by Donna Leon
‘Commissario?’ One would think La Capra had never heard the word.
Brunetti nodded. ‘Of the police.’
Momentary confusion crossed the other man’s face, but this time Brunetti thought it might be a real emotion, not one manufactured for an audience. La Capra quickly recovered and asked, very politely, ‘And what is it, if I might ask, that brings you to visit me, Commissario?’
Brunetti didn’t want La Capra to suspect that the police connected him with Semenzato’s death, so he had decided to say nothing about his son’s fingerprints having been found at the scene of Semenzato’s murder. And until he had a better sense of the man, he didn’t want La Capra to know the police were curious about any link that might exist between him and Brett. ‘Theft, Signor La Capra,’ Brunetti said and then repeated, ‘Theft.’
Signor La Capra was, in an instant, all polite attention. ‘Yes, Commissario?’
Brunetti smiled his most friendly smile. ‘I came to speak to you about the city, Signor La Capra, since you’re a new resident, and about some of the risks of living here.’
‘That’s very kind of you, Dottore,’ returned La Capra, matching him smile for smile. ‘But, please, we can’t stand here like two statues. Could I offer you a coffee? You’ve had lunch, haven’t you?’
‘Yes, I have. But a coffee would be welcome.’
‘Ah, then come along with me. We’ll go down to my study and I’ll have us brought some.’ Saying that, he led Brunetti from the room and back down the stairway. On the second floor, he opened a door and stood back politely to allow Brunetti to enter before him. Books lined two walls; paintings much in need of cleaning — and looking all the more expensive because of that - filled the third. Three ceiling-high windows looked out over the Grand Canal, where boats went about their boaty business. La Capra waved Brunetti to a satin-covered divan and went himself to a long oak desk, where he picked up the phone, pushed a button, and asked that coffee be brought to the study.
He came back across the room and sat down opposite Brunetti, careful first to pull gently at his trousers above the knees so as not to stretch them out when he sat. ‘As I said, it’s very thoughtful of you to come to speak to me, Dottor Brunetti. I’ll be sure to thank Dottor Patta when I see him.’
‘Are you a friend of the Vice-Questore’s?’ Brunetti asked.
La Capra raised his hands in a self-deprecating gesture, pushing away the possibility of such glory. ‘No, I have no such honour. But we are both members of the Lions’ Club, and so we have occasion to meet socially.’ He paused a moment and then added, ‘I’ll be sure to thank him for your thoughtfulness.’
Brunetti nodded his gratitude, knowing just how thoughtful Patta would find it.
‘But, tell me, Dottor Brunetti, what is it you wanted to warn me about?’
‘There’s no specific warning I can give you, Signor La Capra. It’s more that I want to tell you that the appearances of this city are deceiving.’
‘Yes?’
‘It seems that we have a peaceful city here,’ Brunetti began and then interrupted himself to ask, ‘You know that there are only seventy thousand inhabitants?’
La Capra nodded.
‘So it would seem, at first glance, that it is a sleepy little provincial town, that the streets are safe.’ Here Brunetti hastened to add, ‘And they are; people are still safe at all times of the day or night.’ He paused a moment and then added, as if it had just come to him, ‘And they are generally safe in their homes, as well.’
‘If I might interrupt you here, Commissario, that’s one of the reasons I chose to move here, to enjoy that safety, the tranquillity that seems to remain only in this city.’
‘You are from.. .?’ Brunetti asked, though the accent that bubbled up, no matter how La Capra fought to keep it down, left that in no doubt.
‘Palermo,’ La Capra responded.
Brunetti paused to allow that name to sink in and then continued, ‘There is still, however, and it is this I came to speak to you about, there is still a risk of theft. There are many wealthy people in the city, and some of them, lulled, perhaps, by the apparent peacefulness of the city, are not as careful as they should be about the security they maintain within their homes.’ He glanced around him and then followed with a graceful gesture of the hand. ‘I can see that you have many beautiful things here.’ Signor La Capra smiled but then quickly bowed his head in the appearance of modesty. ‘I hope only that you have been provident enough to see to their best protection,’ Brunetti concluded.
The door opened behind him and the same young man came into the room carrying a tray on which sat two cups of coffee and a silver sugar bowl resting on three delicate clawed feet. He stood silently beside Brunetti and waited while he took a cup and spooned two sugars into it. He repeated the process with Signor La Capra and left the room without having said a word, taking the tray with him.
As he stirred his coffee, Brunetti noticed that it was covered with the thin layer of froth that came only from the standard electric espresso machines: no screw-top Moka Espresso pot placed hurriedly on the back burner in Signor La Capra’s kitchen.
‘It’s very thoughtful of you to come to tell me this, Commissario. I’m afraid it’s true that many of us do see Venice as an oasis of peace in what is an increasingly criminal society.’ Here, Signor La Capra shook his head from side to side. ‘But I assure you that I have taken every precaution to see that my possessions remain safe.’
