“Jonathan. There’s nothing I can do. Something’s come up. It really won’t take a long time. There’s a little problem.”
He scowled, his good mood evaporating.
“I’ll go and do my marking, then.”
“Good idea. And I’ll be back by the time you’re finished. Then we can have a quiet evening together.”
Grumbling to himself about essays, Argyll mounted the stairs to the third floor, said good evening to the old signora on the first floor and nodded coolly but politely to Bruno, the young lad with a taste for filling the night air with very loud and extremely bad music on the second, before fumbling in his pocket for his keys. Odd, he thought. There was a very strong inverse relationship between the volume of music and its quality. He’d never noticed it when he was young.
Two hours later, he’d finished his marking; Flavia had not yet returned. Three hours later, he’d eaten his dinner and she was still not there. Four hours later he went to bed.
“When did this come in?”’ Flavia asked incredulously when she got back to the office and saw the slip of paper containing a brief summary of the anonymous phone call.
The office trainee, a young, fresh-faced girl called Giulia who looked as though she should still be doing her homework before washing up for her mother, blushed with distress. It was hardly her fault; the call had come in, and there was no one to tell. She said as much.
“About five. But you weren’t here, and I did go up to the General’s office.”
“And what did he say?”’
“Well, nothing,” she said reluctantly. “He was asleep.”
“And you didn’t want to wake him because you’re new here and don’t know that it is quite acceptable to give him a prod. I know. Don’t get upset. It’s not your fault.”
She sighed. Being just and fair is hard sometimes. It would have been much more satisfactory if she could have shouted at the girl.
“OK. Let’s forget about that now. Did you take the call?”’
The infant nodded, realizing that the worst was over. “It was very imprecise.”
“No code-words? Not one of our regulars?”’
“No. Just that there was going to be an important raid in the next few days. On this monastery, or whatever it is. San Giovanni.”
“What do they have? Are they on our list? Have you checked the computer?”’
She nodded again, grateful that she had done the basics. “They were burgled a couple of years ago, and were put on the register then.” She pulled out a piece of paper the computer had disgorged an hour ago.
“In fact, they have very little. Quite a lot of gold and silver ornaments, but that is mainly kept in a bank safe deposit; General Bottando recommended that after the last time. The only thing on the list which would seem to be worth anything is a painting by Caravaggio. Which is an important painting, although according to the book, not one of his best. And according to another book, isn’t by Caravaggio at all.”
“Insured?”’
“No note of it here.”
Flavia looked at her watch. Damn. Jonathan would not be pleased. She could see his point. It was some time …
“Have you rung them?”’
“No answer.”
“Where is this place?”’
“On the Aventino.”
“I suppose I’d better go there on my way home,” Flavia said reluctantly. “Just to tell them to lock up carefully. Do we have anyone who can watch the place?”’
Giulia shook her head. “No one except me.”
“You’re minding the desk. Oh, I’ll see what I can do. If you’d get some patrol cars to drive past the place periodically during the night. And while you’re sitting here drinking coffee all night, go through all the lists of coming and goings and sightings and arrivals. Anything at all. OK?”’
Father Xavier, still at his desk and attending to the business generated by meetings, received Flavia in his office without ceremony and listened to what she had to say quietly.
“You must get reports like this all the time, don’t you?”’
She shrugged. “A reasonable number, but rarely this specific. It would be foolish to disregard it. I thought it would be best to let you know so you could be on alert. Probably nothing will happen, but if you could put that painting into safe storage for a while …”
Father Xavier smiled indulgently. “I don’t think so. And I’m also sure that if any thief saw it at the moment, he would change his mind quite quickly.”
“Why’s that?”’
“It’s being restored. By an American gentleman, called Daniel Menzies. Who is doing a very thorough job of it, I must say. He tells me that people who know nothing about the restoration process are always frightened at this stage of proceedings, and no doubt he knows what he is doing, but it is in a very poor state indeed at the moment. He has removed the old canvas, large portions of what he says is nineteenth-century paintwork and a good deal of grime. As far as I can see, there is nothing left at all for any thief to steal.”
“And is there anything else?”’
There was a slight hesitation as the priest thought, then shook his head. “We have many things of value to us; nothing of any great value to anyone else. You are aware that we were burgled?”’
Flavia nodded.
“A bitter lesson,” he continued. “We had always maintained a policy of leaving the church open on to the street. There is a street entrance, as well as one from the cloister. Some local inhabitants always preferred it to the parish church. It was a mistake, as we discovered. Since then, the door has been firmly locked. It was one of the first things I had to contend with when I took over as superior. The only other way in is through the courtyard, and the door on to that is locked as well.”
“Alarms?”’
“No. There are limits. It was considered unseemly that we should defend ourselves in such a fashion. I didn’t agree, but that was the decision of the council who have the last word in such matters.”
She stood up. “It may have been a hoax. But I thought it was wise …”
He nodded, stood up to show her out and shook her hand. “It was very kind of you, signorina. Very kind indeed, especially at such a late hour. And I will make sure that all precautions are taken.”
And Flavia, finally, felt her day was coming to an end. On her way back, she called in to Giulia, to see if anything else had happened. She shouldn’t, she knew. There is nothing worse than an interfering superior, constantly meddling and looking over your shoulder. It does no good at all, and merely makes you uncertain of yourself. She remembered that from her own youth. But she felt uncomfortable.
“Anything?”’
“No. I’ve been going through the lists. Airports, hotels, sightings at railway stations, reports from dealers. Nothing of importance.”
“What about the unimportant?”’
“Not much there, either. The only thing I did note was that someone vaguely involved in one of your cases last year arrived yesterday evening. Just a witness, though: no involvement in anything illegal. Quite the opposite, in fact.”
“Who?”’
“A woman called Verney. Mary Verney.”
Flavia got that little turning sensation in her stomach that always happened when she realized that, if disaster was going to be averted, it would be by sheer good fortune rather than skill or observation or intelligence.
“Some report you wrote seems to have been absorbed into the immigration computer. I don’t know why. It just came up as routine.”
“Any idea where she is?”’
“No. But I can try and find out, if you think it’s important.”
