What about your family? Are they all right?” Nicholas Cassirer sounded horrified.
“Julianne is shaken, but they’re fine.” Gabriel carefully closed the door of the bathroom in their hotel suite, so as not to disturb them.
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.”