Chiara played devil’s advocate. “It still doesn’t prove—”
“I agree,” replied Gabriel, cutting her off. Then he asked Paolo to advance the recording to 3:45 p.m. Gabriel and the children had left by then, but the woman remained at her table until four fifteen, when she laid a few coins atop the bill and departed. Paolo appeared a moment later to collect the empty coffee cup and the money.
“Now do you remember her?” asked Gabriel.
“Vaguely.”
“Did she say anything to you?”
“She bade me a pleasant day and asked for a cappuccino.”
“In Italian?”
Paolo nodded.
“What was her accent like?”
“It might have been British.”
At Gabriel’s request, Paolo increased the playback speed of thevideo. Four customers hurried out of the café like characters in a silent movie, then three more arrived. One was a tall woman with short dark hair. She wore white Capri-length trousers, flat-soled shoes, and a dark blue cotton blazer. Her handbag and single piece of carry-on luggage were matching and costly. Her sunglasses were large and fashionable. She removed them before lowering herself into the same chair where Gabriel had been sitting earlier. Paolo took the woman’s order and delivered it in record time.
“British?” asked Gabriel.
“Definitely.”
“It looks to me as though she came directly from the airport.”
“She said she was meeting someone.”
“Did anyone join her?”
“I don’t think so. But we should probably watch the video, just to be sure.”
They reviewed it at the maximum playback speed. Paolo’s recollection proved accurate.
“Back it up to four twenty-eight,” said Gabriel. “And play it at the normal speed.”
Paolo did as Gabriel asked, and they watched as the woman approached Bar Dogale, towing her carry-on luggage over the paving stones of thecampo. At the instant she removed her sunglasses, Gabriel said, “Pause it, please.”
The mouse clicked, the image froze.
Gabriel looked at Chiara and asked, “Do you recognize her?”
“Should I?”
Gabriel found a photograph of the woman online. Then he enlarged the image and held his phone next to the computer screen. “How about now?”
“Impossible,” whispered Chiara.
“Unlikely,” said Gabriel. “But not impossible.”
***
Admittedly Gabriel should have phoned Luca Rossetti and Colonel Baggio and told them of his suspicions. Instead he tossed a change of clothing into an overnight bag and headed for the airport. As luck would have it, there was a business-class seat available on the eleven o’clock British Airways flight to London. He waited until he had cleared passport control at Heathrow before ringing Amelia March ofARTnewsmagazine. His call went straight to voicemail. He left a brief message, and she called him back straightaway.
“When and where?” she asked.
“You tell me.”
