A Florentine Death (12 page)

'I know. I have your statement here. But I need to interview you again. Everything in its own time. Let's start with the Velazquez, since you are directly charged in connection with that. What do you have to say about that particular charge?'

'I found the painting in the shop, which I bought after the death of Gualtiero Ricciardi. I bought the shop with all the merchandise in it. After a while, as I was looking through some of the objects with a view to restoring them — I know about restoration, I've been a restorer of furniture and old paintings for years - I found the painting. I recognised it as a Velazquez. It was inside an even bigger painting with a very thick gilded frame - one of those paintings that fill an entire wall - which I was planning to restore.'

'Didn't it strike you as suspicious that the painting had been hidden like that?' Gallo asked.

'I assumed Ricciardi had been trying to protect it from thieves. The painting it was hidden inside would have been difficult to transport because of its size and weight, and wasn't particularly valuable anyway'

'But you knew it had been stolen?'

'I didn't know and I couldn't have known. There are no catalogues of stolen art works. I thought Ricciardi had bought it legitimately. There's nothing wrong with that.'

And who were you planning to sell the painting to?'

'Nobody. I intended to keep it for myself.'

'Are you sure?'

'Very sure.'

'I have here the transcripts of two telephone calls recorded by the police, with official authorisation. These calls were placed to your home phone at 10.28 p.m. on 16 January and 11.03 p.m. on 23 January.' He placed the two transcripts in front of Salustri. 'What do you have to say, Signor Salustri?'

The man's face clouded over. Perhaps it was the shock of seeing the Sicilian's threats in black and white, but his self-confidence vanished in a flash and he looked desperately at this lawyer he had only just met, as if asking for help. Help was not forthcoming.

'Prosecutor Gallo, I'd like to talk to my lawyer in private, if I may'

'That's your right. Let's adjourn for half an hour. Chief Superintendent Ferrara, if you would take them into the conference room.'

Less than fifteen minutes later, Salustri and the lawyer were again sitting opposite the Prosecutor.

'Prosecutor Gallo, I can explain everything. I think being stopped by the police today may have saved my life. I'm not a criminal, I'm a victim. I want to tell you the whole story'

'Not before time. Trust the law. It's no accident I came here in person.'

'Then, like I said, this may be a good thing for me.'

'We'll see. In the meantime let's hear what you have to say'

He told them about his contacts with a Sicilian, a man with a criminal record, who had acted as a go-between for a Swiss collector who wanted to buy the painting. He explained that he was supposed to have delivered the Velazquez ten days earlier in order to get the agreed price, but hadn't been able to keep the commitment because his shop had been placed under a sequestration order. He told them about the threats, how the Sicilian was pressing him to give back the advance he'd already been paid, how scared he'd been when he'd been given only twenty-four hours to come up with the money.

'Prosecutor, you know as well as I do, these people don't joke. They'd have come for me and killed me.'

'Who is this Sicilian?'

'I never found out what his name is or where he lives. I only met him once, in a bar in the centre of Florence where we'd arranged to meet. He phoned me and told me he'd found out I was looking to do a deal and that he was interested. He told me he would find a buyer. He also said that when the deal was done, he'd be there to see the money was handed over and would take twenty per cent for himself. I agreed.'

'How did this person happen to get in touch with you?'

'He wouldn't say who'd put him on to me, and I didn't insist. I'd told a few people in the antique business that I was looking to do a deal. I assumed one of them had told him about me and given him my phone number.'

'It seems to me you were a bit careless, don't you think?' Gallo observed.

'You're right, but I thought 1 was going to do the best deal of my life. I was naive. I thought there were certain matters it was best not to ask too many questions about. The important thing was to make as much profit as I could and then disappear. Now I realise what a mess I got myself into.'

Gallo preferred not to insist. He considered that the moment had come to drop the subject of the Velazquez and go on to the murder of Alfredo Lupi.

'Tell us what you were doing on December 31st 1999.'

'Prosecutor, if you think I killed my assistant, you're making a big mistake. I told you. I'm not a killer and I had no motive—'

Tm not accusing you of murder,' Gallo retorted. 'I'm simply asking you to tell me what you were doing that day'

The lawyer intervened for the first time. 'Prosecutor, I fail to see the connection between this murder and the charge of receiving stolen goods. In any case, my client was interviewed at the time of the murder.'

'That's correct. He was questioned as a witness. But we need to ask him some more questions now because we think there may indeed be a connection between the murder and the painting. That's all.'

'But that's impossible,' Salustri protested. 'Alfredo didn't even know about the painting. He never came into the back room, where my office is, unless I was there. I checked many times. I even arranged some objects in a certain way to see if he moved them, but he never did.'

'So you say. Will you answer the question or not?'

'Of course I'll answer. It's just that I feel as if I'm being investigated for the murder.'

'No, you're not being investigated for that. If you were, I would have had to charge you with it specifically, just as I did for receiving. Your attorney can confirm that.'

The lawyer nodded.

'I was in Rome that day' Salustri said. 'I left in the morning, on the 7.40 Eurostar. I had to take the 7.40 because there are no other trains before nine except the 8.54 which is too late. I had an appointment with a colleague of mine who has an antique shop near the Spanish Steps. He can confirm that, and so can his two assistants. As I was talking to him, about 11, 11.30, I was phoned on my mobile by a neighbour of mine who told me the police were looking for me because Alfredo had been killed. I went back to the Termini station and took the first train for Florence, where I immediately presented myself at Police Headquarters.'

