Midnight Angels (21 page)

They stepped out of the giardino and turned right onto Via Gino Capponi, blending easily with the relaxed mix of locals and tourists. “Do you think we should go back to class tomorrow?” Marco asked.

“I don’t see why not,” Kate said. “There’s no reason to bring ourselves any undo attention. Besides, as far as anyone knows, we haven’t done anything that would require us
not
to go to class.”

“A man was
murdered
, Kate,” Marco said. “And we were there, we witnessed it and then we drove away. We may not have killed him, but if we hadn’t gone through with what we did, I doubt very much that man would be dead today.”

“He would have killed you and me and not given it a second’s thought,” she said, surprised at the edge in her voice. “And if that driver hadn’t been there, that’s exactly what he would have done.”

“And that makes it all right?” Marco asked.

“No, not all right,” Kate said, “never all right. But it does make it necessary. I may not like that it does. In fact, the very idea makes my stomach churn and my head spin, but it is part of the reality we now face. We found a work of Michelangelo’s that had been only a rumor for centuries. There will be people who will pay any amount of money to get their hands on such a discovery, and many of them won’t stop to wonder what they have to do in order for that to happen.”

“I don’t want to see another man die,” Marco said. “Not for any reason, not even for Michelangelo.”

“Then you should step away now,” she said, her tone devoid of anger or resentment. “Before you are in so deep it will be impossible to get away.”

“I think it is too late for that, Kate,” he said. “The time for me to have walked away might have been
before
the Angels were stolen and most certainly
before
a man whose name I don’t even know was killed in front of me.”

Kate turned and faced him, her eyes focused, her right hand shaking off a nervous tremor. “Then we both need to learn to deal with it,” she
said. “I don’t like what happened any more than you do. But all I can do, all I need to do, is make sure the Angels find their way into safe hands.”

“Regardless of the cost,” Marco said.

“Yes, Marco,” Kate said, surprised at how outwardly confident she sounded while feeling so shaken on the inside. “Regardless of the cost.”

“Then what makes us so different from those who will come looking for the Angels?” he asked. “What makes our mission, whatever that is in your mind, so much worthier from the one these others might believe in with equal passion?”

“I’m sorry you even feel the need to ask me such a question,” she said.

“And I hate having to ask,” Marco said, “but it’s something I need to know, especially now, after what happened back on that street. How far would you go, Kate, to retrieve a lost piece of art?”

“I’m very sorry that man died,” she said, “even though he wouldn’t have felt the same way had he left us behind. But had that happened, he would have taken the Angels and quite possibly put them in the wrong hands, to be sold on the black market for the highest sum they could acquire.”

“And what would be so horrible about that?” Marco asked.

“For one thing, a work of art doesn’t belong on the black market, its whereabouts hidden from view. That would betray its very purpose.”

“Which is?”

“Look, I know this may not make much sense, but it’s what I believe in with my heart and soul,” Kate said. “Art, especially the great works, belong to the people for whom they were created. Michelangelo’s David belongs here, in Florence, not anywhere else. Especially not in some private collection or in the hands of groups determined to cash it in and walk away. It is a gift, given by the artist to the people. No amount of money should be allowed to change that.”

“Does the same hold true for bloodshed?” Marco asked.

“Not to me,” Kate said. “But I’m not in this alone. I have no idea where this will lead and how violent it will get. I never expected to see even one body fall. That’s not an image I will ever be able to erase. I would like to be able to say that will be the one and only time it will happen, but that would be more a wish than a fact.”

“And what if it comes down to just you?” he asked. “What if all that
stands between you and the art is someone who wants it as much as you do, for what you believe are all the wrong reasons. What happens then, Kate? Would you yourself be able to kill someone to save a work of art?”

