The Raven (The Florentine #1)(13)
The inspector stared. “You do all these things?”
“I help where needed, but on this project I spent most of my time removing layers of varnish from the painting so we could get at the paint beneath. Then, someone more accomplished than me fixed the cracks and flaking in the original paint. This week, we’re supposed to start applying a transparent varnish to the artwork in order to protect it. Because of the size of the piece and its age, this process could take months.”
Batelli nodded.
“Professor Urbano says you were absent from work all week and that you didn’t call in. Where were you?”
“At home, I guess.”
“You guess? You don’t know?” The officer’s tone was no longer casual.
She didn’t answer, for truthfully, she didn’t know what to say.
“Is it common for you to disappear from work for a week and not remember where you were?”
“No.” Unconsciously, her fingernails began digging into the palms of her hands.
“Where were you?”
“I don’t remember.”
Batelli exchanged a look with Agent Savola.
“Where were you yesterday?”
“I don’t know.”
“But you remember going home after the party?”
Raven closed her eyes, sifting through her memories. “I remember saying good-bye to Patrick and leaving Gina’s party. I remember starting to walk home.”
She opened her eyes. “That’s it.”
“Tell me, Dottoressa Wood, do you drink?”
She shrugged. “I’ll have a glass of wine when out with friends. But no, I don’t really drink.”
“What about drugs?”
“Drugs?” she repeated, her body growing noticeably tense.
“Do you take drugs or medication?”
“Sometimes I take pain pills for my leg, but I have a prescription for them.”
Batelli’s gaze dropped to her leg. “Do you ever take too many pills?”
“No.” She clasped her hands together, trying not to twist them in her lap.
“What about other drugs—cocaine, marijuana, ecstasy?”
“I don’t do drugs.”
“Tell the truth.” Batelli gave her a hard look. “You go to a party. You miss work for a week. Somehow, during your absence, the Uffizi is robbed. Make this easier on yourself and tell us what really happened.”
“I told you. I don’t remember.”
“This can become very unpleasant if you lie to me.” His tone grew sharp.
“I’m telling you the truth!” She raised her voice, momentarily startling the two agents.
The inspector leaned closer.
“Where were you last week?”
“I don’t know.”
“Where were you yesterday?”
“I don’t remember.”
He slammed a fist down on the table. “Where were you last night?”
A hazy swirl of colors danced before her eyes, accompanied by a low whisper. All at once, she felt a sharp pain at the back of her head.
She closed her eyes.
“Dottoressa Wood?” he prompted.
She didn’t respond.
“Signorina?” he said, slightly louder.
“Maybe I was drugged,” she whispered, as the pain in her head sub-sided. She fanned a hand over her eyes.
“Drugged?” he repeated.
She dropped her hand. “Maybe someone drugged me.”
“What makes you say that?” Savola spoke for the first time, his voice low and gravelly.
Raven’s eyes met his. “I can’t remember yesterday. I can’t remember anything after Gina’s party. I didn’t drink much, but I had a couple of glasses of wine. Maybe someone slipped something into my drink.”
Batelli waved Agent Savola over and whispered something in his ear. He nodded and left.
The inspector placed his hand on top of one of the files. “You can’t remember anything from the past week? Anything at all?”
“No.”
“Are you experiencing any pain? Dizziness?”
She rubbed at the back of her head.
“My head hurt a few minutes ago. But I don’t feel dizzy.”
He was quiet for a moment, studying her.
“What do you do for Professor Urbano?”
“I told you, I assist him with his restoration project.”
“And what is he restoring?”
“The Birth of Venus.”
The inspector nodded. “So you are a Botticelli expert?”
She shifted in her seat. “Not like Professor Urbano. He worked on the famous restoration of Primavera with Umberto Baldini.”
Batelli looked at her blankly, not recognizing the name of the famous art historian and restorer.
“But it’s fair to say you know a lot about Botticelli and his work?”
“Yes. I also know that the theft of great art is a crime against humanity.” Her tone had the slightest edge to it.
The inspector appeared puzzled. “That’s an unusual view.”
“Not among those who devote their lives to preserving and protecting great works of art. That’s why I came to Florence.”