Etruscan Chimera

by Lyn Hamilton

  "Nice scooter," I said. "Lovely plum color."

  "If you saw, then you must understand it is necessary for you to go away."

  "I can't," I said.

  "What's to stop you?"

  "Leonora Leonard. Better known as Lola," I said.

  "Who is Lola?"

  "Lola is the woman we both watched being ambushed by the police and carted away in handcuffs, probably because she hasn't paid her hotel bill, but now probably because she has been found in possession of an Etruscan hydria. A stolen Etruscan hydria to be precise. The same stolen hydria you placed in my hotel room in Arezzo. She had it in safekeeping." That was something of a lie of omission, but in a way, true. "She was bringing it to me so I could give it to your employer, so he could be a hero. I think that pretty much obliges both him and me to try to help her."

  "I didn't do that," he said.

  "What?" I said. "You didn't do what?"

  "Put the pot in your hotel room."

  "I saw you near my hotel," I said.

  "Yes, but I didn't put it there."

  "Who did?"

  "I can't tell you."

  "Antonio!" I exclaimed in exasperation. "Tell me right now!"

  "You don't understand," he said. "I don't know who it was. It wasn't supposed to be like this. There is nothing I can do to help your friend."

  "Yes, there is. You can talk to Mr. Lake and tell him he must come here to straighten this all out. Or better still, you can take me to him, and I'll talk to him about it. One word from him, and all would be well."

  "No," he said. "That is a very bad idea."

  "Then I'll have to find him myself."

  "No!" he repeated. "It won't do any good. Hold on, don't go away." There was a pause. "I had to put more coins in the phone."

  "Why won't it?"

  "Why won't what?"

  "Please don't be evasive, Antonio. Why won't it do any good to go to Mr. Lake?"

  "I can't tell you."

  "Then I'm going to the police."

  "Don't you understand? I think that's what you're supposed to do."

  "I guess I don't understand, Antonio. Why don't you explain it all to me?"

  "You, I, that woman, what's her name, are all pawns."

  "Of Lake?"

  "Sort of," he said.

  "I'm going to the police," I repeated. "Your name is certain to come up in the conversation. Your lovely Teresa isn't going to see you for a long, long time."

  "No, please. We must discuss this. Not by telephone. I will try to explain everything. Now I'm running out of coins. There's a little town called Scrofiano south and west of here. Near Sinalunga. There's a house a mile or so outside the town." He gave directions rapidly. "Tonight."

  "Not tonight," I said. There was no way I was wandering around in the dark under the circumstances.

  "Tomorrow morning then. Early."

  "Not until the fog has lifted," I said. "Noon."

  "Noon might be too late," he said. "Make it ten."

  "Noon. Will the carabinieri be there, too?" I asked. "They do seem to have a way of turning up whenever I'm supposed to meet Mr. Lake. Maybe it will be the same when I'm supposed to meet you."

  "No," he said. "This is worse for me even than for you. Make it noon, then. Just be there, please. And be—" The call ended. I guess he ran out of coins in midsentence.

  It took me all that evening and much of the next morning to find where they were holding Lola, in a cell in the carabinieri station in Arezzo. She looked old all of a sudden: pale, wan, and with a listlessness about her that made me really concerned for her welfare. She looked both surprised and pleased to see me.

  "I didn't think you'd come," she said.

  "Of course I came," I exclaimed. "Why wouldn't I?"

  "Because," she said, but didn't finish.

  "Because you thought I set you up?"

  "Maybe. I don't know what to think."

  "If I wanted the hydria for myself, letting the police get it wouldn't be a very good idea would it? And if I really intended to give it to Lake, then it wouldn't be a good idea in that case, either."

  "No," she said. "I really didn't think you'd set me up. It didn't make any sense. One thing I do know is that I wish I'd never seen that hydria. If I hadn't taken it, then—"

  "Then I'd be in here," I said. "I'm going to tell you something. I didn't purchase the hydria. I saw it in a chateau near Vichy and tried to buy it, but the owner wouldn't sell."

  "Not the man who fell into his tomb?" she said. "Did he have it?"

  "Yes. It was gone when I went back to try again to purchase it. Maybe it was stolen, maybe he decided he would sell it, and someone else got it. All I know is that it wasn't there. Then it turned up in the trunk of my car in France. I got it across the border because I didn't know what else to do. I didn't know it had been stolen at the time, but I found out later when I checked the Interpol database of stolen antiquities. In any event, when I got it here, Volterra actually, the carabinieri arrived at the hotel I was staying in and started going through the trunks of cars. Then I did something really awful. I put it into a car belonging to a French dealer that I thought had been the one to put it in my car in the first place."

  "Why would he do that?"

  "He was annoyed I wouldn't cut him in on the purchase of an antiquity."

  "But you got it back," she said.

  "Yes. It showed up on the bed in my room in Arezzo. I have no idea how it got there, and I was as surprised to see it as you were when we came through the door. I was supposed to take it to the Tanella, but of course I couldn't, because you had it."

