Cold Tuscan Stone

by David P. Wagner

The man’s throaty laugh turned into a cigarette cough as Rick walked behind a clump of trees. When he emerged again the man was sitting in the Opel with the engine running. The car went into reverse and made a wide turn to put it back on the narrow trail, emerging from the trees a few seconds later at the edge of the pavement. The return drive was just as twisting, and perhaps even more confusing to Rick thanks to the darkness. It was also filled with smoke, until Rick finally opened his window and leaned his head toward the fresh air. After twenty minutes of silence, the man pulled to a stop and Rick realized he was at the entrance to a large parking lot, behind which loomed the walls of the city.

  “You can get out here.” He pointed to the right with his chin. “Take that stairway.”

  Rick climbed out and closed the door, leaning over to say something through the open window, but before he could speak the man put the car into gear and sped off. Rick watched it drive away and realized that he had forgotten to get his dictionary from the back seat. He also had not checked the license plate. Wondering which was more bone-headed, he walked toward the stairway and realized he was in the parking lot where the American couple had watched the deadly fall of Canopo.

  Had it really been just three days since his arrival in Volterra?

  ***

  When Commissario Conti stopped pacing, LoGuercio knew what was coming.

  “How long’s it been now.”

  The detective once more looked at his watch. “An hour and ten minutes, sir.”

  “Tell me again what happened and what you did after he disappeared.”

  Feeling like a suspect, LoGuercio slowly recounted his conversations with DeMarzo, how the man took a break to have a bite to eat, how the woman at the front desk told DeMarzo that Montoya had left the hotel through the front door a few minutes earlier, and how he, LoGuercio, had sent out various men to search for the American. Conti was looking out the window when he spoke again.

  “So if he turned right after he got to the street, he could have gone out through the gate and left the city. How unfortunate that we don’t still have guards with swords and spears at all the gates of the city, like the Etruscans and Romans did, checking everyone who comes in and out. There’s a church there, San Francesco, just before the gate, did you check it?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Conti continued to stare out the window. “And if he turned left up the hill, once he got to the fork in the street he could have come up here to the piazza or bent to the right, toward the cathedral and the baptistery. You sent men there too, I suppose. He might have decided to do some sightseeing or was having another meeting with the mystery man.”

  “I did, there was no sign of him.”

  “Most likely he got into a car, and—”

  “But not his own, sir.”

  “Yes, yes, LoGuercio, I got that, his car is still in the garage. He got into someone’s car and now could be half way to Pisa. Perhaps my capo at the Questura in Pisa could start looking for him there. Should I call him?”

  LoGuercio prudently decided not to answer.

  “Why don’t you get back to your office to continue coordinating the search, such as it is.”

  “Yes, sir, I will let you know the moment he appears.”

  “You do that.”

  LoGuercio made his escape while Conti stood at the window watching a tall man crossing the piazza, his shadow handed off from one street light to the other as he walked. Going home after a day at the office, no doubt, something Conti wished he could do. He heard a rap on the door behind him. Perhaps LoGuercio had some news. He turned to see Rick standing in the doorway, and felt a strong sense of relief. Was it because the man was the nephew of a fellow policeman, or was he starting to like this American? He pushed the question out of his mind, and decided he would wait a bit to tell LoGuercio. Let him stew.

  “Signor Montoya, you have reappeared.”

  Rick looked puzzled. Suddenly he remembered the rather unspecific assurance from Beppo during his briefings in Rome. The police in Volterra will be looking after you, his friend had said. It had not occurred to Rick that he had been under surveillance these three days, but now it made perfect sense. He would have to think back on his movements since his arrival to remember any strange people who could have been following him.

  “So you were expecting me to stay in my room.”

  Conti shrugged. “Never mind that, take off your coat and tell me where you’ve been. Since you have come here instead of the hotel, you likely were not making the rounds of tourist sites. There must be something to tell.”

  Rick shed his coat and recounted in detail what had happened from the pick up outside the hotel garage until the drop off at the parking lot below the north wall of the city. Conti did not interrupt the description, but when Rick finished the questions began.

  “You’re sure this wasn’t the man who called you.”

  “Absolutely. He has a smoker’s voice which the caller did not.”

  “So at least two people are involved in this. Three, assuming Santo is involved, and four if Landi is behind Santo.”

  “My thoughts exactly, Commissario.”

  “The car. Describe it.”

  Rick was dreading this one. “A dark red Opel, four doors, late model, clean inside and out. I’m afraid I didn’t take note of the license plate.”

  Conti’s reaction was relatively benign. “Your uncle would not be pleased.”

  “I suppose you’re right, Commissario. Another thing. He drove off before I could get my English-Italian dictionary from the back seat.”

  “Of course, the dictionary. It will help them deal with the American customs officials the man mentioned.” He gave Rick a tiny smile. “Do not despair. I’m sure the ministry will reimburse you so you can buy another.” He rose from the chair and walked to his favorite window. “So you say you drove out of a gate on the north side of the city, and then started on a route with many twists and turns through a forest.” He stared out the window as he spoke. “I know that area. I could easily get lost there myself. God knows where this cave is.”

