“That’s because you have no brain cells left.”
Chiara walked over to Gabriel’s worktable. The three sketches lay side by side, arranged in order of execution. She reached for the unmarked manila envelope instead.
“I wouldn’t, if I were you.”
“What’s inside?”
“Three X-rays and a photograph you don’t want to see.”
Chiara removed only the frontal X-ray and placed it next to the sketches. “With all due respect,” she said after a moment, “I don’t see the resemblance.”
“You’re obviously not looking at it the right way.”
“It could be anyone.”
“It isn’t.”
By eight o’clock the streets and squares of San Polo were awash with the floodwaters of a minoracqua alta. Clad in oilskin coats and rubber boots, Gabriel and Chiara escorted the children to school, then waded over to the Campo dei Frari. As they walked through the door of Bar Dogale, Paolo automatically placed two cappuccinos on the counter along with a basket of warmcornetti. Gabriel reciprocated by handing the barman histelefonino.
“Do you recognize her?”
“Should I?”
“She was here about two and a half weeks ago. It was a Monday afternoon. You waited on her.”
“If you say so, Signore Allon.”
Gabriel glanced at the security camera above the bar. “Does that thing work?”
“When it feels like it.”
“What about the camera outside?”
Paolo shrugged. “Sometimes.”
“Can we check the memory?”
“Is it important?”
“It might be.”
The barman led Gabriel and Chiara through a cluttered storage room to an office the size of a closet. Gabriel recited the exact time and date that he had seen the young woman, and Paolo entered the information into the computer. The shot from the interior camera appeared instantly on the screen.
“We were sitting outside,” said Gabriel.
Paolo clicked the mouse once, and the shot changed to the exteriorview. The arrangement of the figures was as Gabriel remembered. He was seated, as usual, with his back to the front of the café. Irene was seated to his left, and Raphael was directly opposite. The young woman occupied the table to Gabriel’s right. She, too, was facing thecampo, which meant that her back was turned to the camera.
“Can you rewind it ten minutes, please?”
Paolo did as Gabriel asked, then set the scene into motion. Both tables were now unoccupied. Three minutes went by before the first of the four figures entered the shot.
“Pause it, please.”
The mouse clicked, the image froze.
“Dear God,” whispered Chiara.
Gabriel held his phone next to the computer screen. The resemblance between the subject of his sketch and the woman in the surveillance video was uncanny.
