Tags:
Fiction,
General,
Mystery & Detective,
Women Sleuths,
Mystery Fiction,
Police,
California,
Police Procedural,
Policewomen,
Italy,
Art Thefts,
Di Stefano,
Jonathan (Fictitious character),
Flavia (Fictitious character),
Argyll,
Police - Italy
moment while he collected his thoughts. “Case?” he asked.
“Big wooden thing.”
“Oh, that. That’s the Bernini. It hasn’t been opened yet.”
“Yes, it has. It’s empty. What’s a Bernini, anyway?”
Thanet’s mouth flapped around uncertainly for a while before he stood up and rushed out of the room. The other two trailed after him, and reached his office just in time to see him bent over the large wooden box scrabbling around desperately among all the packing inside.
“Told you,” Morelli said.
Thanet re-emerged with little bits of plastic padding in his thinning hair, white with shock.
“This is terrible, terrible,” he said. “The bust has gone. Four million dollars, and it wasn’t insured.”
It occurred to Morelli and Argyll simultaneously that Thanet was more obviously upset about the Bernini than he was about Moresby.
Argyll suggested that it was a little careless not to insure it.
“The insurance came into operation tomorrow morning, when we were going to move it into the museum. The company won’t cover stuff in the administration building. It’s not secure enough for them. Langton had it put here temporarily so Moresby could inspect it if he wanted. We didn’t feel he should have to go down to the storerooms.”
“Where is Hector di Souza?” Argyll asked, finally deciding that this was the central point that needed to be answered.
Thanet looked blank. “I’ve no idea,” he replied looking around as though he expected to see the Spaniard emerging from a cupboard.
There was a brief interlude as Morelli asked who di Souza was and Argyll explained.
“Senor di Souza brought the bust over from Europe. He was upset about something and wanted to talk to Moresby. They came over here to discuss it in Thanet’s office. Some time later, Barclay discovers the body and presumably by then the bust had gone as well.”
Morelli nodded in a fashion which communicated understanding and profound irritation in equal parts. “And why didn’t you mention this di Souza before?” he asked Thanet. It was clearly a rhetorical question as he didn’t wait for an answer. Instead, he picked up a phone and gave instructions that di Souza was to be found as fast as possible.
“If you ask me…’ Argyll began, thinking that Morelli would undoubtedly want the benefit of his experience.
“I’m not,” the detective pointed out kindly.
“Yes, but…’
“Out,” he said, pointing helpfully to the door, lest there be any confusion about where the stairs were situated.
“All I mean…’
“Out,” he repeated. “I’ll talk to you later to see if you have any relevant information. Now, go away.”
Argyll was displeased. He liked constructing theories, and generally found the Roman police receptive to them. Well, Flavia sometimes was. Evidently the Los Angeles police were less sophisticated in their approach. He glanced at Morelli, saw that he meant it, and reluctantly left.
Morelli breathed a deep sigh of relief, and scowled at the quiet snicker from a colleague who’d been listening to his attempts to restore control.
“Right,” he said, “Let’s start again. From the beginning. Can you identify this man?” he asked formally.
Thanet swayed once more, but managed to stay perpendicular. This, he said, was Arthur M. Moresby II.
“No doubts?”
None whatsoever.
Morelli was deeply impressed. Northern Los Angeles, while not the battle zone of other parts of the city, undoubtedly had more than its fair share of mayhem. Generally speaking, however, the victims were not enormously illustrious. Only rarely did a member of the social register get himself disembowelled. Hollywood directors, television magnates, noted authors, fashion models and all the other exemplars of local industry were usually remarkably adept at keeping themselves alive.
It also made him rather nervous. He could not remember the figures, but he was willing to bet that the percentage of homicides where he
Roger Stone, Robert Morrow