Murder Most Unfortunate (16 page)

Rick had seen slides of Jacopo's works during the seminar and looked at them up close at the museum, but being with these two in a small room made him feel like he was almost with the master in his workshop. Rick wanted to be excited. It should have been a special privilege to study two paintings that had not seen the light of day for more than half a century. But as he focused on the two works, he felt sadness and guilt. The man before him had been put in the terrible position of choosing between the ethics of his life work and saving the woman he loved. The truth about what Gaddi had done would have come to light eventually, Rick knew that. He only wished he hadn't been the one to make it happen. Why couldn't Captain Scuderi have appeared on the scene when needed? Rick pushed the thoughts to the back of his mind and concentrated on the paintings.

Jacopo's genius flowed out from the canvases with movement and color. Both had religious themes, but the biblical stories they told were too obscure for Rick to recognize them. The scenes were filled with people and animals coexisting in harmony, as if the religious subject was merely a pretext for the artist to create an idyllic representation of rural life. Rick learned at the seminar that Jacopo was a man who remained loyal to his roots, and especially to his hometown. He had never left Bassano for any long period, despite the temptations of Venice and other larger cities. It was here that he'd raised his family, teaching his sons to paint and carry on the tradition. Rick's eye moved from the figures to the landscape behind them, wondering how many of the hills and mountains were the same that surrounded the town today. He knew it would be a question that Jacopo scholars would debate in the future, though after this seminar the art community should let Jacopo rest in peace for a few years. Two murders, a man in prison, and another man's career in jeopardy. Was it all worth it for works of art? He studied the two canvases in an attempt to get an answer, knowing there would be none. He was so immersed in them that he almost forgot that Gaddi was in the same room.

“They are magnificent, Professor. I understand completely how painful your decision must have been. These paintings should be displayed where anyone can see them.”

Gaddi barely heard Rick's remark. His head was in his hands. “Sarchetti was my last chance to save Pina. What will I do now? Not only will I not have the money for her treatment, I will be arrested for hiding stolen artwork.”

Rick extended his hand to touch the man's shoulder but then pulled it back, taking a deep breath. After another gaze at the paintings he reached into his pocket, took out his cell phone, and punched in a number. It took four rings before it was answered.

“Beppo? I've got something for you.”

Chapter Fourteen

“I was sure Inspector Occasio would be with you so that he could personally thank me for tying up his murder investigation.”

DiMaio and Rick looked out over the Brenta, its ripples catching the reflection of the spotlights trained on the bridge. They could hear the faint sound of the early newscast from one of the houses that lined the riverbank close to where they stood. Perhaps the murder was already being reported since there had been a crew setting up on the street when Rick and Betta slipped out of the warehouse.

“I'm certain the inspector would have sent his warmest thanks had he known I was going to be seeing you, Riccardo. You must forgive me for neglecting to mention it to him. He was extremely busy trying to sort out the details to his advantage.”

“The poor man will no longer have a contact in the bank.”

“
Al contrario
, my friend. When I left Occasio, he was talking with the bank president himself, no doubt assuring him that he would be doing all he could to contain the scandal.”

Rick leaned his elbows on the railing. “That may be tough to do with Porcari taken off in handcuffs.”

“My
capo
will find a way, I assure you. But enough about him. Now that you are no longer a suspect, we can return to the issue of your future in the police.”

Rick chuckled. “There will be none, my friend. I am perfectly happy to work occasionally on the periphery. Keep in mind, if I had been a cop this week I would have had to take orders from the inspector.”

DiMaio nodded as he stared at the light far down the river. “I have no way to respond to such an argument, Riccardo. But let me say that it has been a pleasure to work with you this week, even if you were on the periphery.”

Rick turned and examined the policeman's face. “Are you turning serious on me, Alfredo? After all you've done to earn my esteem?”

