* * * *
Chapter Twenty-Four
Brunetti followed him into the gallery and let his eyes run across the raised cases and display stands. La Capra turned as they entered and said, ‘Please, let me take your coat. You must be frozen, walking around in the rain. On a night like this.’ He shook his head at the very thought.
Brunetti took off his coat, conscious of its sodden weight as he handed it to La Capra. The other man, too, seemed surprised at the bulk of the coat and could think of nothing to do except drape it over the back of a chair, where it lay, water trickling to the floor in thick rivulets.
‘What brings you back to see me, Dottore?’ La Capra asked, but before Brunetti could answer, he said, ‘Please, let me offer you something to drink. A grappa, perhaps? Or a hot rum punch. Please, I can’t let you stand there, chilled, a guest in my house, and not have you take something.’ Without waiting for an answer, he walked over to an intercom that hung on one wall and pushed a button. A few seconds later there was a faint click, and La Capra spoke into the receiver. ‘Would you bring up a bottle of grappa and some hot rum punch?’
He turned towards Brunetti, smiling, the perfect host. ‘It’ll just be a moment. Now, tell me, Dottore, while we wait. What brings you back to visit me so soon?’
‘Your collection, Signor La Capra. I’ve been learning more and more about it. And about you.’
‘Really?’ La Capra asked, his smile remaining in place. ‘I had no idea I was so well known in Venice.’
‘In other places as well,’ Brunetti answered. ‘In London, for example.’
‘In London?’ La Capra showed polite surprise. ‘How very strange. I don’t believe I know anyone in London.’
‘No, but perhaps you’ve acquired pieces there?’
‘Ah, yes, that could be it, I suppose,’ La Capra answered, smile still in place.
‘And in Paris,’ Brunetti added.
Again, La Capra’s surprise was studied, as if he had been waiting for mention of Paris after Brunetti’s reference to London. Before he could say anything, however, the door was pushed open and a young man came in, not the one who had let him in before. He carried a tray with bottles, glasses and a silver Thermos. He set the tray down on a low table and turned to go. Brunetti recognized him, not only from the mug shot sent up from Rome, but from his resemblance to his father.
‘No, stay and have a drink with us, Salvatore,’ La Capra said. Then, to Brunetti, ‘What would you like, Dottore? I see there’s sugar. Would you like me to fix you a punch?’
‘No, thank you. Grappa is fine.’
Jacopo Poli, delicate hand-blown bottle, nothing but the best for Signor La Capra. Brunetti drank it down in one swallow and set his glass back on the tray even before La Capra had finished pouring the boiling water into his own rum. As La Capra busied himself with pouring and stirring, Brunetti looked around the room. Many of the pieces resembled objects he had seen in Brett’s apartment.
‘Another, Dottore?’ La Capra asked.
‘No, thank you,’ Brunetti said, wishing that he could stop the shivering that still tore at him.
La Capra finished mixing his drink, sipped at it, then set it down on the tray. ‘Come, Dottor Brunetti. Let me show you some of my new pieces. They just arrived yesterday, and I admit I’m very excited to have them here.’
La Capra turned and moved towards the left wall of the gallery, but as he moved, Brunetti heard a grinding sound come up from where he stepped. Looking down, Brunetti saw that shards of clay lay in a small circle on that side of the room. One of the fragments had a black line running across it. Red and black, the two dominant colours of the pottery Brett had shown him and talked about.
‘Where is she?’ Brunetti asked, tired and cold.
La Capra stopped with his back to Brunetti and paused a moment before turning to face him. ‘Where is who?’ he asked when he turned around, smiling inquisitively.
‘Dottoressa Lynch,’ Brunetti answered.
La Capra kept his eyes on Brunetti, but Brunetti sensed that something passed, some message, between him and the young man.
‘Dottoressa Lynch?’ La Capra inquired, voice puzzled but still very polite. ‘Do you mean the American scholar? The one who has written about Chinese ceramics?’
‘Yes.’
‘Ah, Dottor Brunetti, you have no idea how much I wish she were here. I have two pieces — they’re among those that arrived yesterday — that I’m beginning to have questions about. I’m not sure that they are as old as I thought they were when I . . . ‘ the pause was minimal, but Brunetti was certain it was intentional, ‘when I acquired them. I’d give anything to be able to ask Dottoressa Lynch’s opinion about them.’ He looked at the young man and then quickly back at Brunetti. ‘But whatever makes you think she might be here?’
‘Because there is no other place she could be,’ Brunetti explained.
‘I’m afraid I don’t understand you, Dottore. I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘I’m talking about this,’ Brunetti said, stretching out his leg and crushing one of the fragments under his foot.
La Capra winced involuntarily at the sound, but he insisted, ‘I still don’t understand you. If you’re talking about those fragments, it’s easily explained. While the pieces were being unpacked, someone was very careless with one of them.’ Looking down at the fragments, he shook his head in sorrow at his loss and disbelief that anyone could have been so clumsy. ‘I’ve given orders that the person responsible be punished.’
As soon as La Capra finished speaking, Brunetti sensed motion from behind him, but before he could turn to see what it was, La Capra stepped towards him and took him by the arm. ‘But come and see the new pieces.’
Brunetti ripped his arm free and turned, but the young man was already at the door. He opened it, smiled at Brunetti, slipped out of the room, and closed the door behind him. From beyond it, Brunetti heard the unmistakable sound of a key being turned in the lock.
* * * *
Chapter Twenty-Five
Quick footsteps disappeared down the hall. Brunetti turned to La Capra. ‘It’s too late, Signor La Capra,’ Brunetti said, straining to keep his voice calm and reasonable. ‘I know she’s here. You’ll just make things worse by trying to do anything to her.’
‘I beg your pardon, Signor Policeman, but I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about,’ La Capra said and smiled in polite puzzlement.
‘About Dottoressa Lynch. I know she’s here.’
La Capra smiled again and waved his hand in a broad, sweeping gesture that took in the room and all the objects it contained. ‘I don’t see why you’re so insistent about this. Surely, if she were here, she’d be with us, enjoying the sight of all this beauty.’ His voice grew even warmer. ‘You hardly believe me capable of keeping such pleasure from her, do you?’
Brunetti’s voice was equally calm. ‘I think it’s time to end the farce, signore.’
La Capra’s laugh, rich with the sound of real delight, broke out when Brunetti said this. ‘Oh, I believe it’s you who is the farceur, Signer Policeman. You are here in my home without invitation; I would guess that your entry was illegal in itself. And so you have no right to tell me what I must and must not do.’ The edge on his voice sharpened perceptibly as he spoke until, when he finished, he was almost hissing with anger. Hearing himself, La Capra recollected the role he was playing, turned away from Brunetti, and took a few steps towards one of the Plexiglas cases.