  “Not just God, Commissario.”

  Conti turned and gave Rick a cold look. He was not in the mood for humor, at least not someone else’s humor. “Non capisco.”

  “Well,” said Rick, “when we got back up to the car I told the man that I needed to answer the call of nature.” Conti’s eyebrow raised. “When I went behind the bushes, I took out this.” Rick reached into the pocket of the jacket that was draped over the chair next to him.

  “A mobile phone?”

  “No sir, it is a global positioning device. I turned it on and froze it on the coordinates at that spot. May I?” He reached across the desk for a pen and paper, laid the GPS down next to them, and copied some numbers. “There.” He passed Conti the paper. “The ravine is at this longitude and latitude. If you have a computer with internet access, I can locate it exactly.”

  Conti looked at the numbers as he picked up his desk phone. “Martino, you are the computer expert. I have something for you.”

  Five minutes later the uniformed policeman returned to Conti’s office and spread out a map on the table at the opposite side of the room. “It’s right here sir, about fifteen kilometers from the center of town, just off the road to Ulignano.” He placed another sheet in front Conti and Rick. “This is a satellite picture of the area, but unfortunately the resolution doesn’t bring it in that clearly.”

  Conti shook his head in silent commentary on his personal relationship with technology. “Thank you, Martino, that was just what I needed.” Unaccustomed to such comments from his boss, the young policeman grinned and started to leave the room when Conti added, “Oh, could you tell Detective LoGuercio that our man is here with me and that I’ll talk to him later?” He exchanged glances with Rick and then turned back to Martino. “He’ll know what I mean.” />
  After the policeman was gone Conti gathered the maps and returned to the chair at the desk. Rick took to his regular assigned seat in front of it. After looking down at the map for a few moments, the policeman finally spoke. “Signor Montoya, it appears that you have been successful. Unless this is an elaborate hoax, and the urns you saw were fakes, the ministry was correct in sending you on this mission. As I told you when we first met, I was skeptical, to say the least, but I must now admit that I was wrong.”

  Rick almost felt sorry for the man. Or perhaps he was feeling sorry for himself since this adventure, which he had been enjoying, was about to come to an end.

  “At this point,” Conti continued, “we must bring in the ministry directly.” He consulted a pad on his desk and dialed a number. They both waited while a phone in Rome rang.

  “Dr. Rinaldi. Commissario Conti. I have good news, I hope.”

  A long conversation ensued between Conti and Beppo, while Rick sat silent. Toward the end Rick got on the line briefly to accept the congratulations of his friend and get Beppo’s promise that their next dinner was on him. It was agreed that Conti and a contingent of police would make a predawn visit to the cave and set a trap for those who would eventually have to show up. Beppo would leave Rome early enough to arrive in Volterra by midmorning. He would examine the urns for authenticity and see what was in the other rooms of the cave. Most importantly for Rick, the undercover work was done. When Conti finally hung up the phone the two looked at each other in silence before the commissario finally spoke.

  “Let me ask you the same question that I posed on your last visit to this office. Which one do you think it is, Signor Montoya?”

  He was expecting the question; he’d been asking it to himself since the drop off at the edge of the parking lot. Conti eased back in his chair with the usual creak and watched Rick’s face.

  “I am still leaning toward Landi. The exporter, Polpetto, doesn’t seem organized enough to run an operation like this. And as I said, our Signor Santo appeared before I even spoke to Polpetto. So unless it is his secretary who really runs his business, Polpetto is almost certainly ruled out. And even though he is a large man, he doesn’t seem muscular enough, emotionally, to be capo of a group of criminals that must include the man who took me to the cave. Though it’s true that my driver did talk about experience with customs offices, which could link him with the exporter.” Rick stopped talking for a moment and rubbed his forehead. “But something has stuck in my head about Polpetto. Perhaps it’s of no significance.” Conti kept silent and waited for Rick to continue. “It was the way he looked at a small fragment from an Etruscan tomb, a piece from his office shelf.”

  He looked at the policeman, whose expression was neutral, and shook his head. “But no, Landi seems most likely. I saw him dealing with his men in the workshop, and that was not the most wholesome of groups. And la bella Donatella? She’s somewhere in the middle. Her relationship with her maggiordomo raised questions in my mind, and I could picture her ordering around other men like she did Dario. And she is a successful businesswoman. There would be no reason to rule her out of a criminal activity, other than pure male chauvinism.” Rick again waited for Conti’s reaction.

  The commissario smiled slightly and creaked his chair into a more upright position. “I was at Landi’s workshop in connection with the Canopo investigation, and I agree with your point about him and his workers. I also have a suspicion about Landi’s involvement with fake artifacts, because of some items I saw in his shop. If he’s involved in that trade, trafficking the real thing would be the logical next level for him. I don’t know Polpetto except from what you have described to me. And my only contact with Signora Minotti was a casual one. We met at an exhibit opening. None of the three have has any issues with this office, so if they are up to anything they must be very good at it.”

  Or your office is not very good at your own business, thought Rick. “Is there anything new on the Canopo case, Commissario? If you don’t mind me asking.”