‘I’m glad to learn that, Signor La Capra,’ Brunetti said, placing his cup and saucer on top of a small marble-topped table that stood beside the divan. ‘I’m sure you would want to be most prudent with the beautiful things you have here. After all, I’m sure you’ve gone to considerable trouble to acquire some of them.’
This time, Signor La Capra’s smile, when it came, was in a lower key. He finished his coffee and leaned forward to place his cup and saucer beside Brunetti’s. He said nothing.
‘Would it be intrusive if I were to ask you what sort of protection you’ve provided, Signor La Capra?’
‘Intrusive?’ La Capra asked, opening his eyes wide in surprise. ‘But how could that be? I’m sure you ask only out of consideration for the citizens of the city.’ He let that rest a moment and then explained, ‘I had a burglar alarm installed. But more importantly, I have round-the-clock staff. One of them is always here. I tend to place greater trust in the loyalty of my staff than in any mechanical protection I might buy.’ Here, Signor La Capra turned up the temperature of his smile. ‘Perhaps this makes me old-fashioned, but I believe in these values — loyalty, honour.’
‘Certainly,’ Brunetti said blandly, but he smiled to show that he understood. ‘Do you allow people to see the other pieces in your collection? If these,’ Brunetti said, waving a hand lightly in a gesture that encompassed the entire room, ‘are any indication, then it must be very impressive.’
‘Ah, Commissario, I’m sorry.’ La Capra said with a small shake of his head, ‘but I’m afraid that would be impossible just now.’
‘Yes?’ Brunetti inquired politely
‘You see, the room where I plan to display them isn’t finished to my satisfaction yet. The lighting, the tiles for the floor, even the ceiling panels — none of them makes me happy, so I would be embarrassed, yes, actually embarrassed, to allow anyone to see it now. But I’d be very happy to invite you back to see my collection when the room is finished and,’ he paused, searching for the proper final word, and finding it, ‘presentable.’
‘That’s very kind of you, signore. I’ll plan, then, on seeing you again?’
La Capra nodded, but he did not smile.
‘I’m sure you’re a very busy man,’ Brunetti said and got to his feet. How strange, he thought, for a lover of art to feel the least reluctance to show his collection to someone who displayed curiosity or enthusiasm for beautiful things. Brunetti had never known it to happen before. And even stranger that, during all this talk of crime in the city, La Capr
a had not seen fit to mention either of the two incidents which had, this very week, shattered the calm of Venice and the lives of people who, like himself, were lovers of beauty.
When he saw Brunetti stand, La Capra got up and accompanied him to the door. In fact, he went down the steps with him, across die open courtyard, and to the front door of the palazzo. He opened it himself and held it while Brunetti stepped outside. They shook hands cordially and Signor La Capra stood quietly at the open door while Brunetti made his way back up the narrow calle towards Campo San Polo.
* * * *
Chapter Twenty
The half hour spent with La Capra made Brunetti reluctant to risk having to speak to Patta on the same afternoon, but he decided to go back to the Questura anyway, to see what messages had come in for him. Two people had called: Giulio Carrara, asking that Brunetti call him in Rome, and Flavia Petrelli, saying she would call again later in the afternoon.
He had the operator put a call through to Rome and was soon speaking to the maggiore. Carrara wasted no time with personal conversation but began immediately with Semenzato. ‘Guido, we’ve got something here that makes it look like he was involved in more than we thought.’
‘What is it?’
‘Two days ago, we stopped a shipment of alabaster ashtrays coming into Livorno from Hong Kong, on their way to a wholesaler in Verona. The usual thing — he gets the ashtrays, attaches labels to them, and sells them, “Made in Italy”.’
‘Why did you stop the shipment? That hardly sounds like the sort of thing you people are interested in.’
‘One of the little people in our stable told us that it might be a good idea to take a closer look at the shipment.’
‘For labelling?’ Brunetti asked, still not understanding. ‘Isn’t that the sort of thing the finance boys take care of?’
‘Oh, they’d been paid off,’ Carrara said dismissively, ‘so the shipment would have been safe until it got to Verona. But it’s what we found in with the ashtrays that made him call us.’
Brunetti knew a hint when he heard one. ‘What did you find?’
‘You know what Angkor Wat is, don’t you?’
‘In Cambodia?’
‘If you ask that, then you know. Four of the crates had statues that had been taken from the temples there.’
‘Are you sure?’ As soon as he spoke, Brunetti wished he had phrased the question differently.
‘It’s our business to be sure,’ Carrara said, but only in simple explanation. ‘Three of the pieces were spotted in Bangkok a few years ago, but they disappeared from the market before the police there could confiscate them.’
‘Giulio, I don’t understand how you can be sure they come from Angkor Wat.’
‘The French made pretty extensive drawings of the temple grounds when Cambodia was still a colony and since then much of it has been photographed. Two of the statues we found had been, so we were sure.’
‘When were the photographs taken?’ Brunetti asked.
