You get to say you arranged it. Grateful gangsters: what else could you wish for?”
“You are sure Gestri will call off the police?”
“Of course he will. He can’t tie up all that manpower for more than a day or two anyhow, you know that.”
“OK,” said Paoloni. “I’ll see what I can do.”
“I’ve another favor to ask, maybe two. But I’ll tell you about them when we meet.”
“Your dog simply can’t wait to see you,” said Paoloni.
The Carabiniere Art Forgery and Heritage Division was located on Via Anicia, next to a Franciscan church. Blume walked up to the high perimeter wall and past a sentry box, flashing his police ID at the three men inside. He was briefly challenged by a young Appuntato manning the door, who stood aside and let him in as soon as he had seen the card. Now a Brigadiere Capo behind a desk stopped him.
Just then a tall, elegant, and strangely white-faced young man appeared on the far side of the turnstiles. “It’s OK,” he told the Brigadiere at the desk. “Commissioner Blume?”
“You still have to sign in,” said the Brigadiere.
Blume signed the logbook and waited for his visitor’s badge.
“I need identification, please.”
Blume flicked his ID card on the desk.
The Carabiniere carefully wrote down the time, opened a drawer, took out a visitor’s badge, and very reluctantly gave it to Blume.
Blume went over to the stile, which refused to turn.
“Sorry about this,” said the young Lieutenant Colonel. “You need to swipe the visitor’s card.”
Blume was through. The young man held out his hand. “Pleased to meet you. I am Nicu Faedda. Let me show you to my office.”
Blume was fascinated by how a man with such white skin could have a Sardinian accent. He felt he was in the presence of a comic or an actor reciting the part of a Sard. There was a Candid Camera feel to the experience, and it put him on his guard.
“Stairs or elevator? It’s the second floor.”
“Stairs,” said Blume.
Faedda took the first flight of ten steps in three bounds, and stopped on the landing. “Did you know that UNESCO says seventy percent of world art heritage is in Italy?”
“Yes. No. Whatever.” Blume reached the landing. “Are you really a Sard?”
“Because I’m tall, is that it?”
“And white,” said Blume.
“I have sallow skin. I tan deeply in the summer.”
“Do you shrink, too?” asked Blume.
Faedda shook his head and smiled. “These misconceptions we have. I thought all Americans were fat and politically correct, yet here you are.” He gained the top of the stairs and opened the first door in the corridor, holding it for Blume. “Did you know that an art theft takes place in Italy on average every two hours, and that fifty- eight percent of what is stolen is never recovered?” he said as Blume walked in.
Faedda sat on a comfortable office chair behind his desk, empty apart from metal knickknacks and plaques with medals, bearing the insignia, symbols of the Carabinieri, feathers, rifles, the burning grenade… The Carabinieri certainly love their symbols, thought Blume. The police were satisfied with a themed calendar showing pictures of squad cars and the occasional Italian flag.
“OK then, did you know that our recovery rate has improved by forty-five percent over the past fifteen years?”
Blume sat down. “Are you seeking election?”
“No, no,” said Faedda. “I am just telling you that things have improved a lot.”
“And you are telling me this because…” Blume thought about it. “Because in the past fifteen years methods have improved?”
“There is another reason,” said Faedda.
“Because there has been staff turnover in this department and tall dynamic Sards like you have taken over from old-school people like Colonel Farinelli,” said Blume.
“Sometimes law enforcement agencies will defend a colleague simply because he is, or was, a colleague, not because he is worth defending,” said Faedda. “The Colonel has long exploited that, but his time is almost up. So I would appreciate it if you could tell me, in total confidence, officer to officer: Did the Colonel offer to cut you in on a deal to sell the paintings found in the home and gallery of the art forger Henry Treacy?”
“What makes you think he is even thinking of doing such a thing? And if he is, why would he offer a piece of the action to me?” said Blume.
“Good. Well, that sounds like a no to me,” said Faedda.
“A ‘no’ sounds like an ‘n’ followed by an ‘o,’ ” said Blume. “That was a question about how you reached such a conclusion.”
“You were there. You saw the paintings. It makes sense. As for the Colonel’s planning to steal the paintings, I’m basing that idea on his past form.”
Blume looked into the unwrinkled and trusting face of the Lieutenant Colonel and said, “You are accusing your commanding officer and me of graft and theft.”
“Him, yes. You, no. On the contrary, I think you agreed to participate in an attempt to corner the Colonel. I want to be part of whatever it is you are planning or, if I can put it better, I want to be able to help.”
“What makes you so sure? What makes you so sure I wasn’t planning something with the Colonel, and that I will leave this office, warn him, and together we will completely fuck you over?”
Faedda frowned slightly. “I asked.”
“You asked what?”
“I asked Panebianco about you. What sort of person you were. He said there was no chance you would be corrupted like that.”
“Panebianco said that?”
“Sure.”
“And that was enough for you?”
“Yes.”
Perhaps, Blume thought, the kid was a recent Christian convert or something. All that faith.
Faedda said, “Well, I ran some background checks, too. And I have a friend who… we checked your finances, going back ten years. And I spoke to a few magistrates and reviewed past cases. I am not sure what makes you tick, Commissioner, but it isn’t money. So I thought I would take a risk. Was I right to do so?”
“I… I have no idea.”
“Well, I feel confident,” said Faedda. “I hate dishonesty. We Carabinieri are not like that. The force deserves better leaders. The Polizia are lucky…”
Blume held up a finger to halt Faedda’s flow. When he was sure no more flattery was forthcoming, he said, “Do you have any idea how much more powerful Farinelli is than you? Forget about his rank, which is higher than yours anyhow. He can do what he wants, and as for those paintings, I doubt the Colonel put all of them in storage. Maybe none of them are there.”
“I hope that is not the case, because it would mean that some men here were accomplices to a fraudulent operation, which… Well, these things happen,” said Faedda, opening his palms in a gesture of devout acceptance. “The Colonel is famous for his secrecy. He’s the sort who used to pull the strings of the people who worked behind the scenes. He operates, or used to, two, three levels down. But he’s losing power. His contacts are fading. His former controllers are dying of old age, and some of the men he controlled have moved beyond him, found new masters, got elected to office.”
Faedda squinted his left eye in an attempt to make it look like the thought was just coming to him at that moment. “In this case, he’s being uncharacteristically straightforward. The Colonel bribes you, maybe plans to pay, maybe plans to expose you as the bad guy, the extortionist, maybe both. Pretty simple.”
“I’m a simple kind of guy,” said Blume. “I don’t recall confirming to you that the Colonel offered to cut me in