“Sorry, I don't know what came over me. But let me stay serious for a moment longer and ask if, when you see your uncle, you could put in a word for me. I have put in for a transfer, you see, and—”

“You want to break up your partnership with Occasio? I'm dumbfounded. It would be like Holmes without Watson, Poirot without Hastings, Nero without Archie—”

“Or Laurel without Hardy. I see your point, Riccardo, but I'm ready for a change. So if you mention this to your uncle, I would be eternally grateful. But I should not keep you. I trust you are dining with your lady friend?”

“Incredible. You policemen know everything even before it happens. Yes, since she saved my life, the very least I can do is take her to dinner.”

***

Rick walked slowly through the wet streets toward Betta's apartment. The adrenalin from the encounter with Porcari had subsided, leaving only negative thoughts, especially when he recalled the events of the past few days. Two men had died. He'd come close to physical harm, but worse yet he'd put Betta in danger as well. Caterina had barely escaped serious injury. And now the question of Professor Gaddi was eating away at him. Had he done the right thing? He was ready to get out of Bassano and return to the relative calm of Rome and his translation business, but that meant leaving Betta, the one bright spot in all of this. How ironic that Rome would seem idyllic in comparison with the sleepy town of Bassano.

He turned the corner and entered Piazza Monte Vecchio. There was only one light on in Betta's apartment, but her father's was lit up. That would make sense, Rick thought, she is telling her father about everything that had happened. Knowing how protective Innocenti tried to be of his daughter, he hoped the man was taking it well and that he wouldn't blame Rick for getting her into harm's way. He reached the doorway and pressed the button under Betta's name. When there was no answer he hit that of the other apartment, and a few seconds later her voice came over the
citofono
.

“Come on up, Riccardo.”

She sounded in good spirits. The door buzzed open, and he climbed the stairs to where she stood at the open door of her father's apartment. They had left each other a half hour earlier but they exchanged kisses anyway. She had sprayed on fresh perfume and once again he tried unsuccessfully to identify it. Was he losing his touch?

“I think you'll be pleased to find that we have a guest.” A pixie smile matched perfectly with her short hair. She took his coat and laid it over a chair in the small hallway before they walked into the living room. Sitting on the sofa across from Signor Innocenti was Caterina Savona, as always dressed impeccably. The two looked up at him with more smiles, and Innocenti rose to his feet to shake Rick's hand before gesturing at Caterina.

“I know you've met Caterina Savona, Riccardo, but I don't believe you've met Caterina Scuderi.”

Rick shook his head and laughed. “Well, well. Captain Scuderi, it is indeed a pleasure.” He gave her a short bow. “I've heard so much about you, and finally we meet.”

“You can still call me Caterina, Riccardo. Come sit.” She patted the cushion next to her. Rick sat, and Betta took the place on his right.

“A thorn between roses,” Rick said.

“Let me get you a glass of wine, Riccardo.” Innocenti walked to a table and filled a glass without waiting for a reply. He passed it to Rick and then raised his own. “To the recovery of the missing Jacopos.” Rick clinked his glass with those of the two Innocenti and then with Caterina's. Her face showed nothing.

“And may they never be lost again,” Innocenti added, after they all sipped the red wine. He took a seat. “Caterina has told us that they have been found, Riccardo, but hasn't given any details. She must be finding it difficult to get out of her mysterious undercover role.” They all waited for Captain Scuderi to respond.

“It will all come out in due time,” she said. “You know how bureaucracies work, and the ministry is no different. Procedures must be followed at all cost.”

“Not even a hint?” asked Betta, leaning forward to ask the question across Rick.

“We must allow Caterina to deal with the ministry,” Rick said quickly. “I'm sure it will become public soon enough, probably with a press conference involving the higher-ups.”

“The important thing is that they've been found.” Caterina spoke in a tone that attempted to end the discussion. “Why don't we go to dinner?”

Betta bounced to her feet. “I haven't had time to change, with the surprise of meeting the new Caterina. I won't be long.” She slipped out the door into the hallway under Rick's gaze.

“And I really should put on a different shirt. May I leave my guests alone? Help yourself to the wine.” Innocenti disappeared through a door.

Rick got to his feet, picked up the bottle from the table, and held it up for Caterina. She shook her head and he splashed a bit into his own glass. “You talked to Beppo.”

