by Roy Lewis
He broke off, glanced uncertainly at Carmela, then fixed his gaze on Grout. ‘We’ve been concentrating on other matters. Grout … things have been pretty hectic these last thirty-six hours. We’ve not had much time to chat. I’d like to hear what you now make of it all.’
‘All, sir?’ Grout was somewhat disconcerted still by the presence of the beautiful and voluptuous Italian woman hovering in the background.
Cardinal waved a negligent hand. ‘Yes, you know what I mean. Rigby at Chesters Fort. Eloise Parker at Sheffield. And now this little hideaway on the Bodensee.’
Grout hesitated, eyeing Cardinal carefully. ‘You want all my theories, sir? I mean, adding what I learned from Philip Proud?’
Cardinal smiled thinly. ‘Oh, yes, that as well. You’ve kept those cards close to your chest so far. So unburden yourself now, Grout, and tell me all. Give me the advantage of your intellectual curiosity.’
Grout’s chin came up at the jibe but in a stubborn, determined tone he said, ‘I think the whole thing should start with Philip Proud’s evidence, sir.’
‘I’m listening, Grout.’
‘All right, sir. It all started when Philip Proud wrote a thesis in which he dealt with the assassination attempt in Padua, the attempt on the life of Lodovico Sforza, Duke of Milan. In that thesis he also mentioned that one of the conspirators escaped with a priceless artefact—’
‘The Eagle of Milan,’ Carmela Cacciatore intervened quietly.
There was a short silence. Both men turned to stare at the woman from the Carabinieri Art Squad.
‘You know about the Sforza business?’ Grout asked in surprise.
‘Who does not?’ She shrugged, her dark eyes reflecting a surprise to match their own. ‘The attempted assassination of the Duke of Milan is an historical event well known in Italy. How much of the published account is true, of course … the flight of the Eagle of Milan, for instance…’ She shrugged again.
Grout stared at her for several seconds, then slowly went on with his narrative. ‘The conspirator reached England. Some of what I now say can’t be proved at this stage but it’s reasonably intelligent guesswork, sir. The conspirator was eventually murdered by Sforza’s assassins but succeeded in hiding the artefact they sought from him. My guess is it was something he could not get rid of easily; an attempt to sell it would have been traced by Sforza’s assassins, and would lead to him. So the conspirator kept it hidden. Bollands died; his son remained equally careful. The treasure of the Duke of Milan was never recovered. Then, after the son died, part of the son’s headstone was removed at the insistence of the bishop and that’s as much as we know… .’
‘And it was all a long time ago.’
‘Yes, sir. But we do know that the stone was inscribed DIBUS VETERIBUS. That’s the reason why the bishop ordered it out of Alnwick’s churchyard. He considered it a pagan relic. And we do know that Chesters Fort was broken into and a legionary piece, also inscribed DIBUS VETERIBUS, was stolen.’
Cardinal smiled thinly, but some of the vagueness had gone from his eyes. ‘So go on with your theorizing, Grout,’ he said.
‘My guess is that the stonemason Bollands forged that legionary piece, used it to hide what had been stolen from Sforza, and passed it on to his son. The carving, the wording, it was a clue to the location of the jewel. It’s my belief, sir, that Joseph Rigby came by some knowledge of the artefact, or its likely whereabouts. He went to Philip Proud and conned him into letting him read the thesis. From that he got what he wanted. It was Rigby who broke into Chesters. …’
‘There’s a hell of a lot of guesswork in what you say, but at least that particular fact,’ Cardinal said quietly, ‘is something we can prove now. Before we left England I read the forensic report from Newcastle. There’s stone dust and so on among Rigby’s clothing that links him with the break in and his prints have been found in the museum.’
Grout nodded. ‘He was after the legionary piece … which I suspect we will now never find. It would have been broken up to retrieve—’
‘The Eagle of Milan,’ Carmela murmured, with an edge of excitement in her voice.
Cardinal glanced at her. His tone was level. ‘You have something to tell us, to fill in what we don’t know. What is this … Eagle of Milan?’