  Conti frowned, but it was unclear to Rick if the man was annoyed with the question, annoyed with the subject being changed, or was just deciding what he wanted to tell Rick. Or deciding if he wanted to tell him anything.

  “Nothing which helps prove anything one way or the other. I continue to believe that he did not take his own life, and the autopsy does not contradict murder. I don’t have a motive, but I’m sure he was engaged in some activity outside of his position with Landi, his bank accounts show it. I must assume that whatever he was doing, it would not be viewed favorably by us here in the building.”

  “Doing something on the side for Landi?”

  “Or someone else.”

  “And that something could have been dealing in stolen Etruscan artifacts.”

  “And that is another good reason, Signor Montoya, for you to be retiring from this case and leaving it completely to the professionals. Retiring with honor, of course.”

  Rick was getting used to the Commissario’s ironic half-smile. He wanted to probe more about the murder, but interpreted Conti’s last comment to mean that their conversation was at an end.

  After Rick left the office, Conti picked up his phone, pressed one of its buttons, and said a few words. A sergeant appeared almost instantly, pad and pen in hand.

  “Yes, sir?”

  As Conti talked the man scribbled. “Put out a search for a dark red late-model four door Opel. If we’re lucky there will be a large dictionary in the back seat. I know that’s not much to go on, there must be hundreds of red Opels in the province, but do what you can. Run a license check on all that you find to get the owners’ names, but don’t approach any of them, at least not yet.”

  The sergeant hurried out the door as Conti rested his head in his hands. After a moment he got to his feet and went to the window, rubbing his eyes to squeeze out the fatigue. It was now completely dark outside, but a few lights were on inside the buildings around the square. As he watched, a woman came out of the tourist office and locked its door behind her before shuffling across the square, holding her coat tightly around her neck. Conti checked his watch and wondered how many card games his brother-in-law had played by now in that bar on the main square of San Giorgio.

  ***

  As Rick left the piazza and walked down the hill toward the hotel, his thoughts were of Erica. That, at least, was the positive side of this quick end to his undercover work; he would be with her tomorrow in Rome. Where would they go for dinner? Certainly not a Tuscan place, he’d had his fill of those dishes the last few days. Perhaps something simple, like da Lucia in Trastevere where they serve the best spaghetti alla gricia in the city. He would need a reservation. At this time of year it was only the tables inside and their dining room was about as big as Conti’s office.

  As he pondered major decisions of life in Italy he came to the small triangular chapel on the corner and remembered his promise to himself to make a visit. The room was about half the size of his hotel room, and considerably darker. He crossed himself, slipped a coin into the small metal box near the entrance, and took one of the cards with a picture of Saint Christopher. He would not be a traveler for long, he thought, as he tucked it into his coat pocket. The patron saint of travelers and a GPS. What more could a tourist need? Leaving the chapel he stepped onto Via San Lino, like his hotel named after the city’s most famous native son. Perhaps not that famous; everyone knows who the first pope was, but how many remember the second? Rick was thinking about Pope Linus when he heard the muffled ring of his cell phone. He smiled when he saw the number.

  “I was just thinking of you, cara.”

  “I’ll bet you were, Ricky.”

  “No, Erica, really. I was thinking how wonderful it will be to see you, and now, how soon we’ll be together.”

  “Really? Why is that? I mean, why is it going to be soon?”

  Rick decided he probably s
hould not go into any detail on the phone. Silly to think that anyone could be listening, but just the same…or was he trying to impress her. “I’ll tell you all about it when I see you, but it appears that my business here is ended, and ended successfully.”

  “That’s great, Ricky.” He was pleased to hear the enthusiasm in her voice. If only it would last until he got back to Rome tomorrow. “I suppose that you’ll be dining tonight with one of the lovely ladies of Volterra.”

  Rick grinned as he strode toward the hotel door. “I’m not a very fast worker, cara, it will once again be a lonely meal for me tonight, probably on the thin gruel they serve in the hotel.” Was he laying in on too thick? Not a chance, these Italian ladies love it. “The only sweet part of it will be thinking about being with you soon. I’m almost to the hotel now, and when I get to my room I’ll start packing my bag.”

  “I can’t wait to see you too.” Rick heard another voice but couldn’t make out what was said. “Ricky, I’ll call you back, I have to deal with something here. Ciao.” The line went dead and Rick looked at the phone as if it would tell him what was going on. It was not like her to break off a call, especially when she was in an upbeat mood. He put the cell phone back into his pocket, pushed open the glass door of the hotel and started across the lobby to get his room key. A woman was standing at the desk talking with the receptionist, her back to Rick. She wore a fashionably long coat, red denim slacks, and brown boots gleaming like they just came out of the shoe store window. The desk clerk spotted Rick and said something to the woman, causing her to turn and watch him approach the desk, her head tilted slightly, a hint of a smile on her face.

  “I guess I don’t need to call you back now, Ricky.”

  ***

  “You have to tell me something, Ricky, anything. I came all the way up here, after all.”

  “I was under the impression that you came here to see me.” The meal, like the afternoon, had started well, and Rick did not want it to unravel. With Erica things could unravel quickly.

  “Of course I came up here to see you, but…insomma.”