“So whoever the gang was who robbed the Museo…?” she asked, shifting gears in the middle of her own sentence. “They were-”

“An organized gang of some sort. But look, as soon as you get into this field, you’re getting into a very dirty business with very dangerous people.” He paused. “You want to look at something pretty, go look at the sunset or the mountains. You show me a Van Gogh or a Picasso and sooner or later I’ll show you some sleazy ownership, a thief, and eventually a murderer, a tax cheat, or a swindler. How’s that? Art is like that: always something beneath the surface. Art theft is like that too. Only more so.”

“What about the big galleries?” she asked. “The people who do the big auctions in New York, London, Paris? Rome? Here, Madrid?”

Rizzo scoffed. “Some of the most disreputable people I’ve met in my life have lived in mansions with ten cars in their garage and a Rodin sculpture in their backyard. Some of the most honorable lived under the bridges of Rome or Paris. The art dealers have no monopoly on duplicity and amorality,” Rizzo said, “but they practice both better than anyone else. All over the art world, they turn a blind eye to cash transactions. Things move around from country to country; people change their ownership more often than their owners change their underwear. Smuggling is a dirty word, but ‘import-export’ isn’t, even though it means the same thing. There’s no market for a painting or a sculpture that can’t fit in a suitcase. That pietà that was stolen here? That would fit into a suitcase.”

She laughed. “Tell me how you really feel.”

“They’re worse than politicians,” he said.

Rizzo glanced around the café and sipped his espresso.

“Look,” he continued, musing further, “art crime is easy and it pays. There are many valuable pieces that are worth millions and weigh only a few kilograms. Transportation is easy and many high-profile museums hosting multimillion dollar works have disproportionately poor security measures. That makes them susceptible to thefts that are slightly more complicated than a typical smash-and-grab, but with huge payoff.”

“Such as this one?”

“The curious thing is that what was stolen was an antiquity,” he mused further. “It dates almost from the time of Christ, give or take a couple of centuries. That’s a strange thing to target. The robbers were in that museum and had access to anything. So what do they do? They take a remote piece with a comparatively low market value. That’s the part I don’t get.”

“So someone wanted that piece specifically,” she theorized.

“Sure. You could go with that thesis. But why? And then again, the market in antiquities is perhaps the most corrupt and problematic aspect of the international art trade,” Rizzo said. “Antiquities are often regarded by the country of origin as national treasures. There are numerous cases where artworks displayed in the acquiring country for decades have become the subject of controversy. One example, the Elgin Marbles, moved from Greece to the British Museum in 1816 by Thomas Bruce, Seventh Earl of Elgin. Yale University’s Peabody Museum of Natural History is engaged in talks with the government of Peru about possible repatriation of artifacts taken during the excavation of Machu Picchu by Yale’s Hiram Bingham.”

He paused long enough to wink at the waitress and indicate that he could use more espresso.

“The question arises frequently,” he continued. “What’s theft? What’s excavation? If a piece of art was stolen from one country two hundred years ago, how is it any different to steal it back from a museum today?”

“But we’re not talking about a country stealing something back,” she said. “Are we?”

“Not yet,” Rizzo said. “But who knows where this leads? Maybe the Maltese want their pietà back. I understand,” added with a wink, “they never got their falcon.”

He shrugged. More espresso arrived.

In thought, Alex fell very quiet. Rizzo picked up on it quickly.

“What?” he asked. “What are you thinking?”

“I was the least experienced person in that room today in the field of art theft. But I do know a few things about criminal motivation. A theft on such a grand scale with a high but secret cash purchase price is exactly the type of transaction that funds various organized crime enterprises around the world. Would that be the case here?”

“No reason why it couldn’t be.”

“And that could include terrorism,” she said.

“That is a considerable fear here. No one wants to jump there without evidence. But what’s the expression in English? The ‘elephant in the room’?”

Rizzo put out cash for the waitress and waved away any change. The young woman gave him a low bow and scurried off.

“Are you going to work on this case actively?” Alex asked.

“I’m going back to Rome tomorrow,” Rizzo said. “Or maybe the day after. I’ll give it some attention. It will be on the top of my list but so will a few other things. What about you?”

“This one fascinates me, just a bit, at least. I think I’m hooked.”

“Then I will leave you with three thoughts,” he said.

She waited.

“One: perhaps the most famous art theft of all time occurred in 1911,” Rizzo said, “when the Mona Lisa was stolen from the Louvre. The French poet Guillaume Apollinaire, who had once called for the Louvre to be ‘burnt down,’ came under suspicion. He was arrested and put in jail. Apollinaire pointed to his friend Pablo Picasso, who was also brought in for questioning.”

“Are you kidding?”

“Why would I joke about world-class crimes?” he said with a grin. “That’s point number two. Picasso as a youth had been an art thief. He stole some sculptures from the Louvre. They were returned eventually, but it’s another reason why he was a suspect in the theft of La Giaconda.”

Alex shook her head, half in amusement, half in disbelief.

As they made their way to the door, Rizzo continued.

“Both Picasso and Apollinaire were later exonerated, and at the time the painting was believed to be lost forever. Two years later, the real thief was discovered, a Louvre employee named Vincenzo Peruggia. He stole it by putting it under his coat and walking out the door with it. Peruggia was an Italian who believed da Vinci’s painting should be in an Italian museum. He kept the painting in his apartment for two years, then grew impatient, and was finally caught when he attempted to sell it to the directors of the Uffizi Gallery in Florence. It was exhibited all over Italy and returned to the Louvre in 1913. Know how much time Peruggia served for the theft of the most famous piece of art in the world?”

“Tell me,” she said.

“Four months. In Italy he was hailed as a patriot. And set free. Who says things never work out for the better?” said Rizzo. “Maybe next time I’m in that museum I should steal something for myself.”

Alex would have laughed, but she wasn’t certain it was a joke.

“What’s the third thing?” she asked.

“Just this,” he said.

He put his hands on her, drew her close, and kissed her on the cheek.

“I was really worried about you,” he said. “I’m glad to see you back to yourself, as much as can be hoped for right now. You’re a good person. I admire you. You know where to contact me, and you know I will help you in any way I can,” he said.

“Grazie mille,” she said. “You’re more than kind.”

“Actually,” he said, “I’m the most disreputable person you know. It’s just that I’m on your side.”