The Fine Art of Murder Read online

  “I do not normally imbibe for pleasure Professor Franklin, but as you have so graciously offered, I would be delighted to share a small glass of whatever you might recommend.”

  Franklin smiled, “As this is a rare and fortuitous occasion my dear Cardinal we will share a vintage Cabernet produced by the Eisele vineyard, in the north-eastern part of the Napa Valley. I am sure you will find it most agreeable.”

  The Cardinal smiled thinly, “I am a man of simple tastes Professor Franklin, I defer to your judgment, your expertise in such matters goes before you.”

  Franklin gave a grave nod, “Please, my dear Cardinal, let us sit in the shade and discuss the very pressing matters that have brought you here.”

  Saliga nodded and the assembled party retreated into the house.

  Inside the high vaulted Spanish-mission style home, the décor was clean and frugal—stone floors, white lime walls, and from the ceiling, a giant iron chandelier hung menacingly, like a twisted relic from a medieval torture chamber.

  Franklin laid his saber atop a white grand piano that stood next to the panoramic picture window. Outside, a wide-open view of the Malibu coastline stretched far into the distance, melding seamlessly with an airbrushed sky. Franklin stood by the piano in a relaxed pose and examined his guest. Saligia’s complexion was an unwholesome shade of grey that melted like wax across his boney countenance. Franklin had encountered many such men during his days at the Vatican. Saligia was a high echelon enforcer for the Holy See, the Episcopal jurisdiction of the Catholic Church. As a figure of great authority, Saligia’s presence in Los Angeles signified that an event of seismic proportions was occurring within the Catholic Church.

  Cardinal Saligia settled himself into an austere Spanish style throne chair at the head of the grand dining table and regarded Franklin with a steady gaze. “This is a matter of the utmost sensitivity Professor Franklin, a matter that the Holy Father himself has charged me with.” Saligia’s eyes flickered quickly towards Mira, then back to Franklin with an urgent sense of accusation.

  Franklin gave Saligia a cool easy look, the lines around his eyes twisting almost imperceptibly with amusement. “I can assure you, your eminence, that what ever news you bring, it can be imparted in complete confidence. Mira is my niece. You can trust her as you would myself.”

  Saligia looked uncertain, his reptile eyes darted quickly about the room. Elbows on the table now, he steepled his fingers, drumming them together with impatience. “Very well Professor, but please be aware that only a very small circle of people are party to information that I am about to share with you, and I would very much appreciate your personal assurance that it will remain that way, until this matter is fully resolved.

  Mira slid a tray of wine glasses onto the table and half-filled them, from an ornate decanter.

  “Why thank you my Mira,” said Franklin. He held the glass up to the light, inhaled the vapors then placed the glass on top of the piano next to him. “And so Your Eminence, to business.”

  Mira slid a second glass in front of the Cardinal and sat down quietly. She wanted a drink too, but under the circumstances, it was probably best not to.

  Cardinal Saligia placed a leather attaché case on the table and beckoned with boney fingers, a gesture that caused his outsized golden ring to slide back towards the knuckles. “Come here Franklin,” he said, “I want to show you something.”

  The Cardinal opened the attaché case and spread a series of black and white photographs across the table, “These photographs came to us from a source in Argentina. They have been locked away in a safety deposit box for many years, their existence was only discovered after a devout man of irreproachable faith passed, leaving the worldly contents of his life to those who had the foresight to pass the information along.

  Franklin and Mira exchanged glances then looked down at the photographs. The pictures featured a fat man in military uniform posing before a collection of flamboyantly framed pictures.

  “He is a Nazi,” observed Mira.

  “Reichsmarschall Hermann Göring,” observed Franklin. “One of the most brutal Nazis of all. Second only to Hitler in the hierarchy of evil that was the Third Reich.” Franklin examined the photographs, turning each of them over as he did so. “These photographs were taken by Heinrich Hoffman, Adolf Hitler’s chief photographer,” said Franklin. “There are a number of similar pictures that have seen wide circulation throughout the years, but it would appear these photographs were taken at a much later date, towards the end of the war.”

