The Fallen Angel

“Or even when it was acquired.” Donati shook his head slowly. “You might find this hard to believe, but until the 1930s, the Vatican Library had no proper catalog system. Books were stored by size and color. Size and color,” Donati repeated incredulously. “I’m afraid the record keeping at the museums wasn’t much better.”

“So you asked Claudia to undertake a review of the collection to see whether any of the pieces might be tainted.”

“With a special emphasis on the Egyptian and Etruscan collections,” Donati added. “But I should stipulate that Claudia’s inquiry was completely defensive in nature. In a way, it was a bit like a campaign manager who investigates his own candidate in order to uncover any dirt his opponent might find.”

“And if she’d discovered a problem?”

“We would have weighed our options carefully,” Donati said with lawyerly precision. “Lengthy deliberation is our specialty. It’s one of the reasons we’re still around after two thousand years.”

The two men turned and started slowly back toward the dome. Gabriel asked how long Claudia had been working on the project.

“Six months.”

“Who else knew about it?”

“Only the director of the museum. And the Holy Father, of course.”

“Had she given you any findings?”

“Not yet.” Donati hesitated. “But we had a meeting scheduled. She said she had something urgent to tell me.”

“What was it?”

“She didn’t say.”

“When were you supposed to meet?”

“Last night.” Donati paused, then added, “At nine o’clock.”

Gabriel stopped and turned toward Donati. “Why so late?”

“Running a church of one billion souls is a big job. It was the only time I was free.”

“What happened?”

“Claudia called my assistant and asked to reschedule the meeting for this morning. She didn’t give a reason.”

Donati removed a cigarette from an elegant gold case and tapped it against the cover before igniting it with a gold lighter. Not for the first time, Gabriel had to remind himself that the tall man in black was actually a Catholic priest.

“In case you’re wondering,” Donati said, “I did not kill Claudia Andreatti. Nor do I know why anyone would want her dead. But if it becomes public that I was scheduled to meet with her the evening of her death, I’ll be placed in a difficult position, to say the least. And so will the Holy Father.”

“Which is why you haven’t mentioned any of this to Vitale or Metzler.”

Donati was silent.

“What do you want from me, Luigi?”

“I want you to help protect my Church from another scandal. And me, as well.”

“What are you suggesting?”

“Two investigations. One will be carried out by Vitale and the gendarmes. It will be short in duration and will conclude that Dottoressa Andreatti took her own life by throwing herself from the gallery of the dome.”

“Rome has spoken; the case is closed.”

“Amen.”

“And the second investigation?”

“Will be carried out by you,” Donati said. “And its findings will be presented to only one person.”

“The private secretary to His Holiness Pope Paul VII.”

Donati nodded.

“I came to Rome to restore a painting, Luigi.”

“You wouldn’t be in Rome if it wasn’t for the intervention of my master and me. And now we need a favor in return.”

“How Christlike of you, Monsignor.”

“Christ never had to run a church. I do.”

Gabriel smiled in spite of himself. “You told the Italian security services you needed me to clean a Caravaggio. Something tells me they won’t be pleased if they find out I’m conducting a murder investigation.”

“So I suppose we’ll have to deceive them. Trust me,” Donati added, “it won’t be the first time.”

They paused along the railing. Directly below, in the small courtyard outside the entrance to the Vatican necropolis, the body of Claudia Andreatti was being placed in the back of an unmarked van. Standing a few feet away, like a mourner at the side of an open grave, was Lorenzo Vitale.

“I’ll need a few things to get started,” Gabriel said, watching the Vatican police chief. “And I need you to get them for me without Vitale knowing.”

“Such as?”

“A copy of the hard drive of the computer in her office, along with her telephone records and all the documentation she assembled while conducting her review of the Vatican collection.”

Donati nodded. “In the meantime,” he said, “it might be wise to have a look inside Claudia’s apartment before Vitale can obtain clearance from the Italian authorities to do so himself.”

“How do you suggest I get through the front door?”

Donati handed Gabriel a ring of keys.

“Where did you get these?”

“Rule number one at the Vatican,” Donati said. “Don’t ask too many questions.”

5

PIAZZA DI SPAGNA, ROME