lives there now, on her own. I heard it was a plumber who did some work there who put the thieves on to it. That's all I know about it, but if the owner reported the theft, it should be easy enough for you to check it out.'
Let's hope so, Ferrara thought, and exchanged a knowing glance with Pino Ricci, who left the room. A few phone calls would be enough to confirm the story. If it turned out to be true, it would give at least some credence to whatever they found out in the second part of the interview, which promised to be much more interesting.
'I hope for your sake you're telling the truth, Dieni.'
'It's the truth, Superintendent, believe me. I'm sure the officer who just went out has gone to check. He'll confirm it, you'll see.'
'We'll soon know. In the meantime, carry on. Tell us where you were supposed to take the paintings. Or rather, who you were supposed to hand them over to.'
'Superintendent, you know as well as I do that Florence is a perfect market for fences to offload furniture and antiques. There are whole neighbourhoods, like Santo Spirito, where you can find craftsmen prepared to do whatever's necessary to make the objects for sale more presentable, or make it so they can't be recognised by their legitimate owners. And it all happens in broad daylight. Am I right or not?'
'We know all that, Dieni,' Ferrara said. 'We don't need you to explain it to us. What we do need is the name of the fence, or fences, you were planning to use to offload those paintings.'
'Hold your horses, I'm getting there. This isn't easy for me . . . And anyway, I can't give you names. Please, you can't make me do something like that. . .'
'So you think we should be content with your little lecture on the Florence underworld? If you want us to help you, you have to give us something in return, don't you think?'
'I realise that. I promise I'll do you a favour the first opportunity I get. Let me go and you won't regret it.'
'You haven't got it, have you? I want at least one name. Just one, as long as it's the right one.'
'I can't, I really can't
At that moment Ricci returned, and informed Ferrara that the robbery had been confirmed. Evidently the countess, or whatever she was, had reported it. That at least was a good sign.
All right, Dieni, let's talk man to man. I think we're both men of our word.'
They looked each other straight in the eyes. The agreement they were making didn't need words on paper, didn't need signatures. It was part of an ancient code.
'We've heard you're a friend of Antonio Salustri, the antique dealer in Santo Spirito,' Ferrara resumed. 'In fact, you seem to be on very good terms indeed.'
'It's true, Superintendent, he's one of the people I use to offload merchandise, but he's not involved in this—'
'I don't care. Tell me everything you know about him. One of his assistants was murdered in his shop in Santo Spirito. You knew that, didn't you?'
The penny finally dropped. Dieni seemed relieved. 'So is that what this is about?'
'What do you know about the murder?'
'Nothing. I can only speculate
'All right, speculate, and we'll see what we think.'
All I know, Superintendent, is that Antonio Salustri was getting ready to do a major deal, something he was sure would set him up for life.'
'What was it?'
'He'd found a buyer, a rich Swiss collector, for this painting he had by Velazquez - you know, the famous Spanish painter. A painting stolen some years ago from a church in Sicily. Salustri found it in the store room of his shop when he did an inventory of the merchandise left by the previous owner, Gualtiero Ricciardi. He knew what it was right away, but he also knew it wouldn't be an easy thing to offload. So he decided to hold on to it and wait for the right moment. Quite recently he told me about it, and asked me to help him. He needed money. I advised him to try selling it abroad. I said I could help him to carry it across the border, in return for a percentage. One of the last times we met, he
Let's hope so, Ferrara thought, and exchanged a knowing glance with Pino Ricci, who left the room. A few phone calls would be enough to confirm the story. If it turned out to be true, it would give at least some credence to whatever they found out in the second part of the interview, which promised to be much more interesting.
'I hope for your sake you're telling the truth, Dieni.'
'It's the truth, Superintendent, believe me. I'm sure the officer who just went out has gone to check. He'll confirm it, you'll see.'
'We'll soon know. In the meantime, carry on. Tell us where you were supposed to take the paintings. Or rather, who you were supposed to hand them over to.'
'Superintendent, you know as well as I do that Florence is a perfect market for fences to offload furniture and antiques. There are whole neighbourhoods, like Santo Spirito, where you can find craftsmen prepared to do whatever's necessary to make the objects for sale more presentable, or make it so they can't be recognised by their legitimate owners. And it all happens in broad daylight. Am I right or not?'
'We know all that, Dieni,' Ferrara said. 'We don't need you to explain it to us. What we do need is the name of the fence, or fences, you were planning to use to offload those paintings.'
'Hold your horses, I'm getting there. This isn't easy for me . . . And anyway, I can't give you names. Please, you can't make me do something like that. . .'
'So you think we should be content with your little lecture on the Florence underworld? If you want us to help you, you have to give us something in return, don't you think?'
'I realise that. I promise I'll do you a favour the first opportunity I get. Let me go and you won't regret it.'
'You haven't got it, have you? I want at least one name. Just one, as long as it's the right one.'
'I can't, I really can't
At that moment Ricci returned, and informed Ferrara that the robbery had been confirmed. Evidently the countess, or whatever she was, had reported it. That at least was a good sign.
All right, Dieni, let's talk man to man. I think we're both men of our word.'
They looked each other straight in the eyes. The agreement they were making didn't need words on paper, didn't need signatures. It was part of an ancient code.
'We've heard you're a friend of Antonio Salustri, the antique dealer in Santo Spirito,' Ferrara resumed. 'In fact, you seem to be on very good terms indeed.'
'It's true, Superintendent, he's one of the people I use to offload merchandise, but he's not involved in this—'
'I don't care. Tell me everything you know about him. One of his assistants was murdered in his shop in Santo Spirito. You knew that, didn't you?'
The penny finally dropped. Dieni seemed relieved. 'So is that what this is about?'
'What do you know about the murder?'
'Nothing. I can only speculate
'All right, speculate, and we'll see what we think.'
All I know, Superintendent, is that Antonio Salustri was getting ready to do a major deal, something he was sure would set him up for life.'
'What was it?'
'He'd found a buyer, a rich Swiss collector, for this painting he had by Velazquez - you know, the famous Spanish painter. A painting stolen some years ago from a church in Sicily. Salustri found it in the store room of his shop when he did an inventory of the merchandise left by the previous owner, Gualtiero Ricciardi. He knew what it was right away, but he also knew it wouldn't be an easy thing to offload. So he decided to hold on to it and wait for the right moment. Quite recently he told me about it, and asked me to help him. He needed money. I advised him to try selling it abroad. I said I could help him to carry it across the border, in return for a percentage. One of the last times we met, he
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