Carmela nodded. Her tone was sober, but her eyes were excited. ‘The Duke of Milan, Lodovico Sforza, he was a notorious womanizer but it is said he adored his wife, Beatrice, and was devastated by her early death. She died of consumption, it is now conjectured. However …’ She paused, frowned slightly. ‘You are perhaps not aware that Sforza was a patron of that most eminent man, the painter, sculptor, engineer, architect, scientist and genius, Leonardo da Vinci.’
‘I knew that da Vinci had patrons among the wealthy in Italian city states,’ Cardinal admitted slowly. ‘But the patronage of Sforza—’
‘Leonardo da Vinci was employed by the Duke of Milan as an engineer, to construct mediaeval engines of war. Eventually he came up with ideas for flight, and a submarine in addition … but apart from that, da Vinci also organized Sforza’s wedding to the beloved Beatrice, painted her portrait, and designed the wedding gift that the Duke gave to his new wife.’ Carmela paused, and smiled almost to herself. ‘A gift that, after her death, he took back and cherished as a memory of her. It never left him … until the night of the assassination attempt in Padua. When it was stolen by the fleeing assassin. As the books and old records say, the Eagle had flown from his grasp. But no one seemed to know to where it had flown.’
‘What was it, this Eagle?’ Grout asked.
‘It was an ornate brooch, including the ducal arms of the Duke – an eagle – and encrusted with precious stones.’
‘Worth the ransom of seven kings,’ Grout muttered.
‘And now, of an incalculable value. An original artefact, designed by the inimitable Leonardo da Vinci and lost for five hundred years,’ Carmela said. She seemed slightly breathless. ‘And it would seem that the flight of the Eagle is now almost over; it has come again into the light of day.’
‘You could be right.’
Cardinal grunted. ‘Do we know what it looks like?’
Carmela nodded vigorously. ‘The portrait da Vinci painted of Beatrice – the brooch appears on her breast.’
‘The Madonna of the Seven Wells …’ Grout cleared his throat carefully, eyeing Cardinal. ‘But I still have my doubts … it could be that Clifford didn’t know about the brooch. Not straightaway, at least.’ He knew this was something Cardinal would not wish to hear. It would undermine Cardinal’s conviction that his old enemy Clifford was behind all nefarious dealings in this matter. Hurriedly, he went on, ‘Not at first. But I think Clifford did discover that Rigby, who was one of his hired men, was branching out on his own. Had some deal of his own going. He didn’t like that.’
‘He wouldn’t,’ Cardinal interrupted. ‘I know the man. His gang would be under a strict code of conduct, and little ploys like lifting an item for your own purposes would be very much against that code. I’m still not convinced by what you’re suggesting, but go on.’
Carmela again intervened. ‘It is possible that Sergeant Grout is correct. There have been rumours for some time that something was coming onto the illegal market, something important, though it was not suggested it might be the brooch of Beatrice.’
‘And Clifford would have heard the rumours, maybe. Got wind of Rigby’s involvement in something big, and didn’t like it. I think maybe that’s why he called off the meeting he’d planned in London, either came north himself or sent someone, and when Rigby arrived at Chesters …’
‘Bang,’ Cardinal said. ‘So you think Rigby might have got his hands on this artefact—’
‘The Eagle of Milan,’ Carmela corrected him quietly.
Cardinal nodded with a hint of impatience and addressed Grout. ‘You think Gus Clifford then made off with the Eagle brooch?’
‘That’s my guess, yes, sir.’
Cardinal grimace
d. ‘All right, but just where does Eloise Parker fit into this scenario?’
Grout shrugged. ‘It’s not too clear, sir, but we know that she was in a relationship with Rigby. He must have told her to meet him at Chollerford so that they could take off together immediately after he had got his hands on the brooch. The plan was to disappear and live happily ever after. Gilbert, that photographer chap, he said she seemed to be waiting for someone. But when Rigby didn’t turn up …’
‘She thought about a dalliance with Gilbert, and then probably had second thoughts. … Actually,’ Cardinal drawled, ‘I can help you there, Grout, because forensics also tell me that she was out at Chesters early that morning. Before Paul Gilbert was up and about, wandering about in his priapic fury.’
