The Immaculate Deception

‘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 about fingerprints or anything like that now – and looked. True enough. She could hardly fault the analysis. Six words only. She even admired the economy of expression.

She leant back in her seat and thought. Did it tell her anything? ‘You’ll be hearing from me.’ Done on a computer printer, but who didn’t have access to one these days? The paper was standard-issue computer paper, of which there were several billion sheets consumed every day. No; it told her nothing; or, at least, nothing that the author didn’t want her to know.

‘The robbery itself,’ she said, turning her attention back to Macchioli.

He shook his head. ‘Very little to say I haven’t already told you. A small truck; the sort that traders use to deliver fruit and vegetables. A man dressed up as Leonardo da Vinci …’

‘What?’ she asked incredulously. He had said it as though people dressed as Renaissance painters or baroque popes were to be seen pottering about the museum every day.

‘One of those masks you buy in party shops. You know. And a sort of cape. And the gun, of course. Do you want to see that?’

She looked at him wearily. Mere expressions of incredulity seemed inadequate, somehow. ‘The gun?’

‘He dropped it when he drove off. Threw it, actually. At the head of the man who helped him load it. This was after he handed out chocolates.’

‘Chocolates?’ she said weakly.

‘Little boxes of chocolates. Belgian ones, I believe. You know, the ones that you buy in speciality shops. With a ribbon on the top.’

‘Of course. Where are they?’

‘What?’

‘The chocolates.’

‘The guards ate them.’

‘I see. Blood sugar levels low because of the shock, no doubt. Apart from that, no violence of any sort?’

‘No.’

‘I’d like to talk to these people in the store room.’

‘You’ll have to.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Someone has to tell them to keep quiet about this.’

‘You haven’t done that?’

‘Of course. But nobody ever listens to me.’