“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.”
Batelli frowned. “The illustrations were copies.”
Now Raven leaned forward in her chair. “Those copies were all we had. The full set of original illustrations have been lost. And the copies were beautiful.”
“We?” he repeated, cocking his head to one side. “Who’s we?”
She felt her cheeks flame. “Humanity. Whoever stole them, stole from all of us. Although I’m sure the Emersons are more upset than anyone, except maybe Dottor Vitali.”
“And the Emersons are—?”
“The patrons who lent us the illustrations—Professor Gabriel Emerson and his wife.”
“You know them?”
“Not really. They’re patrons of the orphanage I volunteer at, but I’ve never met them.”
The inspector opened his file and took out a series of printed sheets that had been stapled together. He pushed the pages toward her.
“This is a list of names. Tell me if you know any of them.”
Raven picked up the pages and began reading.
She looked over at the inspector. “I recognize some of the names. They’re patrons of the gallery. But I don’t really know them.”
“None of them?”
“I work in the restoration lab. The patrons don’t interact with us.” She placed the paper back on the desk.
“Would it be correct to say that you recognize all the names, or only some?”
“Only some.”
Batelli uncapped a pen and placed it in front of her. “Please make a mark next to the names you recognize.”
Raven frowned but did as she was told, marking about one-third of the names listed.
Batelli seemed to take restrained interest in what she was doing, but after she finished, he merely placed the papers aside. He withdrew a single sheet from the file and slid it across to her.
“Read that.”
Raven picked up the paper.
The first thing she noticed was that the page was obviously a photocopy of some handwriting. The style of writing was old-fashioned. Very old-fashioned. It was precise, elegant, and very, very beautiful. A work of art in itself.
The second thing she noticed was that the language was Latin. Suddenly a phrase entered her consciousness.
Cassita vulneratus.
“What was that?” Batelli leaned forward suspiciously.
“I didn’t say anything. I’ve read it. Now what?”
“Read it to me.”
“It’s in Latin.” She gave him a questioning look.
“I know that. Read it in Latin, if you can, and translate to Italian.”
Raven turned her attention to the page. “‘Non furtum facies. Mihi vindictam ego retribuam.’” She looked over at the officer. “Non rubare. La vendetta è mia; io ricompensèro. You shall not steal. Vengeance is mine, I will repay.”
Raven placed the paper on top of the desk.
“Why are you showing me part of a Latin manuscript of the Bible?”
“Why do you think it’s from a manuscript of the Bible?”
“I’m not a paleographer, but I can recognize medieval handwriting.” She gestured to the page. “The text sounds like the Bible, but I’m not an expert.”