he had made notes the day before, though he was fairly clear about what he needed to know.
‘I’d like you to tell me about the pieces you found in China, the ones you think are false,’ he began with no introduction.
‘What do you want to know?’
‘Everything.’
‘That’s rather a lot.’
‘I need to know about the pieces you think have been stolen. And then I need to know something about how it could have been done.’
She began to answer immediately. ‘I’m sure now about four, but the other is genuine.’ Here her expression changed and the look she gave him was a confused one. ‘But I have no idea how it was done.’
It was his turn not to understand. ‘But someone told me yesterday that you have a whole chapter on it in a book you wrote.’
‘Oh,’ she said with audible relief, ‘that’s what you mean, how they were made. I thought you meant how they were stolen. I have no idea about that, but I can tell you how the false pieces were manufactured.’
Brunetti didn’t want to bring up the idea of Matsuko’s involvement, at least not yet, and so he merely asked, ‘How?’
‘It’s a simple enough process.’ Her voice changed, taking on the quick certainty of the expert. ‘Do you know anything about pottery or ceramics?’
‘Very little,’ he admitted.
‘The pieces that were stolen were all from the second century before Christ,’ she began by way of explanation, but he interrupted her.
‘Over two thousand years ago?’ Brunetti asked.
‘Yes. The Chinese had very beautiful pottery, even then, and very sophisticated means of making it. But the pieces that were taken were simple things, at least then, when they were made. They’re unglazed, hand-painted, and they usually have the figures of animals. Primary colours: red and white, often on a black background.’ She pushed herself up from the sofa and walked over to the bookcase, where she stood for a few minutes, considering, turning her head rhythmically as she studied the titles in front of her. Finally she took a book from a shelf directly in front of her and brought it back to Brunetti. She turned to the index, then opened it and flipped through the pages until she found the one she wanted. She passed the open book to Brunetti.
He saw a photo of a gourd-shaped, squat, covered jar, no idea given of its scale. The decoration on the jar was divided up into three horizontal bands: the neck and cover, a broad centre field, and a third band that ran to the bottom. In the broad central field, placed just on the widest part of the vase, he saw a wide view of an open- mouthed animal figure that might have been a stylized wolf, or a fox, even a dog, his white body standing upright and lurching to the left, back legs spread wide and raised forelegs stretched out on either side, The sense of motion created by his limbs was reflected in a series of geometric curves and swirls sketched in a repeated pattern across the front of the vase and, presumably, around to its unpictured back. The rim, he could see, was pitted and chipped, but the central image was intact, and it was very beautiful. The inscription said only that it was Han Dynasty, which meant nothing to Brunetti.
‘Is this the sort of thing you find in Xian?’ he asked.
‘It’s from Western China, yes, but not from Xian. It’s a rare piece; I doubt we’ll find anything like it.’
‘Why?’
‘Because two thousand years have passed.’ That, she seemed to believe, was more than sufficient explanation.
‘Tell me about how you’d copy it,’ he said, keeping his eyes on the photo.
‘First, you’d need an expert potter, someone who had actually had time and opportunity to study the ones that have been found, seen them close up, worked with them, perhaps worked at finding them, or worked at displaying them. That would allow him to have seen actual fragments, so he would have a clear idea of the thickness of the different parts. Then you’d need a very good painter, someone who could copy a style, catch the mood in a vase like this, and then reproduce it so closely that it would appear to be the same piece that had been in the exhibition.’
‘How hard would that be to do?’
‘Very hard. But there are men, and women, who are trained for it and who do it superbly well.’
Brunetti placed the point of his finger just above the central figure. ‘This one looks worn; it looks really old. How do they copy that?’
‘Oh, that’s relatively easy. They bury the piece in the ground; some of them use raw sewage and bury it there.’ Seeing Brunetti’s instinctive disgust, she explained. ‘It corrodes the paint and wears it away faster. Then they chip tiny pieces away, usually from the edges or from the bottom.’ To explain, she pointed to a small chip on the top rim of the vase in the photo, just where it met the cylindrical cover, and on the bottom, where the vase touched the ground.
‘Is it difficult?’ Brunetti asked.
‘No, not to make a piece that will fool the layman. It’s much harder to make something that will fool an expert.’
‘Like you?’ he asked.’
‘Yes,’ she said, not bothering with the pretence of false modesty.
‘How can you tell?’ he asked, then expanded the question. ‘What are some of the things that tell you it’s a fake? Things that other people wouldn’t see?’
Before she answered, she flipped through a few pages of the book, pausing now and again to look at a photo. Finally she snapped it closed and looked across at him. ‘There’s the paint, whether the colour is right for the period
