Iain Pears - The Raphael Affair

And suspects, she thought, they had enough of already; and some of them were clearly smart enough to realise where they stood. Argyll, for instance, who came in almost last.

‘I’d rather hoped I would only ever see you socially in future. I never thought you’d be interrogating me again,’ he said wistfully.

‘I’m not interrogating. Just getting your address,’ she replied in her stern manner.

He waved his hand. ‘A mere detail. You will be. After all, I must be your top suspect.’

‘You flatter yourself.’

‘Not really. Oh, all right. Maybe not number one. But in the top five, certainly. I can’t say I like it much.’

Flavia leaned back in her seat and put her feet on the desk. She was tired, and it was difficult to remain entirely hard and professional with someone you knew and liked. Besides, she wasn’t in the police, so didn’t have to. Sometimes that gave her an advantage.

‘If you’re so sure, perhaps you should give me your reasoning?’

He looked up at the ceiling for a moment to arrange his thoughts. ‘You think that picture was a fake, correct?’ he began.

‘What makes you think that?’

He shrugged. ‘Must be. Either that or you’re looking for a maniac.’

Flavia said nothing.

‘If it was, of course,’ Argyll continued, ‘Byrnes received umpteen million for a dud. Which I, incidentally, first discovered. An accomplishment I am now beginning to regret. And I am now associated with Byrnes through his fellowship.’

He paused, so she prompted, ‘So why fry the thing?’

‘Because when it’s discovered and proven to be a fake, Byrnes would have to take it back and refund the money. I’m sure something like that is in the sale contract. If it’s destroyed, no one can ever prove anything. So Byrnes is home free. As am I, as his accomplice.’

Flavia nodded slowly. ‘Very convincing,’ she commented. ‘But why were you the first person to suggest it was a fake?’

He paused over that one, and rubbed his chin. ‘Ah. I don’t know. I’ll have to think about that.’ He looked at her hopefully.

Flavia rubbed her eyes, ran her hands through her hair and yawned. ‘Ah, well. Enough for one night. Tell me the rest later. You’d be great as your own prosecutor. A pity the system doesn’t allow for it. But you’re right. You are a leading suspect.’ She stood up to let him out.

‘And I can only think of one way for you to get off our list of potential Raphael roasters,’ she said as he went through the door.

‘How’s that?’ he asked.

‘Find us another one.’

At seven the next morning, Flavia walked into Bottando’s office to see what was going on, and to arrange for the speedy interviewing of their suspects. As usual, she forgot to knock, and the General looked up at her angrily as she came in. Very unlike him.

‘Tired and moody, are you?’ she asked breezily.

He didn’t reply, but handed over the last editions of the morning papers. Flavia glanced at them, and conceded inwardly that maybe he had a right to be moody. ‘Oh. Hadn’t thought of that,’ she said apologetically.

‘I had,’ he snapped. ‘But I didn’t think it would be as bad as this.’

She looked over them again. Until yesterday, Bottando’s known fondness for food had always endeared him to the press. Now they laid into him with some violence, and in remarkable detail. In truth, he did look a little silly over the affair. Head of the art squad quaffing champagne and having a good time while mad arsonist destroys world’s greatest masterpiece in the next room.

‘You have to admit, it’s got a funny side,’ she began, knowing it was the wrong thing to say.

‘Flavia,’ said Bottando sternly.

‘Yes, boss?’

‘Shut up, dear.’

‘OK. Sorry.’

He leaned back in his seat and sighed heavily. ‘It isn’t funny at all,’ he said. ‘We don’t have much time. Either we get someone soon, or the department will be massacred. We are caught,’ he observed acidly, ‘on the horns of a dilemma.’

‘Meaning that if you say it was a fake, Tommaso will tear you limb from limb, and if you don’t, the press will?’ Bottando nodded at her summary.

‘Couldn’t you just tell the minister, and get him to keep quiet?’

Bottando laughed. ‘A minister? Keep quiet? Contradiction in terms. I’d sooner take out a full-page advert in il giornale.’ He gestured vaguely at the most hostile of the newspapers. ‘No, I’m afraid we’ve no alternative. We’ll just have to get results quickly. Besides, our case about Morneau is beginning to look a little feeble.’

‘Why’s that?’

He handed over a sheet of paper. ‘Telegram from Janet. He screwed the log out of the Swiss.’

Flavia looked at it with disappointment. Morneau’s box had last been opened in August by someone else. They didn’t know who. But it was well after the painting had been revealed to the public. ‘Damn it,’ she said. ‘Still, it doesn’t mean that those sketches were put in then, though.’

‘No, but it weakens our case somewhat. That evidence is now very inconclusive. I’m sure it’s also dawned on you that after last night we can’t run any more tests on the picture to see if it really was genuine.’

‘You could always arrest someone. Last refuge of the incompetent, I know, but it would win us some time. Looks good for a few days, even if it’s the wrong person.’

‘I was thinking about that. Maybe pulling in Argyll. Mad Englishman. Disappointed hopes. It would go down very well. The press think all Englishmen are lunatics.’

Flavia looked worried. ‘Oh, no. Not Jonathan. That’s not a very good idea.’

Bottando regarded her dubiously. ‘Jonathan? Jonathan? What’s this Jonathan bit?’

She disregarded the question. ‘If Byrnes didn’t produce the real thing, that means that the genuine article is still out there. Somewhere, someone has a Raphael hanging on their wall, even if they don’t know it.

‘Argyll,’ she continued carefully, minding her words, ‘is probably our best chance of finding it. After all, if the thing exists, it’s under a Mantini, and he’s the only person who would know where to begin looking. If you lock him up he won’t be able to help at all.’

‘True. But if the press finds out that we are relying on one of our prime suspects to help us in this, it’ll make matters worse, not better.’

She smiled at him. ‘That’s easy enough. You don’t need to have anything to do with him. I’ll do that. I’m not in the force, so you can honestly say that the polizia has no contacts with this man. If anyone asks.’

Bottando grunted. ‘All right. But he’ll need watching carefully.’ He picked up a sheet of paper he’d been writing on earlier and gazed at it mournfully. ‘We have quite a lot of suspects to talk to today.’

‘Such as?’

‘Anyone who might have known Morneau, which is, in theory, almost anyone in the art world. People who didn’t like Tommaso, again everyone in the art world. People who wanted to be very rich. Again, everyone in the art world. Universal motive, universal opportunity.’

‘Except that whoever burnt the picture must have been at that party,’ she pointed out, sitting down and putting her feet on the low coffee table.

‘That still leaves us with an embarrassing surfeit,’ he responded. ‘Dear me, what a mess. And if we don’t get results pretty fast we’re going to be roasted ourselves.’

He looked round at her. ‘I suppose we’d better get going. So get your feet off my desk, damn you, and start dogging Argyll’s steps.’

‘We need to prove the picture was a forgery, which is difficult now it’s destroyed. The notebooks help, but they’re not conclusive. So we have to find the original original, so to speak.’