  Cardinal Saligia smiled quietly.

  “All these people are dead aren’t they?” Wondered Mira aloud.

  ‘Quite so Mira my dear,” replied Franklin, his voice smooth and reassuring. “You must also know that this creature Göring was one of the most diabolical figures the world has seen, since the days of Ghengis Khan, a man of consummate vanity, and extreme cruelty—a monster with the blood of millions on his hands.”

  Cardinal Saligia inhaled a thoughtful breath, “The nineteen thirties and forties were a time of misplaced idealism and world war.”

  Franklin gave the Cardinal a steely look, “Idealism Cardinal? We speak of an evil that brought mankind to his knees.”

  The Cardinal’s fingers clawed together, “Evil, and great injustice. That is why we seek to employ your very special services in this matter Professor Franklin. Tell me, is there anything else you see in the pictures Professor, apart from Reichsmarschall Göring.”

  Franklin frowned, his cold grey eyes examining the Cardinal’s face carefully. He paused, as if digesting some particularly unsavory truth, then turned his attentions to the photographs, sorting through them one after the other, until at last, he let out a low whistle, “Mira, would you be so kind as to fetch me my magnifier?”

  Franklin held the photograph out at arms length, bringing it slowly back into focus, as Mira handed him a large antique magnifying lens, with an intricately carved bone handle. Franklin looked sharply at the Cardinal, “There is no mistake,” he said in a whisper, “This is a painting not been seen for two hundred years at least, and before that, word of it was only legend.”

  The Cardinal nodded slowly in agreement, “So you see the urgency of the task in hand Professor Franklin? The Holy Father is concerned that this masterpiece is returned to the place it would most rightfully call home. The Musei Vaticani, in the Holy City of Rome.”

  Mira bobbed around her uncle’s shoulder, straining to see the black and white print. She frowned and said, “That little painting of the girl? It’s kind of cute in a High Renaissance way, what are we talking—Francesco Melzi?”

  Franklin smiled, “A most educated guess Mira my dear, but this work is of a higher order than anything a pupil could execute, even a pupil as talented as Melzi.” Franklin threw the photograph on the table and said, “There is no doubt that the artist we are dealing with here is the greatest master of the High Renaissance. Perhaps the greatest master of all time—I speak of course, of Leonardo da Vinci.”

  THE FINE ART OF MURDER 04

  Mira stared hard at the black and white photograph, then addressed the cardinal in a brusque tone. “The history of Leonardo da Vinci is well documented. He painted fewer than thirty pictures in his lifetime, and all of those pictures are fully accounted for.”

  Franklin’s keen, birdlike eyes regarded his young niece with cool amusement, “My dear Mira, if only everything in life could be explained away by the dry ramblings of academicians. These pictures were taken in April 1945. From the look of them, I would say that they are possibly the last photographs of Reichsmarschall Göring before his capture by advancing Allied forces. As you may know, Göring was, amongst his many other crimes, one of the greatest art thieves the world has seen.”

  Mira narrowed her eyes, sensing that her uncle in his enthusiasm was about to deliver one of his famous lectures.

  “Göring systematically looted art from all over Europe,” continued Franklin, “Hoarding it at his lavish palace
in the Schorfheide forest, close to Berlin. As the war drew to a close, he moved this vast hoard by train,to his hideout in Obersalzberg in the Bavarian Alps. Fortunately these trains were intercepted by the Allies and many of the great artworks he and his Nazi henchmen stole were recovered.”

  Mira twisted her lips doubtfully, “Even if this painting is by da Vinci this photograph was taken a hellish long time ago. If the painting wasn’t destroyed in the last days of the war, it could be anywhere in the world by now.”