She stopped and looked around the crowded street, the laughter and chatter blending together, the cool breeze bringing a chill. This was a conversation she had been anticipating for a few years now, only she expected it to be a philosophical discussion with Professor Edwards, held in the safety of their home library, and not one based on real events on a packed street in Florence on a busy Sunday morning with a student she had known for less than a month. She turned to Marco, brushing aside a few strands of hair from her eyes. “I don’t have an answer for you,” she said in a low tone.

The two continued their morning walk in silence, Kate’s right hand resting comfortably in the crook of Marco’s left arm.

CHAPTER
26

ROME

A
NTONIO RUMORE RESTED THE PHONE INTO ITS CRADLE AND
rolled back in his office chair, his leg brushing against an overnight bag. He checked the time and took a casual look around the noisy, crowded room, then back at his desktop, a disheveled blend of notes, case files, and crime scene photos. He then glanced at the detective sitting across from him, a dark-haired, petite woman in her early thirties who had just been transferred to the squad from a Venice homicide unit.

“Anna, we get any hits out of Florence in the last three days?” he asked.

The woman shook her head. “You looking for something in particular?”

“Not sure, yet,” Rumore said. “I got a heads-up call that something is working there, but I’m not sure what. I was hoping maybe something popped across one of your report sheets.”

“Pretty quiet all around, actually,” Anna said. “A few small-time jobs here and there and a foiled attempt at a museum in Milan. Other than that, not a blip.”

“Wouldn’t be like my source to call and point me in a direction just to waste my time,” Rumore said. “For him to have his nose in the air, something must be going on. I’m going to take a few days in Florence to check for myself.”

“Are you asking me along?” she said. “Or just thinking out loud?”

“A little bit of both,” Rumore said. “How long have you been with us now? Two weeks?”

“Monday will be the start of my fourth week.”

“And have you had any out-of-office assignments yet?”

“Does going out to lunch with Vincenzo and Arthuro count as an out-of-office?” Anna asked.

Rumore smiled. “Look, even if we go there and come up empty, which will probably be the case,” he said, “it might be a good experience for you and a chance to get out of the office. Get to know your way up there, make a few contacts, while I snoop around and see if my source’s information pans out. If you would rather not go, it’s not a problem.”

“You usually work alone,” Anna said. “I don’t want to get in your way.”

“You won’t,” he said. “Besides, I read up on your case files. You were a very active and accurate homicide detective working in a city where it is very easy to dispose of a body. My guess is you have less than twenty-four hours before the deceased either floats out to sea or is mutilated by the grinders under the canals.”

“Closer to eighteen, and that’s pretty much reaching the maximum time allotted,” Anna said.

“Well, both my tipster and my stomach tell me if what is going on in Florence is even close to being true, then we’re going to be looking for more than a work of art,” Rumore said. “We’re going to be ankle-deep in bodies. If that’s the case, it would be a great benefit to have someone around who can break down blood splatter as easily as marble chips.”

“And what if we come up empty?”

“We’ll have a few days in Florence and not be stuck here,” Rumore said. “To me, it sounds like a winning situation.”

“Is your source pointing you in any particular direction?”

Rumore quickly surveyed the room, then looked back at her. “Nothing concrete, but enough to make me think a big score has found its way into the city.”

“When would we leave?” she asked.

“If you agree to go, we could be on the road in less than twenty minutes,” Rumore said. “I can make it thirty if you need to gather a few things together.”

“They told me you’re not one to waste time,” she said.

“Especially when there’s so little of it to waste,” he said. “So, are you
in or would you rather stick around here and wait until Vincenzo and Arthuro get up the nerve to ask you out to lunch again?”

“Your car or mine?” Anna asked as she pushed her chair back, then stood and walked to the edge of his desk. Rumore nodded, taking note of the tight black skirt and expensive lavender blouse topped by a jacket whose designer he couldn’t quite nail. The low-heeled pumps, he knew, were Ferragamo, and the two-tier earrings hanging just above her neckline were purchased at one of the high-end jewelers on the Via Venuto. Her tan was dark and deep and her body was toned.

