Clare was now sleeping in her playpen and Julianne had collapsed on the king-sized bed. It was after five o’clock in the morning in Boston, and just before noon in Zurich, Nicholas’s home.
Gabriel continued. “I’ve already spoken with the man you recommended for surveillance. He’s in the Alps, watching the Talbot family ski. There haven’t been any clandestine meetings or suspicious behavior.”
“What was Kurt’s assessment?”
“He thinks the home invasion has nothing to do with Simon Talbot. But he offered to make contact.”
“I’d trust his instincts. It may be a good idea for him to have a word. He can be very persuasive.”
“I’ll follow up with Kurt today.”
“What you’ve described sounds like the work of a professional art thief.”
“Yes, but what professional breaks into a house that’s occupied?” Gabriel’s words left his mouth too late. He closed his eyes. “My friend, I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”
Nicholas changed the subject. “The intruder handled every piece of art in your house, but ignored jewelry and cash. So he isn’t an opportunist. I’m puzzled he didn’t take anything. Perhaps he’s planning to return.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of.”
“Or he didn’t find what he was looking for.”
That gave Gabriel pause. “The most valuable pieces I own are in the Uffizi, as we speak.”
“Yes, I know,” said Nicholas. “The exhibition, with your name attached, has drawn international attention. Someone may have been inspired to visit your home and inspect your personal collection.
“Professional art thieves usually target specific works, for specific buyers. The thief knows you own the Botticelli illustrations, and he surmises you have other valuable pieces in your possession. He takes an inventory so he can approach a collector.”
“You think he will return?”
“If he found something he can sell. He may be from Italy, or speaking the language may have been a calculated move to point you toward Italy. But it doesn’t matter. When it comes to artwork, the black market is international.”
Gabriel rubbed his forehead. “What’s your recommendation?”
“Would you be willing to share your inventory? I may be able to discern what the thief is interested in.”
“Certainly.”
“I think you and Julianne should work with an artist to produce a drawing of the intruder. I have a contact at Interpol. They may recognize him.”
“We’ll take care of that.” Gabriel opened his laptop bag and withdrew a ball of tissue. “There is one other thing. I believe the thief left a calling card.”
“What kind of calling card?”
“It looks like a Renaissance memento mori. It’s a small carving of a skull on one side and a face on the other. It may be genuine, I don’t know.”
“Can you send a photo?”
“Of course.” Gabriel quickly snapped a picture with his phone and texted it to Nicholas. “I found it in my bedroom, after the break-in.”
Nicholas hummed as he examined the photo. “Why didn’t you give it to the police?”
“Because I didn’t want it tagged, bagged, and placed in an evidence room. It’s more useful if it can be authenticated and traced.”
“I can recommend someone from my family’s museum in Cologny. But you’d be better off approaching Dottor Vitali at the Uffizi. He may be able to trace the provenance for you.”
“Italy, once again,” Gabriel muttered.
“I have to say, the calling card changes my assessment.”
“In what way?”
“It makes the invasion appear personal. If the memento mori was left intentionally, it could be a warning. A death threat. Is there anyone, besides the ex-boyfriend, who would want to harm you?”
“No,” Gabriel answered quickly. “No one.”
“You haven’t offended someone with powerful connections? Someone in the art world?”
“No. I’m a professor. I live the life of an academic. The only people I offend are those who are ignorant of Dante.”
“But that has to be a small group and, as you know, academics rarely if ever hire professionals to break into houses and examine artwork. My advice is to upgrade your security system. I will call the team that worked on my parents’ house and ask them to visit you in America, as a personal favor.”
Whatever his suspicions about Nicholas Cassirer’s connections, Gabriel wasn’t about to turn down such a generous offer.
“Thank you.” Gabriel accepted quickly. “It’s close to Christmas. When do you think they will be available?”
“I’ll have them on a plane tonight.”
“I appreciate it.” Gabriel found his voice unusually gruff. “If there’s anything I can do, just ask.”
“I’m sorry this happened. I’ll call my contact at the security company now. He’ll be in touch.”
“Thank you.”
“And, Gabriel? I’d recommend sending your memento mori to the Uffizi as soon as possible. It may be the clue you’re looking for.”
“I will. Thank you.” Gabriel disconnected and exited the bathroom.
He sat in an armchair and tapped his cell phone against his chin, thinking.
Nicholas had given him much to ponder, particularly the possibility that there was a connection between the break-in and the exhibit at the Uffizi.
Again, Gabriel was puzzled that the intruder hadn’t taken anything. Almost all the artwork was on the ground floor, which meant the thief could have broken in, retrieved several pieces, and departed without alerting anyone of his presence.
The thief must have been looking for something—either something specific or making an inventory of the household. If it was something specific, he probably hadn’t found it, or else he would have taken it. If he was taking an inventory, he intended to return.
If the intruder had broken into the house simply to terrorize them, he’d have done so. As it was, he’d used little violence, no weapons beyond his fists, and had left Julianne and Clare untouched. However, the memento mori could be interpreted as a threat. And it was a threat directed at him, since the piece was left on his side of the bed.
Gabriel wondered whether the intruder’s rules of engagement were self-imposed, or imposed by someone who had sent him.