  The cardinal closed his eyes quietly and sucked a long breath. “Your niece has a quick mind Professor, but as I am sure you will agree, faith and the providence of the Almighty, have seen fit to deliver safe passage to this great masterpiece, throughout five hundred of the most turbulent years that Europe has ever seen.” The cardinal tapped the table with the God-given authority of a man to whom contradiction is an anathema. “It is my firm belief professor, that at the hour of the worlds salvation from war, a misguided soul fell into the arms of temptation, and unjustly tore this great artwork from the bosom of it’s rightful protectors. I would suggest that this poor creature had no idea as to the true value of this work of art, if they did, the painting would have no doubt surfaced on the international art market by now.”

  Franklin nodded in agreement, “An astute hypothesis Cardinal, but Mira, is quite right: the painting could be almost anywhere in the world by now.”

  The cardinal steepled his fingers and drummed them together impatiently. “As you mentioned Professor, many of the great artworks that were stolen by Göring were recovered during transshipment through the Bavarian Alps in April 1945. These trains were captured by the U.S. 101st Airborne Division. Other works were discovered in the salt mines of Heilbronn and Kochendorf in southern Germany. Local villagers also collected a number of works, after one of Göring’s trains became derailed just outside the town of Berchtesgaden. This information, as I am sure you will agree, narrows down our search considerably.”

  “Hardly. If a peasant farmer stole the picture, it could be hanging in some Austrian outhouse, or more likely in the private collection of a Swiss banker by now…” said Mira archly.

  Franklin gave Mira an indulgent look. “The Cardinal is right of course, my dear—if my memory serves correctly—the artworks discovered in the Rundstedt caves and the mines at Heilbronn and Kochendorf belonged to German museums in Karlsruhe, Mannheim and Stuttgart.”

  The cardinal sniffed, his thin lips twisting with displeasure, he said, “As for the Objets d’Art that were misappropriated by the locals in Obersalzberg, those works were quickly found, during an extensive Allied recovery operation. In addition to this, the entire Obersalzberg area was a steel ringed security zone controlled by Adolph Hitler’s personal SS battalions until the end of the war, when The American Army took control.

  Franklin nodded, “And our boys stayed there until 1996,”

  The cardinal stroked his large gold ring with his skeletal fingers, “Quite so Professor,” he said, his waxwork face melting into the close approximation of a smile. “But please, let us be frank. The last days of the Third Reich were a time of great upheaval right across Europe. When Göring announced his surrender to Brigadier General Stack of the 36th Infantry Division, he had a considerable entourage with him, a large number of family members, personal aides, his chef, his valet and doctor, along with General von Epp, the Gauleiter of Bavaria, and his personal guards. Anyone of these people could have spirited away the painting when Göring was taken to 7th Army divisional Headquarters in Ausburg.

  Franklin looked doubtful. “I find it unlikely that Brigadier General Stack would have overlooked a painting of such importance as the da Vinci, given Göring’s reputation for plunder. But Reichsmarschall Göring was a devious and intelligent man, After his failed attempt to wrest leadership from Hitler, he attempted to flee with his hoard of stolen art.” Franklin tapped a thoughtful finger against his lip, then raised his eyes and looked directly at the cardinal. “It would make sense that Göring, disgraced by his treacherous plans to take Hitler’s place, would try to hedge his bets in as many ways as possible.”

  Mira frowned, “Not even an egomaniac like Hermann Göring could have hoped to get away with stealing half of Europe’s art treasures.”

  Franklin nodded grimly, “He had the audacity to try. You would have expected that from a man who had the blood of millions on his hands. When those trains of his were captured, they were just hours away from escaping into neutral Switzerland. A country that had already accepted train loads of gold bullion from Nazi reserves.” Franklin rose from the table and paced the room with building excitement. “It was an audacious plan certainly, and it would have paid off, if our troops hadn’t spoiled it. But Göring thought he was going to survive the war, so he made plans to finance his post war dream by stashing high-value items with people he could trust—gold, jewels, artworks.”

  “Such as the da Vinci,” finished Mira.

  “It would seem he succeeded,” concluded the cardinal dryly. “I can confirm to you in the strictest confidence Professor, that this painting by da Vinci, that the world considered a legend, exists—The Holy See has long known this, because the master da Vinci was under contract to his Holiness Pope Alexander VI at the time it was painted.