“What do you have?” he asked.

“I’ve got an Alfa-Romeo, two-door convertible,” she said, adding a smile. “After four years working in Venice and going to most every crime scene by boat, I got used to moving fast. This was as close as I could get to a speedboat.”

“A very expensive speedboat,” Rumore said, “especially for a cop.”

“I’m the only cop in the family,” Anna said, “the rest are all in banking and commerce, my father the most successful of the bunch. On top of that, I’m an only child. It’s not hard to get special treatment under those conditions.”

“As impressive as it would be, we’ll take my car,” he said. “I need to bring along some equipment, and the trunk space of an Alfa leaves a lot to be desired. You can make use of it once we’re up there. I have a cousin who owns a motorcycle dealership in Florence, and he allows me to tool around the city, testing out the latest models.”

“Fair enough,” Anna said. “I’ll go and get clearance for the trip and then meet you out in front.”

“Don’t you want to know what car I drive?” Rumore asked.

“A Benz,” she said. “Four-door sedan. It’s the car of choice of the Rome Art Squad, or so I’ve guessed from the number of them parked in the downstairs garage.”

Rumore folded his arms across his chest and nodded. “Don’t worry about the clearance. That’s already been taken care of. I called Albertini before you got in. He fully supports the trip and you joining me on it.”

“How did you know I would agree to go?”

“I didn’t,” he said, “which is why I asked Albertini to have orders ready in the event you passed on the offer. I didn’t think they would be
necessary since I didn’t figure you for the type of cop who relished sitting around an office.”

Rumore stood, swung his suit jacket across one shoulder and moved down a narrow aisle, heading for the elevator bank at the rear of the large squad room. “We’ll grab an early dinner once we get to Florence,” he said, craning his neck toward Anna. “Mama is not only a great cook, she’s a great source of information. If something is brewing out on those streets, she’ll know about it.”

“Mama?” Anna said, following close behind. “I was told you were from Naples.”

“I am,” Rumore said. “The mama in Florence considers every single man in Italy her son, especially the ones with hearty appetites. The same, I would wager, is true of the young women who walk through her restaurant’s front door. So, be prepared to eat and drink well, be loved to death, and, if you’re very lucky and pay close attention, you’ll also leave there knowing a lot more than you did when you walked in.”

He stopped at the elevators and pressed the Down button, turned and waited as Anna approached.

“Are you expecting trouble?” she asked.

“I always expect trouble,” he said. “It’s my nature.”

“You have an idea who we might be up against?”

“I won’t know for sure until we get to Florence,” Rumore said, “but there’s been large-scale movement from two major groups in the last week or so, all moving north. And I doubt they’re heading there for a taste of Mama’s pasta with artichokes.”

“What do you think they’re after?”

“Criminals are all the same and all want the same, whether trolling the art world or selling nickel bags on street corners,” Rumore said. “The only difference between the two is a diploma and various degrees of sophistication. If they end up with other people’s money in their pockets, they have fulfilled their mission. And it doesn’t matter to them how many have to die for that to happen. It all boils down to cashing in on the score.”

“I can tell already you’re going to be a fun time,”

Anna said. “You have no idea,” Rumore said.

He waited as the elevator door slid open, watched Anna walk in and then followed, pressing hard on the button for the main floor. “Okay if I
ask you one more question?” she asked, the cable wires squeaking loud enough to cause alarm.

Rumore nodded as he breezed through the messages on his BlackBerry. “Do it quick,” he said, “before the elevator cords snap.”

“Is any of this personal?” she asked. “I mean, the action that may be going on in Florence?”

Rumore put away his BlackBerry and waited as the elevator door to the main floor opened. He held it in place for Anna and glanced at her as she moved past him. “It’s
all
personal,” he said, “no matter the city, no matter the crime. It’s
all
personal.”

CHAPTER
27

FLORENCE