  She grimaced. "You seem to have found yourself in the middle of something. We both have."

  "Yes, but what? The carabinieri showed up at the Tanella, too, but by then I was on my way back to the hotel. So that's three times when I had, or at least was supposed to have, the hydria with me, that they showed up. But it would have to be a coincidence, wouldn't it? They also showed up at the door of my hotel room while the hydria was lying on the bed, but it was you they were looking for that time."

  "It was," she agreed. "Can you imagine a hotel calling the carabinieri just because someone leaves without paying their bill? It was only a few dollars. A couple of hundred. Maybe three. I suppose that's why they caught me with the hydria. They were after me, anyway, and just lucked out on the antiquity. It makes me mad, though, after I went to the hotel, in person, and paid off a big chunk of what I owed them, and promised the rest of it within a month. They agreed to my terms, too. Maybe I should give them the benefit of the doubt and say they just forgot to inform the police that we had reached an accommodation, but I think it's a bummer. You're probably thinking this serves me right."

  "No," I said. "I'm not."

  "Thank you. I suppose I should try to look on the bright side," she said. "They do feed you here. Nothing like the lovely meal you treated me to yesterday. Was it only yesterday?"

  "Lola, everything is going to be okay."

  "Yes. Before I forget, would you mind phoning Signore Vitali, the lawyer I'm supposed to be helping with his bookkeeping, and tell him I won't be showing up for work? Have you got a piece of paper? I memorized the number. They took my purse. He's a nice man; at least, he seemed to be. I feel bad letting him down like this."

  "I'll take care of it," I said, writing down the number.

  "He's semiretired. Just keeps a few clients now. He's interested in Lars Porsena, just like me. He's researched the area. We thought of combining forces to try to find the tomb. I don't know what he'll think when he hears I'm in jail. He's a lawyer. I don't expect he'd be too keen on an employee, even a contract one, who has been in jail. Too bad, really. I really liked him, and I thought maybe he liked me, too. No doubt he'd been even less keen on having a lady friend who'd been in jail."

  "You don't know that," I said.

  "Yes, I do. Didn't you tell me your partner is a Mountie? How thrilled would he be if he found out you were in jail?"
/>   "Not very," I said. That was an understatement. I hoped I never had to find out how "not very" it would be.

  "Maybe you could tell Salvatore—that's his name— that I've come down with laryngitis, or something, and can't talk, and don't want to infect him, but that I'll call him soon. I hope I'll be out of here in a few days. Do you think so?"

  "Lola, listen to me. Everything is going to be okay. I'm meeting a colleague of Lake's later today, and I'm going to make him come in and explain everything."

  "He'd be willing to do that?"

  "I'm sure he would." He will when I'm finished with him, I thought. I was in no mood for Lake's delicate sensibilities about appearing in public. "You'll be out of here by the end of the day, or tomorrow at the latest. I promise I won't leave you here."

  "Lots of people have made promises to me over the years," she said. "Few have kept them."

  "I will," I said.

  "I don't know. Sometimes you get what you deserve, and maybe this is it for me."

  "Don't be silly, Lola. Sneaking out of a hotel without paying shouldn't get you in jail for possessing illegal antiquities."

  "You don't know what I've done," she said. "I wouldn't blame you if you just went home."

  "I'll be back," I said.

  "I hope so," she said, as they led her away. I winced as the cell door clanged shut behind her.

  I picked up the Autostrada del Sole at the Arezzo exit and headed south, pulling off at the turnoff for Sinalunga. From there, I picked up the raccordo, or trunk road, heading in the direction of Siena, staying on it until just past Sinalunga, at a turnoff for Scrofiano. The road climbed rather sharply and turned into the town, a pretty place with very steep and narrow cobbled streets, flowerpots in every window and doorway, and not much more in the way of public buildings than a church and a general store. I stopped at the store to buy water and to check my directions.

  "Ah, that's Signore Mauro's house you're looking for," one of the customers in the store said. "You are perhaps interested in buying it?"

  "Yes, I am," I said. Why not? One takes these opportunities when one can. I wondered if Signore Mauro was a name Lake used for purposes of anonymity, or whether he was just borrowing the place for the occasion. "Actually I was wondering if it is available for rent, rather than purchase. It is still available, is it? Or am I too late?"

  "I don't think he's sold it yet, although from what I hear, he'd like to sell it rather than rent."

  "I'm sure I couldn't afford that," I said. "Although it would be wonderful to have a place here. Quite expensive, I'm sure. Is Signore Mauro here, do you think?"

  "Haven't seen him around here lately. As for expensive, the place is less than it would have been even six months ago. There are those who say he has to sell, a bad marriage, according to some. Others that he's fallen on bad times."