‘So do you think she actually met Rigby at Chesters?’
‘No. The view of the local police, from forensic reports, prints by the body, well, they seem to think she might have gone up to the site shortly after he was killed. Maybe found him there, and then got out quickly, scared, returned to her home base.’
Grout pulled at his lower lip with a finger and thumb. He nodded, seeing the picture in his mind’s eye. ‘She came up, found Rigby’s car first of all, maybe even found Rigby stretched out on his back with his head bashed in. That would have sobered her up well enough. And then she scarpered, fast. Wise girl.’
‘But not wise enough,’ Cardinal said. ‘She shouldn’t have stayed in Sheffield. Going to ground there might have been comfortable, familiar surroundings when she was scared, but it wasn’t a clever thing to do.’
‘I agree, sir. It all fits. She went back to the flat, frightened as hell, and laid low. But it wasn’t difficult to find her. Paul Gilbert managed it, and so probably did Clifford. And it was Clifford who got to her first. He killed her because she could talk to the police, maybe even talk about the da Vinci brooch. …’
Cardinal shook his head in doubt. ‘I don’t know. It’s still too many suppositions for me. I agree that Rigby might have told her what he was up to in the first place. He probably gave her some hints, arranged for her to join him at Chesters before they lit out, got themselves out of the country beyond reach of Clifford. …’ Cardinal sat down and stretched out his legs. ‘But that just about brings us up to the present … and we don’t know too much about why Clifford came out here to the Bodensee. Chasing after the brooch? Or does he already have it in his possession? Perhaps he’s got the brooch and is meeting someone he could make a deal with. Maybe our friend Enders can help us out on that one.’
He was able to, a few hours later. The police were still involved with searching the villa but the men who had been arrested had already been hustled off to Constance. Enders looked tired; he had been mainly responsible for the interrogation.
‘We have now identified the two men we captured at the villa. In fact, one is German, the other Swiss. They were remarkably consistent in their stories but Interpol soon gave me the back-up information I required to call their bluff. They are both dealers.’
Cardinal raised his eyebrows. ‘Dealers … and more?’
Enders smiled. ‘As you say. They have legitimate businesses in their respective countries, but a great deal of undercover trading is done in addition. In items of doubtful provenance, shall we say.’
‘You mean they’re receivers?’ Grout asked.
‘I believe the traditional term in England is ‘fence’, and that is why they’re here,’ Enders said. ‘According to them it was an arrangement that had been in place for some time.’
‘Clifford was getting rid of some of his stuff to them?’
Enders nodded emphatically. ‘These two gentlemen are among a group in contact with Clifford. They act as go-betweens with auction houses and museums. Clifford acquires the items, arranges for transport into Europe, usually to a warehouse in Basel and men like these then take over the items, cover trails by dealing amongst themselves, raise false transactions and documentation to provide plausible provenance and then sell the stuff on to respectable collectors or museums, through auction houses that are prepared to turn a blind eye to the shadiness of the transactions. Museum directors of the most eminent reputation can be surprisingly lax when they see an exciting piece that will enhance their own, legitimate, collections. I’d be surprised if these men are not already known to Signorina Cacciatore.’
‘You have physical proof to back this up?’ Cardinal asked.
‘There is enough evidence in the house itself to justify our making an arrest and the German authorities are more than willing to co-operate in your investigations. They have already uncovered a considerable amount of property which would seem to have been stolen. As far as we can make out Clifford must have made regular trips across to the Bodensee, which was a useful location for the distribution thereafter throughout Europe and the United States. …’
‘And once the items were distributed, Clifford would fade from the scene,’ Cardinal said grimly, ‘with the artefacts under different ownership.’
‘As you say. The pity of it all is that we have not got our hands on Clifford himself.’
Or the Duke of Milan’s Eagle brooch, Grout thought to himself. He knew it was a thought that would already be burning at Cardinal. He did not voice it. Instead he said, ‘Has any jewellery been found?’