‘In 1985. An archaeological team from some university in America spent a few months there, sketching and photographing, but then the fighting moved too close and they had to get out. But we’ve got copies of all the work they did. So we’re sure, absolutely sure, about two of the pieces, and the other two are likely to have come from the same source.’
‘Any idea where they’re going?’
‘No. The best we have is the address of the wholesaler in Verona.’
‘Have you moved on this yet?’
‘We’ve got two men watching the warehouse in Livorno. We’ve got a tap on the phone there and in the office in Verona.’
Though Brunetti thought this an extraordinary response to the finding of a mere four statues, he kept the idea to himself. ‘What about the wholesaler? Do you know anything about him?’
‘No, he’s new to us. Nothing on him at all. Even the finance people don’t have a file on him.’
‘What do you think, then?’
Carrara considered for a moment before he answered. ‘I’d say he was clean. And that probably means that someone will remove the statues before the shipment’s delivered.’
‘Where? How?’ Brunetti asked. And then he added, ‘Does anyone know you opened the crates?’
‘I don’t think so. We had the finance police close off the warehouse and make a big show of opening a shipment of lace that was coming in from the Philippines. While they were doing that, we took a look at the ashtrays, but we closed up the crates and left everything there.’
‘What about the lace?’
‘Oh, it was the usual stuff. Twice as much there as declared on the papers, so they confiscated the whole shipment, and they’re trying to figure out how much the fines should be.’
‘And the ashtrays?’
‘They’re still in the warehouse.’
‘What are you going to do?’
‘I’m not in charge of it, Guido. The Milan office gets to handle this. I spoke to the man in charge, and he said he wants to step in the minute the crates with the statues are picked up.’
‘And you?’
‘I’d let them pick up the shipment and then try to follow them.’
‘If they take the crates,’ Brunetti said.
‘Even if they don’t, we’ve got around-the-clock teams in the warehouse, so we’ll know when they make their move. Besides, whoever gets sent to pick up the statues won’t be important, and they probably won’t know much, except where to take them, so there’s no sense in stepping in and arresting them.’
Finally Brunetti asked, ‘Giulio, isn’t this an awfully complicated manoeuvre for four statues? And you still haven’t said how Semenzato was involved in any of this.’
‘We don’t have a clear idea of that, either, but the man who made the original phone call told us that the people — he meant police, Guido — in Venice might be interested in this.’ Even before Brunetti could interrupt him, Carrara went on, ‘He wouldn’t explain what that meant, but he did say that there were more shipments. This was only one of many.’
‘All coming from the Orient?’ Brunetti asked.
‘He didn’t say.’
‘Is there a big market here for things like this?’
‘Not here in Italy, but certainly in Germany, and it’s easy enough to get the things there once they’ve arrived in Italy.’
No Italian would bother to ask why the shipments were not made directly to Germany. The Germans, it was rumoured, saw the law as something to be obeyed, unlike the Italians, who saw it as something first to be fathomed and then evaded.
‘What about value, price?’ Brunetti asked, feeling very much the stereotypical Venetian as he did so.
‘Tremendous, not because of the beauty of the statues themselves but because of the fact that they come from Angkor Wat.’
‘Could they be sold on the open market?’ Brunetti asked, thinking of the room Signor La Capra had built on the third floor of his palazzo and wondering how many more Signor La Capras there might be.
Again, Carrara paused while he considered how to answer the question. ‘No, probably not. But that doesn’t mean there isn’t a market for them.’
‘I understand.’ It was only a possibility, but he asked, ‘Giulio, do you have a file on a man named La Capra, Carmello La Capra? From Palermo.’ He explained the coincidence of the foreign trips taken to the same places and on the same days as Semenzato.
After a short pause, Carrara replied, ‘The name sounds faintly familiar, but nothing comes directly to mind. Give me an hour or so, and I’ll tap into the computer and see what we have on him.’
Brunetti’s question was prompted by the purest of professional curiosity. ‘How much have you got in your computer down there?’
‘Lots,’ Carrara responded with audible pride. ‘We’ve got listings by name, by city, by century, art form, artist, technique of reproduction. You name it, if it’s been stolen or faked, we’ve got a breakdown in the computer. He’d be listed under his name or a
ny aliases or nicknames he has.’
‘Signor La Capra is not the sort of man who would permit a nickname,’ Brunetti explained.
‘Oh, one of them, huh? Well, we’d have him under “Palermo”, in any case,’ and then Carrara added, quite unnecessarily, ‘Rather full, that file.’ He paused a moment to allow Brunetti time to appreciate the remark and then asked, ‘Is there any special sort of art he’s interested in, any technique?’
‘Chinese ceramics,’ Brunetti supplied.
‘Ah,’ Carrara said on a long rising tone. ‘That’s where the name came from. I still can’t remember exactly what it was, but if the connection sticks in my mind, it’s in the computer. Can I call you back, Guido?’