“Nothing terribly pressing, Holiness.”
“Good,” he said, clapping Bertoli on the shoulder. “Because I have something that I think you’re going to find very interesting.”
45
Casa Santa Marta
Cardinal Bertoli gazed silently at the object in the padded box as though he were a mourner paying his final respects to a distant relative. Father Keegan, seemingly oblivious to the cardinal’s reverie, was reviewing the schedule for the next day’s trip to Lampedusa and Palermo. His Holiness, a cigarette burning between the first two fingers of his right hand, was skimming his daily news digest. For once, it contained nothing salacious about the Vatican. The favorable press coverage, he reckoned, would likely end soon enough.
Bertoli raised a hand to his mouth and coughed gently. “And where, exactly, did the Art Squad find it, Holiness?”
Donati was slow in looking up from the news digest. “Find what, Eminence?”
Bertoli inclined his head toward the portrait of the young woman. With his angular face, aquiline nose, and hooded eyes, he looked like a figure from an El Greco painting. His gold pectoral cross dwarfed the simple cross of silver worn by Donati.
“I’m afraid, Eminence, that General Ferrari declined to answer that question.”
“May I ask why?”
“Apparently only one of the suspects is in custody. The Art Squad is still trying to identify any accomplices.”
“But the Art Squad has no jurisdiction in this matter. Not if the painting was really stolen from the Pinacoteca.”
Donati crushed out his cigarette. “You have reason to doubt that, Cardinal Bertoli?”
“No theft was ever reported.”
“Which means the thief undoubtedly had help from someone on the inside.”
The El Greco face adopted a pained expression.
“Shocking, I know.”
“May I point out something else, Holiness?”
“Please,” said Donati amiably.
“I’m quite familiar with the paintings in the Pinacoteca’s inventory.”
“So I’ve been told.”
“And I am almost certain,” Bertoli continued, “that I have never seen this painting in our storerooms.”
“But that’s the fascinating part of the story, Eminence. You see, it was hidden beneath another painting, a rather pedestrian Madonna and Child by an imitator of Raphael.”
“With all due respect, Holiness, there is no such thing as a pedestrian Madonna and Child.”
“Would you like to hear the rest of the story, Cardinal?”
“Forgive me, Holiness.”
“A number of art historians have examined the painting.”
“And?”
“They have concluded that it might well be a lost work by Leonardo.”
“Astonishing,” breathed the cardinal.