“He called me right after he spoke with you.”

Rick sat where Innocenti had been, across from her. “I sense that you don't agree.”

She straightened her skirt and leaned back against the leather cushions. “The ministry's reward money is meant for people who have helped find lost art, not for those who have knowingly broken the law by keeping stolen works in their possession.”

“You never met Professor Gaddi.”

Caterina looked up at Rick and tilted her head slightly. “I will now, since I'll be setting up his reward payment.” The way she emphasized the word “reward” left no doubt as to how she felt. “Would it make a difference if I'd met him?”

“I suppose not.” He took a drink and thought that her annoyance may be due to not being the one to track down the missing Jacopos. Better not to ask. “Are you going to fight this?”

She smiled. “No, Riccardo. Remember the running path in the park? Let's say I'm returning the favor.”

“That wire was meant for me, you know.”

“It doesn't matter. You saved me from serious injury or worse. But to be honest, there's something else.” She picked up the paper napkin from under her glass and patted her smiling lips. “Your friend Beppo knows too many people for me to get on his wrong side.”

***

Betta snuggled her head under Rick's chin. “Does it bother you that you were wrong?”

His brow furrowed. “About what?”

“You were sure the murder was connected to the two missing Jacopo paintings.”

“It was about two paintings, only they weren't by Jacopo Bassano. So I was half right.” He took a sniff of her hair. “Betta, I've been trying to identify your perfume and now it's finally come to me. Dahlia Noir, am I correct? Givenchy?”

“You really pride yourself on knowing perfumes, don't you?”

“It's important.”

“And you couldn't quite remember this one.”

“I knew I would eventually.”

“Perhaps you remembered when you saw the bottle on my dresser?”

Rick body stiffened. “Betta, I'm shocked that you would even—”

“A thousand pardons, Riccardo, that I would even think of accusing you of deception.”

He pulled her closer, if that was possible. “By the way, why don't you call me Rick. It's shorter, easier to write in e-mails when I'm back to Rome.”

“
Va bene
, Rick.” She pronounced it “reek,” but he didn't correct her. “Though it may not be necessary to write e-mails.”

“Because we'll be talking so often on the phone?”

“It's not what I meant. I was talking with Caterina before you arrived, and she says they need more women with the art cops and she'd be happy to put in a good word for me. And then there's your good friend Beppo. Does he have much influence?”

He took in another whiff of her perfume. “When would your training start?”

Chapter Fifteen

Commissario Piero Fontana pulled the white napkin from his collar, revealing the striped tie that his nephew had brought back for him from Bassano del Grappa. The silk went perfectly with the white shirt and dark blue suit, causing Rick to wonder if the man had actually gone out and bought a suit to match a new tie. He wouldn't put it past his uncle. The napkin had been necessary for their first course,
spaghetti alle vongole
. The small,
veraci
clamshells now formed stacks on dishes next to their empty pasta bowls. Well, almost empty. Rick still had a few strands of spaghetti which would not go to waste, nor would the garlic-flavored olive oil that coated them. He reached for another piece of bread while his uncle filled their glasses. The Frascati was nearly achromatic, but what it lacked in hue it made up for in body.

“It is unfortunate, Riccardo, that you had to suffer through an encounter with Giuliano Occasio. It is a sad truth that there are many such men in the ranks of the
Polizia di Stato
. I was going to intervene on your behalf, but…” He raised a hand when he saw Rick was about to interrupt. “My dear nephew, I was contacted early on by Detective DiMaio. Did you really believe he would not keep his old instructor informed?”

“I didn't think about it.”

“He didn't tell you because I asked him not to. After he called I expected to hear from you and when I didn't, I must admit I was surprised. And somewhat disappointed. But after thinking more about it, I've concluded that it was the right thing for you not to have brought your uncle in on this one. It is the American coming out in you, of course, the influence of your footwear.” He chuckled. “But in my opinion, which I admit is biased, it demonstrates again that you have missed your true calling.”

Rick shook his head. “
Zio
, let's not start on that again.”

