She glanced around helplessly, trying to figure out how to prove her identity. Her gaze alighted on the edge of the Loggia dei Lanzi and its roof, which was barely visible.
“Remember we had lunch on the terrace? You told me about growing up with your grandmother in Richmond Hill and how she owned a restaurant. You told me you had a dog named Magnus, but he was hit by a car when you were ten.”
Patrick’s eyes widened. “Who told you those things?”
“You did. You’re lactose intolerant, you were born in Toronto, and you have a crush on Gina. It’s me, Patrick. I promise.” She held out her arm. “Look at my watch.”
He looked at her wrist, on which she wore an old, battered Swatch that he easily recognized.
His eyes met hers. “How do I know you didn’t kidnap Raven and steal her watch?”
She rolled her eyes. “Listen to yourself. I’m not important. Who would want to kidnap me?”
“That isn’t true.” His expression grew fierce. “Raven is someone to me. She’s important to me.”
She paused, tamping down her emotions so she could focus on finding something that would prove her identity.
“Remember when you lost the copies of the radiographs of Primavera? And Dottor Vitali kept asking for them? I’m the one who put them in the bottom drawer of your desk.”
Patrick shook his head. “I didn’t lose the radiographs.”
She smiled gently. “Yes, you did. You left them in the archives’ reading room. I found them and put them in your desk so you wouldn’t get in trouble.”
Patrick stared, a look of incredulous fascination on his face.
“I didn’t tell anyone about that.”
“I know.”
His expression slowly morphed from shock into concern.
“Raven?” he whispered, staring at her intently.
She nodded.
He lifted a hand to her face. “What did you do to yourself?”
She blinked and turned away, unable to meet his gaze.
Patrick dropped his hand quickly and looked around, noticing they had attracted the attention of one of the carabinieri, who was watching them from behind dark sunglasses.
“We need to get out of here.” He grabbed Raven’s arm. “Where’s your cane?”
“I don’t need it anymore.”
“That’s not funny.” Patrick gave her a furious look.
Raven lifted her now uninjured leg and quickly demonstrated her range of movement.
“Fuck,” he said under his breath, his eyebrows lifting. “What the hell is going on?”
Before Raven had time to venture an answer, the Carabinieri officer began walking toward them. Patrick pulled her around the corner and out of sight.
When they were several feet away, Raven planted her feet. “What about work? We’re going to be late.”
Patrick handed back her identification card. “I’m late every day because of the police. We have to go through a special security check before they let us in.”
“Are the police here because of the illustrations?”
He looked at her suspiciously. “Of course.”
“When were they stolen?”
Patrick stared.
When she didn’t say anything further, he rubbed his eyes. “Holy shit.”
“What?”
He exhaled loudly. “If you were in trouble, you’d tell me, right?”
“I’m not in any trouble.”
“Are you kidding? I’m one of your best friends and I didn’t recognize you.” He cursed. “You don’t need your cane. And you disappeared right after the biggest robbery in Uffizi history.”
“What?” Raven practically shrieked, dropping her knapsack in surprise.
“Sssh!” Patrick gave her a furious look. “Do you want a half dozen carabinieri and God knows how many Interpol agents over here? Keep your voice down.”
He quickly stepped away, looking in the direction of the Uffizi, before dragging her and her knapsack closer to the Ponte Vecchio.
“When did the robbery happen?” Raven asked, her mind almost numb with shock.
“The night of Gina’s party.”
Raven pressed her hand to her forehead. She remembered Gina’s party. She remembered talking to Patrick about a ride home. After that, the evening was a blur.
She squinted in the sunlight. “How did the thieves get past the security systems?”
“No one knows. None of the alarms were tripped. They didn’t find so much as a fingerprint. The special agents think it must have been an inside job, which is why they’ve been interrogating us. I’ve been interviewed three times.”
“But who would do such a thing? Everyone we work with has a clean record.”
Patrick’s expression grew guarded.
“Raven, they’ve been looking for you. You’ve been gone over a week and no one knew where you were.”
“A week?” she squeaked, eyes wide.
“Gina’s party was the seventeenth. Today is the twenty-seventh. You didn’t come to work last week at all. We thought you were sick. I texted you and sent e-mails, and Professor Urbano called your cell phone, but you didn’t answer. I was pretty worried so Gina and I stopped by last Wednesday. One of your neighbors said he hadn’t seen you in days. We reported you missing to the police and the American consulate.”
Before Raven could respond, the Carabinieri officer suddenly appeared, flanked by two others.
“Do you work at the museum?” He addressed Patrick sternly.
Patrick’s gaze flickered to Raven’s. “Yes.”
“Identification, please.” The officer held out his hand expectantly.
Patrick gave him his Uffizi identification card. The man examined it carefully before returning it.
His attention shifted to Raven.
“And you?”
She nodded and handed him her identification.
The officer looked at the photograph and then he looked at Raven. He removed his sunglasses, folding them and placing them in one of the pockets of his uniform.
His eyes bored into hers. “You don’t look like the photograph.”
Raven shrugged. “That’s me.”
The officer peered at her thoughtfully before turning his gaze on Patrick. Patrick shifted his weight from foot to foot.
“You know this woman?” The officer gestured to Raven.
Patrick hesitated and Raven’s heart began to pound.
He moved to stand closer to her. “Yes, we work together.”
Raven tried not to melt with relief at Patrick’s show of support.
The officer’s attention snapped back to her. “Your identification says that you work for the Opificio delle Pietre Dure.”
“I do. But I’ve been seconded to the Uffizi and that’s stated on the card as well.” She pointed to the identification he was still holding.
