'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 successfully fixed the handcuffs on the guilty party was pretty small. Ordinarily, this was distressing but had few other consequences. People - and that meant his superiors - understood that a conviction was unlikely and didn't for a moment attach any blame to him. He arrested people often enough to have earned himself a respectable reputation for general professionalism. He did his best and that was that. Better luck next time.
But he already had a strong feeling that a very large number of people were going to be keeping their eyes on him over this one. This time, doing his best was not going to be good enough.
'I was wondering,' he went on, 'about the alarm system. You do have alarms, don't you?'
Thanet snorted. 'Oh yes. This place is wired like Fort Knox.'
'So can we check if any doors except the main entrance were used?'
'Sure. In theory the murderer should have been caught on film in the corridor. Although personally, I'm dubious.'
Thanet explained that their enormously complicated alarm system 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 successfully fixed the handcuffs on the guilty party was pretty small. Ordinarily, this was distressing but had few other consequences. People - and that meant his superiors – understood that a conviction was unlikely and didn't for a moment attach any blame to him. He arrested people often enough to have earned himself a respectable reputation for general professionalism. He did his best and that was that. Better luck next time.
But he already had a strong feeling that a very large number of people were going to be keeping their eyes on him over this one. This time, doing his best was not going to be good enough.
'I was wondering,' he went on, 'about the alarm system. You do have alarms, don't you?'
Thanet snorted. 'Oh yes. This place is wired like Fort Knox.'
'So can we check if any doors except the main entrance were used?'
'Sure. In theory the murderer should have been caught on film in the corridor. Although personally, I'm dubious.'
Thanet explained that their enormously complicated alarm system included concealed cameras in every room of the museum. Although the administrative block was less well endowed, it was still a bit like a maximum security prison. So they trooped off to the central security office, a room on the third floor crammed with enough electronic equipment to equip a small film studio. While they were eyeing it up and wondering where to start, a tall, balding man in his late thirties came in, radiating nervous excitement.
'Who are you?' said Morelli.
The man introduced himself as Robert Streeter, chief security executive, and his curiosity turned to alarm when he was brusquely told that his much vaunted system, responsible both for museum security and his salary, had not so far impressed the police.
'To put it another way,' the detective informed him, 'it was a dead loss. If that man Barclay hadn't discovered
