things from the lorry and Dieni put them in the boot of his Mercedes. The boys got suspicious because the men were moving around furtively, as if they didn't want to be seen.'
'Okay, what happened then?'
'They asked the traffic police for help. The traffic police stopped him at the Florence North exit, as if it was just a routine check, together with the car in front and the one behind so as not to make him suspicious.'
'Good!'
'They asked him the usual questions, registration, licence,
tax . . . Then they asked him to open the boot, and he didn't want to, he said the lock was damaged. That gave the officers a good excuse to take him to the Florence North barracks, where they opened the boot. There were four paintings inside, all old. Dieni claimed he didn't know anything about them. He said someone must have put them there without his knowledge. Maybe in the car park he always uses, the one near the Santa Maria Novella station.'
'Go and get him. I want him and his car here right now. I'll call the traffic police and arrange it.'
Serpico was just about to leave the office when Ferrara called him back.
'What about the lorry?'
'It carried on along the autostrada going north. It's one of those lorries they use for transporting fruit. I gave instructions not to stop it for now, just follow it at a safe distance until further orders.'
'Good! You can go now.'
Sergi hurried out.
Ferrara prepared for the interview. He knew it wouldn't be easy. It was obvious that the provenance of the paintings was illegal, but it was also obvious that, unless Dieni cooperated, it would be difficult to trace them back to their source quickly. The traffic in stolen works of art is an area in which gathering the corroborative evidence needed to bring charges is a long, complex process. There is no up-to-date catalogue of stolen works and investigating art theft is the exclusive remit of a special unit of the Carabinieri, who guard their privileges jealously.
Less than an hour later, Dieni was in Ferrara's office. Sergi and Pino Ricci sat next to him. Ricci was looking pleased with himself: at least the tip-off he had been given was yielding results, even though there was no apparent connection between the stolen paintings and Alfredo Lupi's murder.
Salvatore Dieni was a short, thickset man with a pockmarked face, olive skin and anxious black eyes. He was clearly scared.
Ferrara took advantage of his nervousness. 'Let's cut to the chase, Dieni,' he began, in a tone of voice that left no doubt about his intentions. 'We don't have any time to waste listening to bullshit.'
'What do you mean by bullshit, Inspector?' Dieni protested, but his voice was faint and his eyes were fixed on the surface of the desk separating him from Ferrara.
'You're not talking to an inspector,' Sergi said. 'You're talking to Chief Superintendent Ferrara, head of the Squadra Mobile. I'm an inspector. I told you that when I introduced myself.'
'Yes, you did, Inspector, but I don't know the ranks. And anyway, you're all in plain clothes. But why have you brought me here? Maybe I should call my lawyer now. I feel as if I've been kidnapped.'
Ferrara leapt to his feet, propped the cigar he was smoking on the ashtray, looked down at the now-terrified Dieni, and in a loud but steady voice said, 'You told the traffic police a pack of lies, Dieni! I want the truth! Keep the fairy stories for your grandchildren, if you have any. This isn't the place for them. The play acting is over, is that clear? And look at the person you're talking to, not down at the floor or the desk.'
Dieni obeyed. Nobody present could tell whether the look he now gave Ferrara was one of defiance or of fear. 'I'm not a liar, Superintendent. I told the truth. It's up to you to prove those paintings are mine.'
'That means you haven't understood a thing, Dieni. Either that or you don't want to understand. I think I need to explain myself better. That way there'll be no more misunderstandings and
'Okay, what happened then?'
'They asked the traffic police for help. The traffic police stopped him at the Florence North exit, as if it was just a routine check, together with the car in front and the one behind so as not to make him suspicious.'
'Good!'
'They asked him the usual questions, registration, licence,
tax . . . Then they asked him to open the boot, and he didn't want to, he said the lock was damaged. That gave the officers a good excuse to take him to the Florence North barracks, where they opened the boot. There were four paintings inside, all old. Dieni claimed he didn't know anything about them. He said someone must have put them there without his knowledge. Maybe in the car park he always uses, the one near the Santa Maria Novella station.'
'Go and get him. I want him and his car here right now. I'll call the traffic police and arrange it.'
Serpico was just about to leave the office when Ferrara called him back.
'What about the lorry?'
'It carried on along the autostrada going north. It's one of those lorries they use for transporting fruit. I gave instructions not to stop it for now, just follow it at a safe distance until further orders.'
'Good! You can go now.'
Sergi hurried out.
Ferrara prepared for the interview. He knew it wouldn't be easy. It was obvious that the provenance of the paintings was illegal, but it was also obvious that, unless Dieni cooperated, it would be difficult to trace them back to their source quickly. The traffic in stolen works of art is an area in which gathering the corroborative evidence needed to bring charges is a long, complex process. There is no up-to-date catalogue of stolen works and investigating art theft is the exclusive remit of a special unit of the Carabinieri, who guard their privileges jealously.
Less than an hour later, Dieni was in Ferrara's office. Sergi and Pino Ricci sat next to him. Ricci was looking pleased with himself: at least the tip-off he had been given was yielding results, even though there was no apparent connection between the stolen paintings and Alfredo Lupi's murder.
Salvatore Dieni was a short, thickset man with a pockmarked face, olive skin and anxious black eyes. He was clearly scared.
Ferrara took advantage of his nervousness. 'Let's cut to the chase, Dieni,' he began, in a tone of voice that left no doubt about his intentions. 'We don't have any time to waste listening to bullshit.'
'What do you mean by bullshit, Inspector?' Dieni protested, but his voice was faint and his eyes were fixed on the surface of the desk separating him from Ferrara.
'You're not talking to an inspector,' Sergi said. 'You're talking to Chief Superintendent Ferrara, head of the Squadra Mobile. I'm an inspector. I told you that when I introduced myself.'
'Yes, you did, Inspector, but I don't know the ranks. And anyway, you're all in plain clothes. But why have you brought me here? Maybe I should call my lawyer now. I feel as if I've been kidnapped.'
Ferrara leapt to his feet, propped the cigar he was smoking on the ashtray, looked down at the now-terrified Dieni, and in a loud but steady voice said, 'You told the traffic police a pack of lies, Dieni! I want the truth! Keep the fairy stories for your grandchildren, if you have any. This isn't the place for them. The play acting is over, is that clear? And look at the person you're talking to, not down at the floor or the desk.'
Dieni obeyed. Nobody present could tell whether the look he now gave Ferrara was one of defiance or of fear. 'I'm not a liar, Superintendent. I told the truth. It's up to you to prove those paintings are mine.'
'That means you haven't understood a thing, Dieni. Either that or you don't want to understand. I think I need to explain myself better. That way there'll be no more misunderstandings and
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