Gabriel's Promise (Gabriel's Inferno #4)(61)

A few minutes later, Gabriel returned. “It looks like the intruder came in through the garden. He hopped the fence and crossed the yard to the back door, leaving footprints in the snow.”

Gabriel noted Julia’s rocking motion. “Why don’t you lie down? I’ll take Clare.”

“I don’t want to stay here another minute.” She swayed to her feet.

“Okay.” Gabriel scratched the stubble on his face. “We’ll go to a hotel. Do you want to pack a bag?”

“I don’t want to go upstairs by myself.” Julia’s voice was very small. It almost broke Gabriel’s heart.

“I’ll go with you. Let me tell the detective.” Gabriel returned to the kitchen for a moment and then walked back to Julia. He took Clare into his arms. “I’ll carry her up the stairs. I’m sorry I fell asleep at my desk. I should have come to bed.”

“I’m okay,” Julia’s voice grew steely. “But I have to get out of here.”

“I’ll call the Lenox as soon as we get upstairs. Pack whatever you will need for a day or two. I’ll call the security company and let them know we’re leaving.”

Julia nodded. At that moment, all she cared about was getting herself and her child out of the house. The security company was doing too little, too late.

Gabriel ascended the staircase with Julia close behind.



* * *





While Julianne stood in the closet, packing for herself and Clare, Gabriel put the baby in her playpen. She was still asleep.

Gabriel crossed himself and said a silent prayer of thanks.

He walked over to his nightstand and was about to pick up his phone charger when he stepped on something.

“Son of a . . .” Gabriel lifted his foot in order to see what he’d stepped on.

“Are you okay?” Julia stuck her head out of the closet.

“I’m fine. It’s nothing.”

Julia returned to her packing.

Crouching down, Gabriel saw that he’d stepped on what looked like a small sculpture. He retrieved a tissue from the nightstand and picked up the object.

The sculpture was grotesque—a small, two-headed bust with a skull on one side and a face on the other. Gabriel turned the object over, careful to keep it covered by tissue. Letters had been carved into it: O Mors quam amara est memoria tua.

Gabriel knew without doubt the object wasn’t his. It didn’t belong to Julianne, either. Such objects had been popular in the Middle Ages and the Renaissance, as a kind of reminder of one’s mortality: O Death, how bitter is your memory. Remember you must die.

The piece he’d stepped on was finely crafted and old. To his untrained eye, at least, it seemed to be of museum quality. Since it was unlikely the Cambridge police kept such mementoes in their pockets, only one other person could have dropped it.

“I’m almost done,” Julianne called. She entered the bathroom and closed the door.

Gabriel covered the carving with more tissue and placed it in his briefcase with his laptop. Although it was possible the intruder had dropped the piece accidentally, it was equally possible it had been left on Gabriel’s nightstand, mere inches from his pillow, as a warning.

As such, and given the medium of the message, Gabriel elected not to share his finding with Cambridge’s finest. Instead, he was going to share the discovery with someone else.





Chapter Forty-Seven


What about your family? Are they all right?” Nicholas Cassirer sounded horrified.

“Julianne is shaken, but they’re fine.” Gabriel carefully closed the door of the bathroom in their hotel suite, so as not to disturb them.

Clare was now sleeping in her playpen and Julianne had collapsed on the king-sized bed. It was after five o’clock in the morning in Boston, and just before noon in Zurich, Nicholas’s home.

Gabriel continued. “I’ve already spoken with the man you recommended for surveillance. He’s in the Alps, watching the Talbot family ski. There haven’t been any clandestine meetings or suspicious behavior.”

“What was Kurt’s assessment?”

“He thinks the home invasion has nothing to do with Simon Talbot. But he offered to make contact.”

“I’d trust his instincts. It may be a good idea for him to have a word. He can be very persuasive.”

“I’ll follow up with Kurt today.”

“What you’ve described sounds like the work of a professional art thief.”

“Yes, but what professional breaks into a house that’s occupied?” Gabriel’s words left his mouth too late. He closed his eyes. “My friend, I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”

Nicholas changed the subject. “The intruder handled every piece of art in your house, but ignored jewelry and cash. So he isn’t an opportunist. I’m puzzled he didn’t take anything. Perhaps he’s planning to return.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of.”

“Or he didn’t find what he was looking for.”

That gave Gabriel pause. “The most valuable pieces I own are in the Uffizi, as we speak.”

“Yes, I know,” said Nicholas. “The exhibition, with your name attached, has drawn international attention. Someone may have been inspired to visit your home and inspect your personal collection.