignation.

“It is my responsibility to ask ‘silly questions.' Are there witnesses?”

“Of course. Others saw me. I don't know who. I don't keep lists of the people I run into each morning ”

“Signore Kalem, is there a young woman here named Eleanor Shepard?”

“Yes.”

“And a Curtis Stiehl?”

“They are guests.”

“And Anthony Waters?” Brassi's eyes were on Tony when he asked the question. When Jonas failed to answer, Brassi turned back to him. “Anthony Waters, signore. Is he among you?”

“I no longer employ Mr. Waters.” Jonas had composed himself and stood at his desk, sorting through papers as if he were about to go about his usual business and the
comandante'
s presence was an unnecessary intrusion.

Brassi moved to the front of the desk and positioned himself so that Tony was on a line directly behind Jonas. “I am not concerned if you employ him, only if he has been here in your
Il Diodario
.”

“There are four of us,” Jonas replied firmly. “And you have an accurate identification of each one.”

“Mr. Habershon,” Brassi called out the name in a loud voice. “I must ask to see your passport.”

Tony bolted from the solarium like a shell shot from a rifle. He knew every turn in the old building—every door, the hidden rooms, the corridors behind walls. He raced to the pantry beyond the dining hall.

Brassi broke for the door leading outside and ordered his men into the villa, singling out one to remain with Jonas. Suddenly the room was empty, save for Jonas and a young man standing with his right arm across his chest. He was holding a pistol.

There in the doorway through which the others had disappeared stood the strangely dressed little figure who thirty minutes earlier had scampered away with his briefcase tucked tightly under his arm. He touched the visor of his cap as if in salute to the surprised guard and proceeded past him. Jonas had retreated to his command chair, his arms resting on the fat pillows on each side of him, his eyes staring blankly through the thick lenses.

“I realize this is a very distressing time for you,” LaConte said “The tranquillity of your
Il Diodario
has been rudely interrupted and you have been left in the company of this young man who holds what I am certain is a fully loaded M51 pistol.” He smiled. “I failed to present you with three sheets of paper which will fully explain why I have returned.”

“First you should know that my full name is John LaConte Oxby. I am by profession a member of the Arts and Antiques Squad, S01, Scotland Yard.” Oxby showed his identification to Jonas, then to the young guard.

Jonas was breathing heavily, his white skin shining.

From an envelope Oxby removed three documents and placed one on Jonas's lap. “I am authorized to serve this arrest warrant for the sale of purportedly authentic works of art, and which you are accused of causing to be created by persons whom you have employed for that purpose.” The paper slid to the floor.

“Filthy nonsense!” Jonas cried out. “The drawings are genuine as attested to by experts at Collyer's and a provenance researched by a Leonardo scholar.”

“You refer to Giorgio Burri, whose death is being investigated this very moment. A very timely tragedy,” Oxby replied.

“Police departments don't authenticate works of art.”

“Mine does,” Oxby replied.

“But you can't arrest me. I'm an American and we are in Italy.”

“Your facts regarding nationality and geography are correct, but before dealing with them, I must serve a second warrant for your arrest. This time for complicity in the murder of Sarah Evans, who, when killed, was serving on special assignment for my section. We police people don't take kindly to having one of our own killed.” Oxby placed a second sheet of paper on Jonas's lap. Jonas brushed it away and it fell beside the first on the floor.

“That's as ridiculous as your first ill-founded charge. I've never known such a person. I repeat, I am an American citizen and we are in Italy.”

“My, but you are being difficult, Mr. Kalem.” Oxby sighed “That is why I have a third piece of paper. This last one has been issued by the Italian government. It authorizes me to arrest you in compliance with Italian law. You will be retained by the local authorities until all the extradition procedures can be smoothed over. You may retain counsel.”

Oxby allowed the third sheet to fall to the floor on top of the others.

Eleanor put the finishing touch to the lunch. She searched for a flower to place on each tray and smiled at her success. She went to the refrigerator for cold drinks. Loud voices came from other rooms, then Tony burst through the door into the pantry.

“Fix your own. These are spoken for,” she said innocently. He grasped her arm and dropped to the floor, taking her with him. He ran his palms over the wood floor as if feeling for a lost coin. She twisted free, and as she tried getting to her feet he pulled her back.

“Stop it!” she shouted. “You can't—”

The palm of his hand swept across her cheek. It stung, but she was more frightened by the anger in his face.

His hands rubbed the floor, then, magically, a square section of the floor opened. He wrapped an arm around her waist. “We're going for a ride.” He pushed her to the opening.

“There's a ladder inside. Climb down or I'll push you down.”

She fought to free herself. “Curtis! Someone!” He covered her mouth
and forced her into the opening. Her legs swung wildly, groping for the ladder. The pantry door opened. Stiehl had come to help with the lunch.

“What in Christ are you doing?” He leaped at Tony, who turned and sent a heel directly into Stiehl's stomach. Eleanor, suddenly released from Tony's grip, fell screaming into the black hole. She dropped a dozen feet onto soft dirt, too frightened to know if she was hurt.

Stiehl charged again, but Tony turned gracefully and kicked a leg high into his shoulder, spinning him backward. Like a mole escaping from a cat, Tony disappeared into the hole, and as he did so, the door slid back into place. Stiehl pawed at the smooth floor, searching for a way to open the trapdoor. Dowels held the lengths of wood together. One was larger than the others and set slightly below the surface. He pressed on it. The trap raised a half inch. He pulled it open. Then he lowered a foot to the ladder and climbed down. He thought he was in a cave; it smelled of damp and moldy earth. The trapdoor had automatically closed and heavy footsteps paraded over the floor above. The noise ceased as quickly as it had come.