'
But Barbaccia's patience had worn through. 'Please get up, signore. We wish to see the lot in question.' He stepped briskly out of the office and waited, stiff and commanding, for Salvatorelli to follow.
The businessman jumped up and scurried out. 'I go,' he muttered, 'but under protest, under protest.'
Without looking at me, Barbaccia leveled a finger in my direction. 'This one remains. The others, too,' he said to the policeman with the machine gun, who nodded and took up a position in the hallway, presumably to guard me, the receptionist, and a couple of big-eyed workers who had drifted in to see what the commotion was about. Barbaccia and the others followed a grumbling Salvatorelli into the back of the building.
In accord with what appears to be prevailing Mediterranean police custom, the vicious-looking, black semiautomatic had been entrusted into the hands of the youngest, most jittery-looking carabiniere, a downy-faced, nervous kid who seemed to be all of seventeen. As always, this had a markedly quieting effect on those in his charge. No one talked to anyone else. No one made anything remotely like a sudden move.
But after a while, when he'd relaxed a little, I smiled at the youngster. 'How's it going?' I said, dropping my classical Italian for a cozier, slangier version. 'What's up, anyway? Do you think—'
Either he recognized my accent, or he had heard me tell Barbaccia that I was an American. Whichever, he seized the opportunity to practice his English.
'Shuddup, you,' he said, with a concise but expressive jerk of the black machine gun.
I decided my questions could wait after all.
In twenty minutes they were back, with a noisily expostulating Salvatorelli leading the way. It was a mark of just how unsettled he was that he had allowed one of the hair strands to work loose and slip down, so that it now clung curving to one temple, like a Caesarean laurel wreath. Italian was flying thick and fast, with not much attention to syntax, so I couldn't understand all of it, but I got the gist: He, Salvatorelli, had no way of knowing that the two paintings were there. How could he? Lot 70 had been deposited the previous month for eventual shipment to Naples, by a man who said his name was signor Pellico. No, Salvatorelli had never seen him; the business had been conducted entirely by mail. A three-month storage fee had been paid, and the crate had remained on the premises until such time as signor Pellico directed that it be shipped. How could Salvatorelli know what was inside? What did the captain expect of him? That he would search through the effects of his clients?
The captain assured him that he didn't expect it at all, that no suspicion attached to signor Salvatorelli or his firm, that the carabinieri were in fact grateful for his excellent cooperation in the recovery of these valuable works of art. It was clear to anyone with eyes that Trasporti Salvatorelli had been the innocent pawn of a slippery criminal who would, with luck, soon be brought to justice.
Slowly, Salvatorelli became more composed. The handkerchief was applied to his forehead and neck. The nonconforming hair was detected and smoothed back into place. He was, he said, happy to have had the opportunity to be of service. The captain could count on his continuing cooperation in this matter.
The captain was pleased. Perhaps the signore would be kind enough to show him the correspondence with signor Pellico?
At this point Salvatorelli noticed with apparent surprise that I was still there.
'Ah, signor Norgren,' he said, 'I hope you will forgive this intrusion. But our business is concluded, no? You will understand if. . . ?' His gesture took in Barbaccia and the others. He became solemn. 'It is my civic duty. . .'
'Of course,' I said. But before standing up, I looked at Barbaccia to make sure it was all right to leave. I still wasn't about to make any unexpected moves around the adolescent with the weapon.
Barbaccia gave me a cordial nod of dismissal. 'Perhaps we'll meet again,' he said pleasantly.
Chapter 11
Outside in the parking area there were three cars that hadn't been there when I'd arrived. Two were white and blue, with POLIZIA MUNICIPALE on the sides; the other, huge and black but unornamented, had its rear door open. One of the two carabinieri—the grown-up, the one without the machine gun—was leaning into it, evidently reporting to someone in the back seat on what had happened. The carabiniere's clipped speech and rigid posture made it obvious that he was reporting to a superior officer.
As I passed by, hoping to find a taxi stand on Viale Lenin, I could just see the crossed legs of the listener, clad in khaki trousers and softly gleaming boots. '
Something about those hollow, dessicated
'Do my eyes deceive me,' it wondered dustily in English, 'or can this be Dr. Norgren?'
The Eagle of Lombardy, on the spot. So he did come out of his warren sometimes.
I stopped and came back to the car. '
'
'I'm feeling fine, thanks.' These cool, empty conventions were just that. We seemed to be starting off on the same foot on which we'd concluded our previous meeting.
'Good.' The dispassionate scrutiny continued. 'I must say, I'm surprised to find you here. Would you be kind enough to tell me what brings you?'
'Salvatorelli is shipping the paintings in our show,' I said. 'I had to go over the arrangements with him.'
'Ah. Wholly understandable. Thank you. My mind is now at ease.'
Why wasn't his mind at ease before? What the hell was he implying? 'Colonel, is something bothering you? Why shouldn't I be here?'
'No, no, I was thinking only that you have a wonderful talent to be present at critical moments. When your friend was attacked—you were there. Now, at the very moment two paintings are seized at an out-of-the way shipping company— you are here. I was merely contemplating these facts.'
'Sheer coincidence,' I said.
'No doubt, yet such coincidences unnerve me. Understand me, signore, I suspect you of no complicity —'
Hey, thanks a lot, I thought but didn't say.
'—but I don't like coincidences. They can upset finely laid plans, as can the meddling of the most well- intentioned of people. I hope they will not continue.'
'Well, I'll certainly avoid all coincidences in the future.' Not much of a retort, but I never seemed to be at my best with Antuono, who continued to demonstrate his remarkable knack for nettling me. My chief consolation was that it seemed to work both ways.
'I'm relieved to hear it. You're returning to the city center?'
I nodded. 'To my hotel. I have a meeting later this afternoon with Amedeo Di Vecchio at the Pinacoteca.' I thought I'd better let him know ahead of time, in case another 'critical moment' occurred.
'Would you like a ride?' he asked unexpectedly, and, without waiting for my reply, slid aside to make room.
I almost turned him down, but I had no idea where the nearest taxi stand was, and I wasn't quite up to
