He knew better than to stay at the Gallery Hotel Art. It would be easy, too easy, for the fiend to find him there. Instead, Gabriel booked a room at a convent operated by the Suore Oblate dell’Assunzione. He believed it would give him a measure of security against the agent of darkness.
On Monday morning, he was given the latest edition of La Nazione, the Florentine newspaper, to read alongside his modest breakfast.
He stared at the front page in shock.
His old nemesis, Professor Giuseppe Pacciani of the Università degli Studi di Firenze, was missing. According to the article, the Dante specialist had disappeared shortly after the theft of the illustrations of Dante’s Divine Comedy from the Uffizi. The journalist suggested a connection between the two seemingly disparate events, hypothesizing that someone in Florence seemed to dislike Dante.
The article painted a dark picture of Florence and the crimes that had plagued it since the robbery. Pacciani’s wife was interviewed, bemoaning the fact that the Carabinieri were unwilling to investigate her husband’s disappearance, claiming there was no evidence of foul play and arguing the man had simply tired of his family and abandoned them. Signora Pacciani admitted her husband had been unfaithful, but she insisted he would never have left their children. Nor would he have left behind his rare editions of Dante, which still sat on a bookshelf in their apartment.
Gabriel dropped the paper on the table.
He was not a man given to believing in coincidences. Nor was he a strong skeptic. He couldn’t express how he knew the theft and Pacciani’s disappearance were related, or how he knew that William York was behind both of them, but he knew. He would have staked his life on it. And that, in itself, gave him all the more reason to distance himself from the search for his lost illustrations.
As he packed his bag and made his way to the Uffizi, he wondered why William York had caused Pacciani to disappear. He wondered why the dangerous and malevolent being had offered him mercy, instead, even gifting him with the knowledge that Julia was ill.
Gabriel Emerson had no answers to his questions, except his belief that a higher power was somehow watching over him and his beloved Julianne and that this power was greater than any darkness.
Chapter Sixteen
Later that same morning, Raven exited the elevator on the second floor of the Uffizi Gallery.
She’d stayed with William at his villa the night before. After their conversation about her decision, she’d taken comfort in William’s body, taking what she needed and hoping she was giving something in return. By all accounts, William was very, very satisfied.
Returning to work Monday morning was a relief. The restoration of the famous Birth of Venus was almost complete. Soon the year-long project would come to an end and the beautiful painting would be returned to its rightful place on the wall of the Botticelli room.
Raven had been tasked with giving an update of the team’s progress to Dottor Vitali, the director of the Uffizi. In truth, it was an honor to be sent on such an errand, with a folder of digital photographs and a seemingly infinite series of reports, but Raven would have preferred to stay in the restoration lab, continuing to coat the surface of the painting with protective varnish.
She sighed at the thought, the rhythmic tapping of her cane echoing down the corridor. The tapping was soon drowned out by the sound of a familiar voice speaking Italian.
“It’s already done, Massimo. I’ve fired the private firm I’d engaged to assist in the investigation and I’ve already spoken with Interpol. I don’t expect the illustrations to be recovered and I want no part of this futile exercise.”
Raven stopped. Professor Gabriel Emerson had returned to the Uffizi. And what he was saying was more than surprising.
“Gabriel, my friend, it’s only been a few months. These things take time. Your illustrations will be found once the thieves try to sell them. They’d be foolish to try to take them to market so soon after the robbery.” The voice of Dottor Vitali wafted down the hall.
Quietly, Raven approached the open door of his office.
“It’s too late.” The professor sounded agitated. “Did you know that one of the Interpol agents investigating the robbery was killed?”
“Yes, I was sorry to hear that.”
“Did you see the cover of La Nazione this morning?”
“Not yet.”
Raven heard the shuffling of papers, surmising that the director was looking for his newspaper. She stopped outside the door, straining her ears.
“There,” said the professor. “See the front page? It’s an article about Pacciani. He went missing shortly after the robbery. No one, not even his wife, knows where he is.”
“Are you suggesting he stole them?”
“No. And I’m not suggesting—I’m asserting. Agent Savola was killed. Pacciani is missing. Both of them were connected to the illustrations in some way. And both men were also connected to me.”
“My friend, surely you don’t think—”
The professor interrupted him. “I will do what I deem necessary to protect my family. The streets of Florence are dangerous. The bodies of three men were found near the Arno a short time ago, and the police seem to have no clue who killed them. I’m finished with the investigation; I’m leaving Italy and returning to Cambridge. I’m not planning to return anytime soon.”
“Gabriel, this is too hasty. Speak with Ispettor Batelli. He says he has several promising leads.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Gabriel muttered.
Sensing a break in the conversation, and worried about being surprised as she was eavesdropping, Raven knocked on Vitali’s door.
He invited her to enter and she stepped across the threshold.
“I’m sorry, Dottor Vitali. Professor Urbano sent me to give a report about the Birth of Venus.” Raven eyed the director and Professor Emerson cautiously. “I can come back later.”
“I was just leaving.” The professor retrieved a piece of luggage from nearby. “Good-bye, Massimo. Let me know when you’re in Cambridge.”
Vitali stood and the men shook hands, but the director was reluctant to let his friend go.
“Stay. We can discuss this.”
“Julianne is ill,” the professor announced, ignoring Raven’s presence. “She’s already returned home and has appointments scheduled for some tests. I need to rejoin her as soon as possible. The thief can have the illustrations.”
Raven flinched at his final remark, but said nothing. Gabriel nodded at his friend and at Raven before marching toward the door, his expression pained.
“Professor Emerson.” The sound of Raven’s voice surprised even herself.
He turned toward her, lifting his eyebrows expectantly.
“I’m so sorry to hear that Mrs. Emerson is ill.”
The professor’s eyes narrowed suspiciously and Raven clutched her cane, stumbling over her words.
“I met her. I gave her a tour of the restoration lab. She was very nice to me.”
The professor glanced at Raven’s cane. “I didn’t recognize you.”
“I hope your wife will be all right.” Raven rummaged in her jacket pocket and retrieved a small card. “This is my e-mail address. Please let her know I was asking about her. If there’s anything I can do, anything at all, please let me know.”
A muscle jumped in the professor’s jaw. He took the card from her hand and perused it. His expression softened.