  "Then perhaps I stand a chance," I said. He came outside with me and gave me directions. The road out of town quickly turned to gravel. To either side were vineyards, the grapes still on the vines, and fields already plowed under, the soil a raw ochre. By a white stone fence, I turned left onto a bumpy road, which I followed past several houses, and many dogs, all of whom raced my car from behind wire fences. The road came to an end at a row of cypresses, beyond which sat a lovely genuine old Tuscan stone farmhouse, two storys high. Home at one time, no doubt, to contadini, farmers, before it had been acquired by the likes of Signore Mauro, whoever he was, it was the last house on a ridge, blessed by a spectacular view across the valley to Cortona perched on its hill, and sweeping vistas of olive groves and vineyards the other way, with the dark outline of misty hills farther south.

  The shutters on the house were closed up tight. I knocked on the door but heard nothing. I walked around the house to find a small but charming vine-covered terrace, with a small table and two chairs set out there. A jacket hung over the back of one chair.

  "Antonio?" I called out. "Where are you? You don't have to hide. It's only me."

  There was no answer. Not a sound, even, except the wind stirring the silvery leaves of the olive trees. I pulled out the other chair and sat down. Beside the terrace, a rosemary bush and sage gave off a wonderful scent. Somewhere in the distance, a dog barked. A little closer, came the squawk of a small animal or bird. Something creaked nearby, then banged, a shutter perhaps. For the first time since I arrived, I looked up.

  The house had been outfitted with a pulley arrangement in the peak of the roof on this side of the house, presumably to pull large pieces of furniture, like the family's baby grand, up to the second floor. It was now serving a new purpose, supporting Antonio, a noose tight around his neck. He'd been strung up, perhaps still alive and fighting for his life, given that the fingers of one hand were caught between the noose and his neck, as if he'd struggled to keep it from strangling him. The rope that held him aloft had then been neatly and firmly wrapped in a figure eight around an iron cleat anchored in the wall at about shoulder height.

  As I stood there, horrified, I heard something. It was almost indefinable: just a rustle perhaps, or the sound of a breaking branch. Nonetheless, I was certain someone was there. I had a sense of a malign presence very close by. Stumbling, I ran to my car, and hands shaking so badly I could barely get the key in the ignition, somehow managed to drive away.

  NINE

  ROME

  The next day brought its own set of unpleasant surprises.

  "Now, let's go over this one more time," Massimo Lucca said. He was a tall, thin man, with reddish hair and a dashing mustache. He was pleasant enough, polite, quiet spoken. He was also a police officer.

  "What you're telling me is that you found the chimera vase, hydria, or whatever it is called—you corrected me on that score already—in France, and that you brought it back into Italy."

  "That's right," I said.

  "And your intention was to return this hydria to the museum in Vulci from which it was stolen many years ago."

  "That's also correct."

  "And Signora Leonard?"

  "She was assisting me. She had the hydria in safekeeping and brought it there to give to me. You arrested her before she was able to do that. Once the transfer was complete, Signora Leonard would most certainly have paid off her hotel bill."

  "What hotel bill?"

  "Her hotel bill in Arezzo," I said, heart sinking at the thought that I might have made Lola's situation even worse. "That's what you arrested her for, is it not? She already reached an arrangement with them. Go ask them."

  He made a note on the pad in front of him. "No," he said. "We were not chasing down someone who didn't pay a bill. We were looking for the antiquity."

  Somewhere in the back of my mind, I had already reached that conclusion, even if I'd refused to admit it to myself until now. "How would you know she was going to be there with the hydria?" I said.

  "I'm not going to tell you that."

  "Oh come on," I said. "It will all have to come out at her trial, won't it? You'll have to tell her lawyer." I had no idea whether or not this was true, given that I had no previous requirement to learn the intricacies of the Italian justice system, but it sounded good and did the trick. Furthermore, it had given me an idea.

  "We were acting on a tip from a concerned member of the public," he said.

  "Who?"

  "You know I can't reveal that," he said irritably. "Anyway, I don't know. It was an anonymous tip, a phone call, which we are trying to track down."

  "I don't suppose this was the first such anonymous tip on this subject you'd received, was it?" I said, as the events of the past few days started to come together.

  "No, it was the second. We were told a woman would be at the Tanella di Pitagora with it a couple of days earlier, but nothing came of it. We almost didn't go to the Melone, thinking it was a prank, but my supervisor, a very meticulous man, made us go. You will understand, I hope, that I have more important things to do than go dashing about the countryside looking for pots."

 
; "I don't suppose you could check whether there was a similar call in Volterra," I said.

  "I could, but why would I?"

  "Doesn't it strike you as a little unusual, all these anonymous calls?"

  "A little," he admitted. "But there are people who value Italian heritage and are less than sympathetic to those who traffic in illegal antiquities."

  "But we were planning to return it to its rightful place in the museum."

  "Here we are back at that story again," he said. "I don't understand why you are doing this. Signora Leonard has already said that she didn't realize that the pot was an antiquity. That, I gather, will be her defense. Your story would appear to contradict what she is saying, and if you think you're helping her by being here telling me this preposterous tale, then perhaps you should think again. I'm tempted to record this conversation to use in court ourselves, but I'm going to do you a big favor and ignore everything you said to me on the basis that you are trying to help a friend. If you persist—" The phone at his elbow rang, and a young woman knocked quickly and poked her head around the door.