“Your friend Betta is using her connections to secure a position in the art police, you could certainly—”

“I'm perfectly happy doing what I'm doing. You know that.”

Piero sighed and picked up his wineglass. “
Purtroppo,
I do know that, but you must forgive me for trying anyway. Don't tell my sister that I have again attempted to push you into law enforcement.”

“What happens in Roma stays in Roma,
Zio
.”

“Excellent. Regarding DiMaio, I have already, as you requested, spoken with the right people. He will not be disappointed with his new assignment.”

“He will be most appreciative, as am I.”

The commissario waved off the comment with his hand. “It is how things work, and I am glad to help. I remember DiMaio, he is the type of officer that should be helped, and not only because he befriended my nephew.”

Rick had been wondering if the befriending was due mainly to his having an uncle in the high echelons of the police, but he kept the thought to himself. Piero continued.

“Now you must tell me about this young lady. I assume she is attractive?”

“Most attractive,
Zio
. I look forward to your meeting her.”

“As do I. I'm surprised that she in fact wished to come to Rome. Normally the women you meet take the first opportunity to get on an airplane for America.”

“Ouch.”

“Sorry, Nephew, I could not resist. And
la bella
Erica, did she make the right decision?”

They watched as one waiter picked up their plates and another positioned menus in their place. Rick took a drink from his wineglass. “I've stopped trying to understand Erica. Time will tell if she's done the right thing, and even if she has, that doesn't mean the marriage will endure. If she truly wants it to work, I think it will.”

Piero put on his half glasses and they both studied the menus for a full minute. The decision on the second course loomed. Rick put his down and looked at his uncle. “Did you ever actually work with Inspector Occasio,
Zio
?”

The older man gave the question some thought. “No. Fortunately the police force is large enough so that we were never in the same
questura
. My encounter with him, if that is the correct word, was indirect. A man from his hometown was working for me on a corruption investigation. It was when I was assigned to Bari, though the place is irrelevant. This man got too close to various people involved in the investigation. I suspected that he was being bribed and had tampered with the evidence, though I wasn't able to prove it. But I did pull him off the case and had him reassigned to another part of the country. Occasio heard about it and tried to get me to smooth things over, and when I wouldn't, he tried to discredit me. He went behind my back, of course, though I heard about it from others. The man he was trying to protect was eventually fired from the force when he got into trouble somewhere else.”

“Despite your being proven right, Occasio hasn't forgiven you.”

“Those types never do.”

“So Detective DiMaio's advice not to tell him you were my uncle was sound.”

Piero continued to study the menu. “It's impossible to know what Occasio would have done to Commissario Fontana's
nipote
, if anything. But I doubt it would have improved your relationship with the man.” He put down the menu. “I think I'm going to order the
vitello al limone
.”

The veal also sounded good to Rick, but he decided to have his cutlet breaded. It would be thin and served with a lemon wedge and nothing else, unlike the chicken fried steak with gravy and mashed potatoes he used to devour at a favorite restaurant in Albuquerque. The waiter appeared an instant after Piero turned his head slightly toward the kitchen, and they made their requests.

Rick noticed the look on his uncle's face and knew from experience that something profound was in the offing. It was usually at this point in the meal that any serious issues were brought to the table. He couldn't think what it might be. Piero had been studying a spot on the tablecloth, and now his eyes rose and met Rick's.

“Riccardo, this arrangement you made with Beppo to get the reward money for Professor Gaddi—”

“The art cops have very large resources for such things.”

“I'm sure they do, but that is not what concerns me. You misrepresented what really happened. Gaddi understood perfectly what he'd been doing, and had known it for years. I'm certain that the regulations are quite clear on how those funds are to be used, apart from the law itself about stolen goods. Between the two…” His words stopped. The point had been made.

Rick looked squarely at his uncle. “The man needed help, not prosecution.”

Commissario Fontana took off his glasses and folded them carefully into his jacket pocket. His hand rubbed along the side of his chin as if deciding whether the short beard needed a trim.

Rick watched and waited.

After a long silence, Piero raised a hand to signal the waiter. “We will need a new wine to go with our second courses, Riccardo.”