Chapter Four
When Raven approached the Uffizi Gallery, she was stunned to find it cordoned off.
Several officers from the local police stood watch at the barricades, while carabinieri in their signature dark blue uniforms roamed the U-shaped courtyard.
A number of men in dark suits stood in a small group, talking to one another near the entrance to the gallery. Journalists from around the world gathered around the perimeter, shouting questions to the carabinieri in English and Italian. Their questions were ignored, but not by Raven.
Something terrible had happened.
The famed Botticelli illustrations—copies of Botticelli’s drawings of Dante’s Divine Comedy—were missing.
Raven covered her mouth, a sick feeling ascending from her stomach to her throat.
“Permesso.” A masculine voice sounded in Raven’s ear as someone tried to squeeze past her.
She turned and recognized Patrick Wong, one of her friends from the gallery.
“Patrick.” She touched his arm.
His dark, almond-shaped eyes examined her face. “Do I know you?”
She switched to English. “It’s me.”
He looked at her in puzzlement and she remembered that her appearance was greatly altered.
“It’s Raven.”
Patrick shook his arm from her grasp and glared. “What do you know about Raven?”
“It’s me, I swear.” She retrieved her Uffizi identification card from her knapsack and held it out to him.
He snatched it from her hand, bringing his face next to hers.
“How did you get this?” he hissed. “Where is she?”
“Patrick, it’s me. We work together, remember? I’m part of Professor Urbano’s restoration team.”
He curled his fingers around her identification card. “Everyone knows Professor Urbano’s team. That doesn’t mean anything.”
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.”