‘When did this happen?’
‘Three months ago. It was after Dottoressa Lynch wrote to Semenzato to say that she thought some of the pieces that had been returned to China were false.’
‘And this woman who was killed was the one who packed them?’
‘It would seem so, sir.’
‘Did you ask Dottoressa Lynch what her relationship was to this woman?’
Well, he hadn’t, had he? ‘No, sir. I didn’t. The Dottoressa seemed troubled by her death and by the possibility of the young woman’s involvement in whatever is going on here, but there was no more than that.’
‘Are you sure of that, Brunetti?’ Patta’s eyes actually narrowed when he asked this.
‘Absolutely, sir. I’d stake my reputation on it.’ As he always did when he lied to Patta, he stared him directly in the eyes, careful to keep his own open fully, his gaze level. ‘Shall I go on, sir?’ As soon as he said it, Brunetti realized he didn’t have anything else to say — well, anything else he wanted to say to Patta. Surely not that the Japanese girl’s family was so wealthy that she would, presumably, have had no financial interest in the substitution of pieces. The thought of the way Patta would respond to the idea of sexual jealousy as a motive made Brunetti feel faintly queasy.
‘Do you think this Japanese woman knew that false pieces were sent back to China?’
‘It’s possible, sir.’
‘But it is not possible,’ Patta said with heavy emphasis, ‘that she could have organized it herself. She must have had help here, here in Venice.’
‘It would seem so, sir. That’s a possibility I’m pursuing.’
‘How?’
‘I’ve initiated an investigation of Dottor Semenzato’s finances.’
‘On whose authority?’ Patta snapped.
‘My own, sir.’
Patta let that stand as said. ‘What else?’
‘I’ve already spoken to some people about Semenzato, and I expect to get information about his real reputation.’
‘What do you mean, “real reputation”?’
Oh, so seldom does fate cast our enemy into our hands, to do with as we will. ‘Don’t you think, sir, that every bureaucrat has an official reputation, what people say about him publicly, and then the real reputation, what people know to be true and say about him in private?’
Patta turned his right palm upward on his desk and moved his pinkie ring around on his finger with his thumb, examining it to see that he got the motion right. ‘Perhaps. Perhaps.’ He looked up from his palm. ‘Go on, Brunetti.’
‘I thought I’d begin with these things and see where they lead me.’
‘Yes, that sounds fair enough to me,’ Patta said. ‘Remember, I want to know about anything you do or find out.’ He consulted his Rolex Oyster. ‘I don’t want to keep you from getting busy with this, Brunetti.’
Brunetti stood, recognizing Patta’s lunch hour when it struck. He started towards the door, curious only about the way Patta would remind him to handle Brett with kid gloves.
‘And Brunetti,’ Patta said as Brunetti reached the door.
‘Yes, sir?’ he said, really curious, something he very seldom was with Patta.
‘I want you to handle Dottoressa Lynch with kid gloves.’ Ah, so that’s how he’d say it.
* * * *
Chapter Thirteen
Back in his office, the first thing Brunetti did after he opened the window was call Lele. There was no answer at his house, so Brunetti tried the gallery, where the painter picked up the phone after six rings. ‘Pronto.’
‘Ciao, Lele, it’s Guido. I thought I’d call and see if you’d managed to find out anything.’
‘About that person?’ Lele answered, making it clear that he couldn’t talk freely.
‘Yes. Is someone there?’
‘Ah, yes, now that you mention it, I think that’s true. Are you going to be in your office for a while, Signor Scarpa?’
‘Yes, I will be. For another hour or so.’
‘Good, then, Signor Scarpa. I’ll call you there when I’m free.’
‘Thanks, Lele,’ Brunetti said and hung up.
Who was it that Lele didn’t want to know he was talking with a commissario of police?
He turned to the papers in the file, making a note here and there. He had been in contact with the special branch of police that dealt with art theft on several occasions in the past, but at this point all he had to give them was Semenzato’s name and no proof of anything at all. Semenzato might indeed have a reputation that did not appear in official reports, the sort that never got written down.
Four years ago, he had dealt with one of the captains of the art branch in Rome, about a Gothic altarpiece stolen from the church of San Giacomo dell’Orio. Giulio something or other, but Brunetti couldn’t remember his surname. He reached for the phone and dialled Signorina Elettra’s number.
‘Yes, Commissario?’ she asked when he identified himself.
‘Have you had any response from Heinegger or your friends at the bank?’
‘This afternoon, sir.’
‘Good. Until then, I’d like you to take a look in the files and see if you can find a name for me, a captain of the art theft bureau in Rome. Giulio something. He and I corresponded about a theft at San Giacomo dell’Orio. About four years ago. Perhaps five.’
‘Have you any idea how it would be filed, sir?’
‘Either under my name, since I wrote the original report, or under the name of the church, or perhaps under art theft.’ He thought for a moment and then added, ‘You might check the record of a certain Sandro — Alessandro, that is - Benelli, whose address used to be in San Lio. I think he’s still in prison, but there might be some mention of the captain’s name in there. I think he provided a deposition at the trial.’
‘Certainly, sir. Today?’
‘Yes, signorina, if you could.’
‘I’ll go down to the files and take a look now. Maybe I can find something before lunch.’
The optimism of youth. ‘Thank you, signorina,’ he said and hung up. As soon as he did, the phone rang, and it was Lele.
‘I couldn’t talk, Guido. I had someone in the gallery who I think might be useful to you in this.’
‘Who?’ When Lele didn’t answer, Brunetti apologized, remembering that he needed the information, not its source. ‘Sorry, Lele. Forget I asked that. What did he tell you?’
‘It seems that Dottor Semenzato was a man of many interests. Not only was he the director of the museum, but he was also a silent partner in two antique shops, one here and one in Milan. The man I was talking to works in one of the shops.’
Brunetti resisted the urge to ask which one. Instead, he remained silent, knowing that Lele would tell him what he thought necessary.
‘It seems that the owner of these shops — not Semenzato, the official owner — has access to pieces that never appear in the shops. The man I spoke to said that twice in the past certain pieces have been brought in and unpacked by mistake. As soon as the owner saw them, he had them repacked and taken away, said that they were for his private collection.’