Free Goddess of Death by Roy Lewis Page A

them: the craggy hill, a few scattered whitewashed villas sweltering in the sun, the blue, glittering sea. When he looked back over Carmela’s shoulder he realized there was a man standing at the terrace, watching them. As they approached the terrace he turned, walked away from them out of sight.
    On the terrace they saw that he had retreated inside the house. They followed. They found him in the room beyond, standing beside the open picture window that gave a view of the sea. He turned to face them as they entered. He was a lean man, perhaps fifty years of age, tall, cadaverous in appearance, tanned, with thinning silver hair. His eyes were deep set, heavily lidded, hisforehead marked with a deep line of dissatisfaction. He wore a loose, brightly coloured batik shirt, baggy shorts and sandals. He held a drink in his left hand; he bowed in an exaggerated fashion. ‘Signorina Cacciatore.
Buon giorno
—’
    ‘We speak English, please,’ Carmela cut in.
    Steiner raised an inquisitive eyebrow, glanced at Arnold, then nodded. ‘If this is preferred.’ He gestured with his right hand towards the floridly cushioned cane chairs beside him, each facing the window. ‘Perhaps you would like to be seated?’ His lips writhed back in a mockery of a smile. ‘And would the
carabinieri
wish me to extend hospitality? A drink, perhaps?’
    His tone was measured but there was a hint of suppressed anger. Carmela shook her head. Abruptly, she replied. ‘I am no longer attached to the
carabinieri
.’
    ‘Yes, forgive me, I had heard you were now part of an investigative committee.’
    ‘It is known as the International Spoliation Advisory Committee.’
    ‘Spoliation? A fine word. ISAC, then, no doubt. And you have agreed to see me.’
    ‘You suggested we meet. My colleagues think it’s a waste of time. I would not wish that we stay too long.’
    Steiner waved a dismissive hand. ‘You find my offer of hospitality offensive. That is your loss. It’s a hot day.’ He moved away from them in a languid fashion, took one of the seats facing the sea, and over his shoulder eyed Arnold. ‘You have brought a companion, Miss Cacciatore. May we be introduced?’
    ‘This is Mr Landon, from England.’
    The deep-set eyes lingered on Arnold. Steiner frowned. ‘You are a policeman?’
    ‘I work in the Antiquities Department in the North of England,’ Arnold corrected. ‘I’m here merely as an observer.’
    ‘Not a sleuth, then?’ Steiner turned back to gaze out to sea. ‘The North of England … There is someone I know who wentthere, into obscurity after a career in the museums of Europe. A man called Karl Spedding.’
    ‘He’s my deputy.’
    ‘Indeed? An interesting coincidence. But the world of museums is a small one. Karl Spedding and I, we occasionally did business, in the old days. I had heard he left his position to take up some obscure post. I often wondered why he would give up a successful career to escape into a backwater … however, that is not my business.’
    ‘What exactly
is
your business?’ Carmela demanded, moving forward so that she could stand directly in front of Steiner, obscuring his view of the sea. ‘Why did you want this meeting? What do you have to say now, after your silence over the years?’
    ‘The years of my imprisonment,’ Steiner replied softly, and sipped at the dark-coloured liquid in the glass he held. He grunted in displeasure. ‘Mr Landon, you will have heard what they say about me?’
    ‘I understand you were imprisoned for theft.’
    Steiner shook his head in a slow, almost regretful movement. There was a spark of resentment in his eyes. ‘Ah, so simple a statement. But life is actually much more complicated than that. Imprisonment for theft … and yet, so much more did not come out at the trial.’
    ‘It was your decision to remain silent, nevertheless,’ Carmela muttered angrily.
    There was a short silence. Steiner stared at her, then glanced at Arnold. ‘There is a time for