day and Macchioli still wouldn’t have explained anything. ‘Please correct me if I get the details wrong. I understand the picture was stolen at around half past one yesterday. A hooded man reversed a truck into the store area, held up the people working there, forced them to load the painting, complete with its frame, into the back of the truck and drove off. Is that correct?’
Macchioli nodded.
Flavia, fidgeting around in her seat, opened her mouth to make the obvious protests about wasted time, trails going cold and so on.
‘Your department, signora, was not called because he left behind a message saying that the police should not be contacted.’
‘A ransom demand, is that it?’
A shrug. ‘Not exactly. Just that we’d be hearing more in due course. I suppose that means money.’
‘Maybe so. What, exactly, is the picture?’
‘It’s a Claude Lorraine. Landscape with Cephalis and Procris,’ Macchioli said reluctantly.
Flavia paused. ‘Oh, not that one, surely? Not the one where the government intervened officially to guarantee it?’
He nodded. You could see why he was upset, she thought. Not that it was such a great picture, although she always found Claude quite toothsome. Not a Raphael, or anything like that. But it had such a dodgy past. Its reputation as one of the most stolen pictures in the world ensured it a status beyond its simple quality. Argyll, no doubt, would remember the details better than she could, but she could recall the highlights. Painted in the 1630s for an Italian cardinal. Pinched by the Duke of Modena when he found it in a wagon after a battle. Pinched again by a French general a few years later. Looted and sold during the French Revolution, pinched again by Napoleon when he came across it in Holland. Stolen by thieves in the 1930s, by the Germans in the 1940s and by two more thieves in the 1950s and 1960s. Whereupon the exasperated owner sold it to the Louvre, in the hope that they would manage to hang on to it. Which they had. Until, it seemed, it had arrived in Italy.
‘Oh, dear,’ she said.
‘You see our problem,’ the prime minister continued. ‘It is exceptionally unpleasant for me, as I gave a personal guarantee of its safety. Quite apart from that, this exhibition is to be one of the cultural highpoints of our presidency. It would be very bad indeed if it was wrecked, and it would be wrecked if this news gets out. It is quite possible that other lenders would pull out, and even if they didn’t our reputation would be damaged badly. You can imagine what would be said. We would look quite ridiculous.’
Flavia nodded. ‘So? When you get the ransom demand you pay up.’
‘The only problem is that it is illegal. If we arrest people for paying ransoms to rescue their wives and children, we can hardly pay up for a mere painting.’
A silence fell on the room, and it seemed as though Flavia was expected to say something useful.
‘You mean you want me to find the painting.’
‘I would ordinarily be deeply grateful, but in this case, no. How many people would you use for such an inquiry?’
Flavia thought for a moment. ‘Everyone we had, if you wanted a quick result. Not that I can guarantee one.’
‘And could you at least guarantee to keep it out of the press?’
‘For about six hours, yes.’
‘Precisely. Secrecy in this matter is absolutely vital. Even if you were successful and recovered the painting swiftly, the damage would still be done.’
‘In which case, I confess to being defeated. You won’t pay a ransom and won’t look for the painting. What, exactly, do you want done?’
‘We cannot pay a ransom. The government cannot authorize such a thing. Taxpayers’ money cannot be used. Nor can any government employee be involved in its payment. Do I make myself clear?’
He did. But Flavia had not spent years watching Bottando take avoiding action without learning a thing or two.
‘I’m afraid I’m not with you at all. Sorry,’ she said blandly.
‘You will use your best abilities to recover this painting without any publicity. But I must make it absolutely clear that I cannot and will not condone the payment of a ransom from public funds.’
‘Ah.’
‘Should these criminals be paid off independently from a private source, a man willing to break the law for what he considers erroneously the public good, then that, of course, I cannot prevent, much though I might regret it.’
‘I see.’
‘You will keep me informed every day about your investigation, and will receive instructions as you proceed. Might I also say that the need for secrecy is absolute.’
‘You are rather tying my hands, here.’
‘I’m sure you will manage.’
‘And if I come across any other way of recovering this picture?’
‘You will restrain yourself. I want no risk at all of this coming into the open.’ He stood up. ‘I think that is all for the time being. Let me know of your progress every day, if you please.’
Two minutes later, both Flavia and Macchioli were in the ante-room once more, she a little perplexed about the whole business, the museum director seemingly lost in despondency.
‘Right, then,’ she said after a while. ‘I think you need to tell me a little more about what on earth has been going on here.’
‘Hmm?’
‘Robbery? Armed man? Remember?’
‘Yes, yes. What do you want to know?’
‘How about how to contact this person? If I am to hand over money to them in some way, I ought to know how to set about it.’
Macchioli looked blank. ‘What do you mean, hand over money? I thought you had just been told that you were to do no such thing?’
She sighed. The trouble with Macchioli was that there was no disingenuousness about him at all. He really did think that they had just sat through a meeting and been given instructions that no money was to be paid. That, of course, might well turn into a major problem.
‘Doesn’t matter. Forget it,’ she said. ‘This message, it gave no means of contact?’
‘No.’
‘Can I see it, please?’
‘It’s in my office.’
It was like talking to a particularly stupid child. ‘Why don’t we go to your office, then?’
‘There,’ he said, forty minutes later, after a silent voyage through the streets of Rome. ‘It’s not very informative.’
Flavia took the piece of paper – no point in worrying