  “A revelatory statement Cardinal, of great historical moment.”

  “My predecessors have been chasing this painting for centuries Professor. Down the years it’s appearances have been all too fleeting. Many times we have reached the point where we expected we would recover it for the sacred posterity of the Holy See, many times we have been disappointed as once again, the painting disappeared—a chattel of men of avarice.”

  “I have known of the painting for sometime Cardinal.” said Franklin coolly. It was painted in 1503 when Leonardo returned to Florence, at the request of Gonfaloniere Piero Soderini, ostensibly to complete a fresco for the Salone dei Cinquecento in the Palazzo Vecchio.”

  “Such details are well known,” scoffed the cardinal. “The court of Florence tasked their papal emissary Niccolò Machiavelli with securing the services of da Vinci. Machiavelli was a personal confidant of Cesare Borgia, son of his Holiness Pope Alexander VI and therefore perfectly placed to gain da Vinci’s trust.”

  Franklin nodded, “The notorious Machiavelli, author of the infamous treatise on treachery. Legend has it that he hired both Michelangelo and da Vinci to compete in a paint-off, to see who would triumph artistically. An endeavor that ended in great acrimony.”

  “Acrimony, betrayal and also the creation of two masterpieces by two of the greatest artists who ever lived.”

  “But those frescos in the Hall of the Five Hundred were never finished, in fact they got painted over by Giorgio Vasari.”

  “That is correct Mira, a vulgar approximation of the High Renaissance style that subsequently became known as Mannerist, but we digress. The most interesting detail of this whole story is that Machiavelli used this meeting of the world’s greatest painters to his own advantage. Legend has it, that he deliberately manufactured conflict between Leonardo and Michelangelo then sought position as a mediator in that conflict, by having them compete in a painting competition.

  “How could that be possible, if neither of the frescos in the Hall of the Five Hundred were completed?”

  “Quite simple my dear, Machiavelli had them paint portraits of the same woman—his mistress Lucretzia.”

  “That is some kind of wild idea you have there, Uncle C.”

  “It is far more than an idea my dear, Florentine records were scrupulously kept. There are numerous mentions of this great event. In fact I have researched Papal records myself, and they concur with this view.”

  “But how could two paintings of such importance just disappear?”

  “In the great land now known as Italy, the sixteenth century was a time of war and treachery. During that time, Italy was divided into many great Republics: Florence, Milan, Venice, Naples and the Papal States.
Many kingdoms competed across these nation states, on an ever-moving battleground. And then there is of course the somewhat indelicate nature of the subject matter. This was time when great art was concerned exclusively with the iconography of Christian worship, and portraiture of renowned public figures. I am sure that a parlor picture of a diplomat’s mistress would have been deeply unpopular amongst the cognoscenti of the time, no matter who painted it.”

  “So it disappeared from public view and got passed down through the years, only to be scooped up in the great net of Nazi art theft. But how did Göring get the painting in the first place and where is it now?”

  “Precisely my dear Mira—an enigma worthy of Sherlock Holmes himself, wouldn’t you agree Cardinal.”

  “If this painting still exists, you are the man to find it Professor. In fact the Holy Father and the Apostolic See demands that you do.”

  “As ever I am flattered that I would be considered a candidate for such a task Cardinal. If this painting has survived the passage of time, I will find it and return it to the place it rightfully belongs, you can rest assured of that.”

  The cardinal sniffed, tilting his head back slightly, as he drummed his fingers together thoughtfully. “May God’s speed go with you Professor, meanwhile I have been instructed to offer you an increased retainer for this job—trust that a million dollars will be enough?”

  THE FINE ART OF MURDER 05

  Val di Chiana, Tuscany 1503

  Salai stood on the hilltop, wishing he were back in the civilization of a great city, Florence, Milan, Rome, anywhere but the backwoods Tuscan hills, nothing but mile after mile of heat-baked countryside out here, that and the unwholesome stench of a Borgia army.