She turned and found Ispettor Batelli standing nearby. He was not wearing a happy expression.
“It’s time for us to talk, Signorina Wood. You’ve avoided me long enough.”
Raven favored him with her back. “You aren’t supposed to talk to me. You were reprimanded for harassing me.”
“I’m still in charge of the investigation. Despite what the newspapers say, I know Agent Savola wasn’t murdered by the Russians.”
Raven forced herself to keep going, leaning heavily on her cane. Batelli followed, dropping his voice so only she could hear. “Savola worked exclusively on cases involving stolen art. He had no connection with organized crime.”
Raven ignored him, moving closer to the door.
“He was murdered near your apartment, after you were investigated by us in connection with the robbery here. He’d been following you for some time. Tell me, how long have you been sleeping with William York?”
Raven somehow lost her footing and pitched forward. Batelli caught her elbow, keeping her upright.
“Don’t touch me!” She yanked away from him, nearly toppling over.
“Interesting,” he said, his eyes calculating. “Interesting how you and Gabriel Emerson seem to be the only persons who recognize that name. Yet, neither of you wish to discuss him.”
The inspector moved to block her path. “Are you fond of Switzerland?”
“If you don’t get out of my way, I’ll make a scene. Leave me alone.” Raven gripped her cane tightly.
“William York made a large donation to the Uffizi two years ago. It was wired from a Swiss bank that, of course, refuses to disclose any information. The Mercedes that drives you around is registered to a Swiss diplomat. And Professor Emerson bought his illustrations from a family in Cologny, Switzerland.”
“I’m leaving.” Raven skirted the inspector and placed her hand on the door.
He pressed his palm flat against the door, holding it shut.
“I know whatever I tell you will be conveyed to him. So give him this message. I learned from Savola’s mistake. If anything happens to me, William York will be exposed.”
Against every instinct to suppress a reaction, Raven looked up at him, eyes wide.
Batelli leaned closer. “Tell him to place the illustrations, undamaged, in a secure location. He can have someone send an anonymous tip and we will retrieve them.”
Raven tugged on the door and he stepped back, allowing her to open it.
“This is far from over.” His voice followed her into the gallery as she quickly shuffled away from the door.
Chapter Thirty-five
“And then there were four,” Niccolò remarked dryly, surveying the remaining Consilium members, excluding the Prince.
Niccolò, Lorenzo, Aoibhe, and Stefan of Montréal assembled in the council chamber underground, awaiting their ruler. He’d cut short their normal rest during daylight for urgent matters pertaining to security.
“Any news from Pierre and Max?” Aoibhe trained her dark eyes on Lorenzo, the second in command.
He reacted with visible annoyance, his hand tightening on the staff of Florence he always held during formal assemblies. “We received a message they’d reached Paris, but nothing since.”
Aoibhe’s gaze moved to Niccolò. “That’s a bit odd, don’t you think? How long would it take to kill a few humans and throw their bodies under the Eiffel Tower?”
“A bit of finesse is required in these matters.” Niccolò’s voice echoed in the large, almost empty chamber. “Not that you can appreciate such things.”
With a snarl, she flew at him, teeth bared. He stepped to the side and, with a flick of his foot, swept her legs out from under her. She crashed to the ground with a loud cry.
Niccolò looked down at her, making eye contact before he spoke. “Not all of us are blinded by your beauty, female. You’d best remember that.”
Aoibhe huffed and leapt to her feet, rearranging her skirts and her hair. She returned to her seat, wisely electing not to turn her back to him.
At that moment, the Prince threw open the doors to the council chamber and strode down the aisle. The Consilium members stood, bowing their respect and waiting until the Prince was seated before regaining their seats. Lorenzo tapped his staff on the floor to call the meeting to order.
The Prince pushed the folds of his black velvet cloak aside, resting his hands on the arms of the gold throne. “Niccolò, you’re head of security. What have you to say?”
The Florentine stood and bowed. “As I reported to you earlier, a member of the Curia was spotted in the city yesterday evening.”
The remaining Consilium members sat silently, dumbfounded.
“And?” The Prince’s eyes revealed barely tempered fury.
The security adviser coughed, clearing his throat. “I spoke with the patrols, my lord. The Curia member in question arrived during the day, wearing ordinary clothes. Since he’s American and new to Rome, he was not identified. However, our intelligence network reported he stayed at the Jesuit house inside the city and he returned to Rome by car shortly after midnight.”
The Prince’s expression became blank. “What about his movements inside the city?”
“I have nothing to report, my lord. It seems he was only noticed when he left. The patrols reported that you were surveilling them that evening, which they found curious.”
The Prince waved his hand casually. “A surprise inspection. Instruct the patrols that I will continue those inspections, sometimes delegating the activity to a Consilium member. I want them on the highest alert. Order our spies in Rome to send photographs of any new Curia members so we are not surprised again. Any suspicious movement outside the Vatican is to be reported to me personally, immediately.”