The Titian Committee

13

Bad news, or at least discomfiting tidings, awaited her when she got back to the Danieli at four. It took the form of a discontented Bottando who was eating a late plate of pasta with an air of profound melancholy. He waved at her to sit down and said nothing until he had finished it.

‘Trouble,’ he said moodily before she could speak. ‘That man Bovolo is beginning to get on my nerves.’

He explained that his meeting with the Venetian had not been much fun. Bovolo had launched into a denunciation of interfering Romans and announced he had taken strong measures – that was the term the silly man had used, so Bottando assured his assistant – to stop his position being undermined.

‘What does that mean?’

‘It means, my dear, that he doesn’t like you. Or me, for that matter. He thinks we have stuck our noses too much into his murder investigation instead of confining ourselves to tracking down the Marchesa’s pictures. That we are consorting with the main suspect – meaning Argyll – and that our – he means your – judgement is highly compromised. That we have shown singular incompetence in wrapping up a simple theft when he has solved a complicated murder in a matter of days. And he has written strong letters to just about everybody damning us mightily. With the result that I have been fiercely criticised by the polizia in Rome for my tactlessness, with the Defence and Interior Ministries putting their pennyworth in as well. We are not popular, and you know what that means.’

‘Oh, dear. What triggered this?’

‘He’s a worried man, that’s why. He has cut far too many corners and got the local investigating magistrate to commit himself to saying Roberts was not murdered. And we are trying to prove he was. If we succeed it will make him look like a fool. The Marchesa is pressuring him to take the guard out of her house. He wants this whole thing shut down fast so he can take what credit is going before everything turns sour on him and his promotion chances evaporate. And quite a lot of local dignitaries are beginning to see his point of view.’

‘So what do we do?’

Bottando rubbed his chin thoughtfully. ‘Difficult, isn’t it? We find a murderer and we’re in trouble. If we don’t find one, we’re still in trouble. The problem is not Bovolo; I can take care of him. It’s the local magistrate, who’s well-connected and influential. That’s the trouble spot. Split them apart, and we’re OK. But if we suggest the magistrate’s office has connived in covering up Robert’s murder, then there’ll be an unholy fight.

We might win, but not in time to save the department.

‘Whatever happens, we’ve got to finish this stupid investigation fast. Otherwise we might all be out of a job. So, reassure me. Tell me it’s all solved.’

‘Sorry,’ she said sadly. ‘Can’t do that. Nearly there, but there’s a piece or two missing.’ She explained what Lorenzo had said about the lilies.

Bottando grunted. ‘But…?’

‘I know. Awkward, isn’t it?’

Bottando grunted once more. ‘Well, that’s another piece in place, anyway. The mystery of Roberts’ dunking in the canal solved, at least.’

‘Indeed. Doesn’t explain anything else, though.’

Bottando sighed, and Flavia decided it would be a good idea to change the subject. ‘Have you seen Jonathan?’

Bottando checked his watch. ‘He should be here by now. He phoned to say he’d be over. But he’s never been on time for anything before, so I see no reason why he should start now. Another similarity between you and him. How are you two getting on these days, hmm?’

She was spared having to make a tart comment about people minding their own business by the arrival of the subject of their discussion, in an unusually good humour.

‘Hello, hello,’ he said brightly, as he sat down at their table. ‘What’s wrong? Bad day?’

They told him, but news of their internal problems did little to lower his spirits. ‘It’ll blow over,’ he said, dismissing their predicament airily. ‘Do you want to hear what I’ve found out?’

‘As long as you’re not going to tell us Roberts killed Masterson, yes.’

This did dampen his mood. ‘Oh,’ he said. ‘Why do you say that?’

‘Because he didn’t.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Yes. Why?’

‘Well, quite apart from efficiently doing my own work, I also spent a long afternoon on the phone for your benefit. You can thank me later. To Byrnes initially. There have been five Titians for sale in the last decade. And two authenticated by the committee after they were sold. Both in the last four years.’

‘So?’

‘Want to guess where the owners lived?’

‘No. Why don’t you just tell us? It’ll be quicker.’

‘One lives in St Gall and the other in Padua. How about that?’

He had their interest now, no doubt about that.

‘My phone bill is enormous,’ he continued. ‘I hope you are going to pay for it. I talked to both of them. Neither met Masterson, but the Swiss man confirms he talked to Bralle about the deal over the authentication. Bralle disapproved mightily. In Padua Masterson delivered a letter from Bralle, again enquiring about the sale. He’s sending it on.

‘Now, the point is,’ he went on enthusiastically, ‘who wrote the reports on these pictures? And who issued a personal authentication for them, in exchange for a cut of the selling price which netted, in all, a total of around two hundred and eighty thousand dollars?’

He handed over his notebook, in which he had made a careful table of the committee’s working methods and distribution of workload alongside pictures examined and authenticated.

Flavia’s brain clanked over as piece after piece fell into place, leading to conclusion after conclusion. Some were annoying, because they were so obvious. Others were distressing. Eventually she turned towards Bottando. ‘General, I think we need to have a talk about this.’

‘I think Mr Argyll has something else to tell us,’ Bottando said quietly.

‘I do. Very important. About the Marchesa’s picture.’

‘No time for that now. We can celebrate later. Unless it tells us more about the murderer. Does it?’

‘Well, no. Not in this case.’

‘Then it’ll have to wait. Jonathan, you go and ring this list of people,’ she scribbled on the back of a menu and handed him the list, ‘and tell them it is important they come to a meeting on the Isola San Giorgio. Say, nine o’clock.’

‘Is that a good idea? The water is awfully high. It’s beginning to flood in some places already.’

‘No choice. We’re running out of time,’ she replied briskly. Bottando studied her thoughtfully as she took control and started issuing orders. That was his role, he generally thought, but there was no denying she did it rather well. It was simply that he had a horrible idea he knew what was going through her mind. And she said he was a politician…

Argyll disappeared in the direction of the telephones with the list clutched tightly in his hand, and Flavia turned to her boss with a glint in her eye which convinced him he was correct.

‘General,’ she began in her most persuasive of voices. ‘How do you feel about bending a rule or two? Not many, you realise. And just a little, to save the department?’