Cold Tuscan Stone David Wagner (acx book reading .txt) 📖

Rick had described, its walls and ceiling spread with a yellow glow from the lamps. He immediately walked over to the niches in the wall and studied the urns. Like all Italians, Conti had been taught about the Etruscans in grade school, but despite living in the heart of their ancient territory now for several years, he’d never gotten around to learning much more. Police work was like that. So it was no use examining the urns, verification of their authenticity would be something for the damn art cops. He turned to the sergeant.

“What’s in the next room? The American didn’t get into it.”

“I think you’ll find it interesting, Commissario,” said the policeman as he lead the way. The wooden plank that Montoya had described had been pushed to one side, revealing another doorway, about as low as the entrance to the cave itself. Being careful not to trip on the wires, Conti bent again and found himself in another room, this one slightly larger than the first, and well lit. When he looked around, his mouth dipped to a frown.

What the devil is this?

***

Rick was about to ring the bell at the side of the museum door, as Zerbino had instructed, when he remembered the cell phone issue with the building’s security system. He pulled his out, did the needful, and returned it to his pocket before pressing the bell with his thumb. If it was working, it must ring well inside the building, since Rick heard nothing. When he was starting to wonder how long he should wait he saw the large figure of Zerbino through the glass, a key chain swinging from his hand like a prison guard. Even on his morning off the man was dressed like he was about to give a lecture to a group of university scholars. After some fumbling with the lock the door was opened, and the two men shook hands.

“Riccardo, so good to see you again. Come in, come in.”

“This is really very kind of you, Arnolfo.” Their heels clicked on the empty marble floor. Unlike their last visit, when Rick had squeezed through various groups of giggling school kids, the building was pleasantly quiet. The collection appeared even more ancient in the silence, causing Rick to lower his voice, as if they were in a church. Zerbino, however, was lively, if not bubbling, as he talked about the museum.

“I can’t tell you how exciting it was for me when I won this position. Becoming the curator of such a collection is the dream of any Etruscanologist.” They were in a room displaying metal Etruscan artifacts of daily life: utensils and goblets, pins and other jewelry. Zerbino was in his element, pointing out how certain objects changed their design with fashion, how ideas were borrowed from the Greeks, and the extent to which the Romans were influenced by Etruscan design. Rick was fascinated by the running commentary and could not help contrasting this tour with the first one when Zerbino seemed merely to be going through the motions. They moved through various other rooms and found themselves in the first of those displaying the museum’s famous collection of funerary urns. Zerbino looked around the shelves and his voice became more serious.

“These wonderful pieces, Riccardo, remind me of one of the scourges of our profession; the trafficking in ancient art. It has been going on for centuries.” He paused and turned to face Rick. “And it continues today.” Rick remembered Commissario Conti’s comment about consulting Zerbino in the early days of the case. Perhaps he was going to boast about supporting the valiant efforts of the police. The curator walked slowly around the room, looking at the urns in silence. Suddenly he stopped and turned, looking at his guest. His face had changed.

“You can imagine that for me, as someone who is so involved in preserving these beautiful objects, it was a great shock to find someone in my very midst who is involved in that insidious trade.”

Rick stood in silence, digesting the man’s words and attempting to make sense of them. Was it possible that Zerbino knew about Rick’s undercover job? Conti had been so careful in telling Rick to keep anything from Zerbino, it was unlikely that the man could have found out, unless it was from someone else in the commissariato. Rick suddenly thought of another possibility. With all the hints I’ve been dropping around the city about wanting to buy special Etruscan objects, Zerbino could have gotten wind of them from someone and actually thinks I’m a trafficker. And now the outraged Etruscanologist is confronting the unscrupulous criminal, ready to make a citizen’s arrest. He’s certainly large enough to do it.

“I don’t understand, Arnolfo, what are you getting at?”

Zerbino’s mouth turned to a leering smile as he looked directly at Rick. “Your activities here in Volterra have not gone unnoticed. Need I say more?”

***

The second room of the cave held two crude tables made of long planks, each supported by wooden sawhorses, and each holding a set of Etruscan urns. Industrial pole lamps, like the ones in the other room, directed their light to the surfaces of the two tables. Spread on them were chisels, hammers, rulers, and other tools. Conti walked to one of the tables and examined its two urns, realizing immediately that they were similar. No, not similar, virtually the same, or at the very least close to being the same. The design was identical, a winged god surrounded by warriors who were led by a man with a long sword. Certain details of the one, in front of which most of the tools lay, were still a bit rough, but someone looking quickly at them would have had trouble telling them apart. The copy would probably be a perfect one, detectible by only the most learned of Etruscan scholars. Conti was trying to put it all together in his mind when he noticed a dirty folder on the far side of the table.