Enders looked vaguely surprised and smoothed a hand over his bald head. ‘Not so far. The material these people have been dealing with consists largely of bigger pieces looted from various locations in Iran, Europe and Asia, and international organization is involved. Clifford was the UK controller. But these two fellows … the Swiss and the German … they claim they do not handle jewellery. And I believe that Clifford would have fenced something like that in London, not here. The market there is a good one, I understand, though you will know more of this than I—’
‘It’s a good one, but I think things have got too hot for Clifford in England. He’ll have wanted to do a deal in Europe,’ Cardinal growled in assent. ‘So these two men deal mainly in stone artefacts, antiques and paintings then?’
‘That is so. Notably, of recent years, items looted from Etruscan tombs.’ Enders stared at Grout. He was a perceptive man and he was aware of a certain tension in the detective sergeant. ‘You have a reason for asking about jewellery?’
Before Grout could answer Cardinal spoke. ‘Tell me, Herr Enders. Why was this man Schneider here?’
Enders shook his head and frowned. ‘I do not know. He does not fit into the picture. The normal pattern. These men are dealers, criminals of course, but are not really known for what you would describe as strong-arm activity.’
‘Unlike Clifford, of course. But he was at the front end of the business. Still, could Schneider have been brought along as a bodyguard?’
‘We do not believe so. The dealers have had a long association with Clifford and other activists. They would not have had reason to fear violence.’ There was little doubt in Enders’s tone. ‘However, Schneider’s assignments are of a pattern. He is not a man who is hired to protect. He is a man contracted to kill.’
‘But this could have been a rather different assignment from the ordinary,’ Cardinal said casually. ‘Let’s assume that Clifford has in his possession a jewel of great value.’
Enders considered for a moment. ‘A jewel of value?’ he said slowly.
‘Worth the ransom of seven kings,’ Grout said in a quiet voice.
Enders glanced sharply at him and then at Cardinal. ‘This is so?’
‘Let’s just suppose,’ Cardinal said sweetly.
‘In that case it is possible,’ Enders considered, ‘that Clifford would then find it advisable to have a man like Schneider… . But a gunman is still out of place here at the villa. These men, the Swiss, the German, Clifford … they would have worked on a basis of trust, believe it or not, and Schneider would be a dangerous outsider.’
‘But he was here,’ Grout said.
Enders shrugged in puzzlement.
Cardinal shifted in his chair. ‘Of course,’ he said, ‘Schneider may have been told to wait here for Clifford. Or to join him. Somewhere.’ He stroked his chin thoughtfully and his thin lips seemed to reflect a certain inner happiness that surprised Grout. ‘If Clifford got his hands on an item of such value, where would he go from here to get rid of it?’
Enders stared at Cardinal and weighed his answer carefully. ‘I think we should consult Signorina Cacciatore on such a matter. Her contacts are extensive. A moment, if you please…’ He took out his mobile phone and tapped out a number. He spoke in Italian; clearly, he was in contact with the woman from the Carabinieri Art Squad. He nodded vigorously, said goodbye and snapped shut the phone.
‘Carmela Cacciatore informs me that she is already aware of the item you have in mind. She says if it is really up for sale on the underground market, for the transaction of the business, there is only one man Clifford could go to, and one place. She will meet you there, while I remain here on the Bodensee to co-ordinate matters.’
‘Who is this man?’ Cardinal asked.
‘Signorina Cacciatore told me only that he is called Le Cochon… The Pig. And the location where she will meet you … it will be in Amsterdam.’
The satisfaction showed in Cardinal’s features. He smiled. ‘So there we are. Schneider had in his pocket-book a ticket. A first class flight … to Schiphol airport. So, Grout – it’s Amsterdam!’
DCI Cardinal and Grout were met at Schiphol airport by Carmela Cacciatore. She had already arranged transport, and there was a barely suppressed excitement in her manner. They came into the city and drove in along Churchill-laan, crossed the Amstel canal and made their way along Ferdinand Bolstraat until they reached the Singelgracht. After they alighted from the car Carmela spoke briefly to the driver, who drew away from them and sought a parking space a short distance away. He stayed with the car while Carmela led the way to the man they sought.