“Dottoressa Wood, come with me.”
“She’s an American.” Patrick stepped forward. “You can’t just take her.”
The officer measured Patrick for a moment.
“We aren’t taking her. We’re accompanying her to the police station so we can interview her, just as we interviewed the other Uffizi employees.”
Patrick grabbed Raven’s arm, stopping her. “You interviewed the other employees at the gallery, not the police station. She isn’t going anywhere with you.”
“This isn’t an interrogation or an arrest, it’s simply an interview. I’m sure Dottoressa Wood wants to help the investigation.” The officer gave Raven a pointed look.
She blinked, not knowing what to say.
Patrick held his ground, still holding Raven’s arm.
The man cursed and removed something from underneath his jacket, flashing it under Patrick’s nose.
“I am Sergio Batelli, the ispettore from the Carabinieri. She does not have a diplomatic passport and her name is on the list of Uffizi employees. Under Italian civil code, I can acquire information from her at the police station wi
thout notifying anyone, especially the Americans. Capisce?
“Perhaps you’d like to be interviewed with her, Signor Wong. Are you lovers? How long have you known one another?”
Patrick cursed and took a step forward, but Raven intervened, placing her hand over his.
“It will be all right. I’ll just go and answer their questions. But please, tell Professor Urbano what’s happening. He’ll be expecting me in the restoration lab.”
Patrick fixed the officer with a look of defiance. “I’ll be notifying Dottor Vitali, the director of the Uffizi, and the American consulate. And I’ll be naming names, Ispettor Batelli.”
The officer shrugged.
“Dottoressa Wood.” He gestured to the street, where a police car had just pulled up to the curb, lights flashing.
Patrick squeezed Raven’s hand before sprinting in the direction of the Uffizi.
“This way.” Batelli’s voice was gruff as he and the other men led Raven to the car.
Chapter Five
“For your information, I should state that this is not an interrogation. You are not under arrest. We are interviewing you in connection with the theft of art from the Uffizi because you work at the gallery. This conversation is being video recorded.
“Dottoressa Wood, where were you on Friday, May seventeenth?”
Batelli sat across from her in a small interrogation room in the Florence police station, his dark eyes keen and peering.
He had files in front of him, but they were closed. He wasn’t even taking notes. He was simply watching her.
Another man, wearing a dark suit, stood behind him and to his left. He’d been introduced as Alessandro Savola, an Interpol agent from Rome. He, too, was watching Raven, arms crossed, eyes alert.
She felt as if she were a sample being examined under a microscope.
She contemplated her options for a moment, staring back at the agents and wondering about her predicament.
She loved her work. She loved the Uffizi. She was willing to do anything to help the police find whoever had stolen the illustrations. That included answering the officer’s very uncomfortable, potentially hazardous questions.
“I came to work in the restoration lab. At the end of the day, a group of us went to a friend’s party.”
“Which friend?”
“Gina Molinari. She works in the archives.”
“Where did you go after the party?”
Raven focused on a spot on the wall, over his shoulder, willing herself to remember.
“I went home.”
Ispettor Batelli leaned forward in his chair.
“What time was that?”
Her eyes met his.
“I don’t remember, but the party was still going on. I said good-bye to Patrick and to Gina and walked home.”
“Alone?”
“Yes, alone.”
“Do you live with anyone? Did anyone see you when you arrived home?”
“I live alone and no, no one saw me.”
“Do you have a lover? A boyfriend or girlfriend?”
“No.” She crossed her arms over her chest.
“When did you first hear about the robbery?” The inspector’s voice was casual. Too casual.
“This morning, when I came to work.”
The agent’s eyes narrowed. “What about newspapers? Radio? Television?”
“I don’t take the newspaper and I don’t have a television. Sometimes I listen to the BBC in the morning but I woke up late for work and didn’t bother.”
“Why are you carrying your passport and other important documents? Aren’t you afraid of thieves?” Batelli gestured to the items, which were sitting on the desk next to her identification card.
“My old passport was going to expire. I picked this one up at the consulate the other day, but I had to present the paperwork that showed I was working in Italy legally. I must have forgotten to take everything out of my knapsack.”
“The name on your documents doesn’t match the name on your identification card.”
She clenched her teeth. “My name is Raven.”
“That’s not the name in your passport.”
That’s because the name in my passport is dead, she thought.
She tried to appear relaxed, folding her hands in her lap. “In America, it’s common for people to have nicknames.”
“What part of America are you from?”
“New Hampshire.”
“Your employee file states that you attended Barry University and New York University.”
“That’s right.”
“How long have you been in Florence?”
“I spent a year here while I was finishing my master’s degree from NYU. Then I returned three years ago while I was writing my dissertation. When I graduated last year, Professor Urbano hired me to work for him at the Opificio.”
Batelli’s eyes narrowed. “I thought Professor Urbano worked at the Uffizi.”
“He does, but only on contract. He runs a lab at the Opificio, which is a world-renowned restoration institute. He was hired by the Uffizi, along with his team, to work on a single project. I’m part of that team.”
“So you have a Ph.D. in art history and conservation?”
She squirmed. “And restoration. I was trained in both, but focused on restoration for my dissertation.”
“Interesting,” he said. “How is this restoration work done?”
“We begin by doing scientific research on the artwork. There’s a lab in the Fortezza da Basso where we use microscopes, spectrophotometry, and X-ray machines. Sometimes we use ultraviolet rays or infrared photography. We also do archival work, comparing previous restoration and conservation attempts with current scientific findings.”
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. “Y
ou 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.”