The Raven (The Florentine #1)(19)
“Thank you. I think she looks like her daddy. But everyone says she has my mouth. Do you have children?”
“No.” Raven stiffened, looking from the child to her mother. “If you need anything, I’ll be in Dottor Vitali’s office.”
Julia poured water into a glass. “We’ll be fine.”
“I hope they find the illustrations.” Raven’s voice was quiet.
Julia looked up at her.
“I hope so, too. Losing them is much more than losing art.” Julia looked down at her daughter. “It’s like losing family.”
Raven nodded and exited the conference room, shutting the door firmly behind her.
Mrs. Emerson was not what she had expected. She was younger and much nicer than many of the important patrons and donors who visited the gallery on occasion.
Raven felt sorry for her, recalling the expression of sadness she’d worn when talking about the loss of the artwork. It sounded as if the Emersons truly loved those objects. Now they’d lost them.
As Raven approached Dottor Vitali’s office, she noticed that the door was open.
Professor Emerson was speaking loudly in Italian, his voice trailing down the corridor.
“So the Carabinieri have interviewed all the local patrons and they’ve made attempts to speak to everyone who attended the gala when the exhibit opened. What did they think of William York?”
“Who?” Dottor Vitali sounded confused.
“The young man who accosted me at the exhibit opening. I pointed him out to you and you said he was a local recluse who’d given a substantial donation to the gallery in order to be invited.”
“I don’t know anyone by that name.”
Raven approached the doorway, taking care to remain out of sight.
“Massimo, you recognized the man and had your assistant look up his name. Remember? He’s shorter than me; about five foot eleven, with blond hair. He’s English, from Oxford, I think. You said something about his patronage of the restoration of the Palazzo Medici Riccardi.”
“Gabriel, my friend, I don’t know anyone called William York.”
Raven heard the sound of papers shuffling.
“Here is the guest list for the gala. His name isn’t on the list. Certainly I know of no connection between an Englishman and the Medici palaces. Palazzo Riccardi is owned by the province. They financed the restoration, along with a select group of Italian patrons.”
Professor Emerson swore in frustration and Raven heard the sound of a chair toppling over.
Without reflecting on her actions, she moved to stand in the doorway. “Dottor Vitali?”
She looked in anxiety from the administrator of the gallery to the professor, who was standing over the fallen chair with clenched fists.
“Signorina.” Vitali gestured to her to enter before turning his attention to the professor. “My friend, please remain calm. Join your wife and your child and let me worry about this.”
“I’m worrying about this, Massimo, because someone has stolen what is precious to me.” The professor spoke between clenched teeth. “I will make it my life’s mission to see that those illustrations are returned.
“I swear I met William York. He behaved very strangely at the exhibit, and you and I spoke about him afterward. He seemed resentful about the illustrations and, although he’s young, he’s a man with deep pockets. Someone needs to go through the donor records and find his donation. You told me he gave several thousand euros to the gallery.”
Professor Emerson placed his fists on the top of Vitali’s desk, leaning toward him.
“And if you or the Carabinieri won’t see to this, I will personally hire agents who will complete this investigation.”
A long look passed between the two friends.
Raven shifted uncomfortably, glancing back at the open door. She wished she could disappear.
“Va bene,” said Vitali at last, waving at his friend. “Speak to Ispettor Batelli. He’s in charge.”
“Thank you.” Professor Emerson straightened and, without another word, walked out.
Raven waited, watching as Dottor Vitali closed his eyes and bent forward, almost as if he were praying.
At last he opened his eyes and gestured to a chair. “Signorina Wood. Explain your sudden change in appearance. And tell me where you were last week.”
Raven sat down, took a deep breath, and began her story.
On leaving Vitali’s office, Raven walked, deep in thought, down the corridor.
He hadn’t suspended her. He’d asked pointed questions about her appearance, her absence, and her interview with the police. His cool demeanor seemed to warm with her answers. By the time their conversation concluded, Raven believed she’d convinced him she had nothing to do with the robbery.
He’d sent her back to her job, informing her that the weeklong absence would be deducted from her vacation days. She was relieved she hadn’t been suspended or fired.
She walked down the hall, reflecting on Botticelli’s original illustrations of The Divine Comedy. They’d been prepared for Lorenzo di Pierfrancesco de’ Medici, who also owned Primavera.
She wondered if the thieves knew that. She wondered if the thieves were particularly devoted to Botticelli or simply opportunist.
She imagined a group of hardened criminals, dumping the priceless illustrations into plastic bags and shoving them into backpacks. They wouldn’t treat the artwork properly. They wouldn’t protect it.