'Can you tell me the name of your Roman colleague, and the name of your neighbour?'

'My colleague is Giorgio Matta, and his shop has the same name. It's right next to the Spanish Steps. My neighbour is Signor Papa, but the police know that.'

At this point, there was an exchange of looks between Gallo and Ferrara, and between Ferrara and Rizzo.

That was the end of the interview. Antonio Salustri was taken back to his cell. There was only one charge against him: receiving stolen goods, according to article 648 of the Penal Code.

They spent the night in a hotel and left the following morning.

Ferrara was in a foul mood, and not very talkative.

He hadn't liked the way Gallo had conducted the interview. Letting Salustri know from the start that he was suspected of being involved in the murder had given him time to prepare himself psychologically and to maintain his alibi with conviction, however weak it was. Gallo should have led up to it gradually, without letting on that that was his aim. Now it would be hard to get Salustri to contradict himself.

'What do you think of his alibi?' Gallo asked at a certain point during the journey.

'I've already asked my men to check it out. But even if it's true that he was in Rome, if he didn't see his colleague until after 11, he would technically still have had time to do it even if he'd left Florence on the 8.54 train. Quite apart from the fact that he could just as easily have gone there by car. The murder took place between 8.30 and 8.45. Not much time to get to Rome, but not impossible.'

'So you're still convinced that he could be the killer?' Gallo asked, obviously puzzled.

'I have no idea,' Ferrara replied, and fell silent again.

A few days later, as if to compensate for Ferrara's frustration, he had the satisfaction of returning the Velazquez painting to its rightful owners.

When the two cars in which he, Rizzo, Sergi and Pino Ricci were travelling entered the square in front of the parish church of Ali Superiore, Ferrara and his men were astonished to see people everywhere: in the square, in the streets, on the balconies of the houses, on the steps of the church. The sound of bells filled the air.

The parish priest came out to meet them, accompanied by the mayor.

'Chief Superintendent Ferrara, the village thanks you. Look at how the people welcome you. They have been like orphans without their painting, which has been on the high altar for centuries. Thank you so much on behalf of everyone.'

Ferrara, who was not easily moved, felt strange. He was not used to this kind of public display. Apart from a single inauspicious TV broadcast he had agreed to appear on, he had always remained in the shadows, and had never exposed himself to the public.

'We were only doing our duty,' was all he managed to say. Then, to hide his embarrassment, he nodded to Sergi. The moment had come to take the painting out of the boot of the car.

Sergi and Ricci took the painting out carefully, and together they slowly climbed the steps. They entered the church, followed by the parish priest, the mayor and as many people as could crowd into the three big naves, and propped the painting on a chair in the middle of the high altar.

The ceremony that followed was something Ferrara had not been expecting.

The parish priest spoke first, emphasising the great sentimental value of the painting. Then the mayor thanked the police on behalf of all the inhabitants. The priest then asked Ferrara to join them on the altar and say a few words.

Ferrara, who thought he had got out of having to say anything more, was caught off guard and wondered what he could possibly come up with. Before he had had time to think of anything, the microphone was in his hand. He faced the crowd.

'I feel great pleasure and enormous joy in seeing the human effects of what for me and my colleagues was simply a normal police operation. We rarely get a chance to appreciate the results of our actions. Most of the time everything ends with an arrest, which is never a pleasant thing for anyone, not even for us. The benefit to society of that arrest is not something we can see or touch. So we tend to forget that the reason we chose this profession was to help people, not to persecute them. On behalf of all my colleagues, I thank you for the way you've welcomed us. Thank you with all my heart. We were only doing our duty'

The parishioners applauded respectfully.

'Let's go to the sacristy now, Chief Superintendent,' the parish priest said. 'We've prepared some light refreshments.'

In the sacristy, they were confronted with a rectangular table more than sixty-five feet long, laden with Sicilian rustic dishes and sweets. Ferrara had a chance to savour tastes and smells he never encountered in Florence and often missed.

He and his men spent that night in Taormina. He recommended a restaurant where they could have dinner but, deaf to their protests, didn't go with them. He wasn't interested in dinner. What he wanted was to wander alone down the familiar streets, letting his memories wash over him. And the following morning, before leaving, as if he hadn't had enough nostalgia, he walked barefoot along the beach, remembering his childhood. And just as in his childhood, he was hit with a sudden craving - perhaps to make up for the disappointing breakfast at the hotel. He went into a bar and asked for a fresh brioche, half opened and filled with lemon
granita.

4

'So you've really made up your mind.' 'Yes, Cinzia.'

It was the first of January and for two days they had done nothing but talk, moments of deep emotion alternating with recriminations and insults. The only time Valentina had been away was on the morning of the 31st. She had gone to Florence to meet the professor running the course on Renaissance theatre, who had received a request from the supervisor of her thesis for her to be admitted.

She had got up at five in the morning and for once had gone by car. By two in the afternoon she was already back. She swore over and over that she hadn't seen Mike Ross, but Cinzia did not believe her. They had started quarrelling again.

And that was how they had spent their New Year.

Now Valentina had almost finished packing her bags. Cinzia was watching her, her eyes moist with tears. For the first time since she had entered Valentina's life at San Vigilio, she seemed at a loss.

'I have to go.'

'You're not coming back.'