“Would it help if you were?”
“I think so.”
“I’ll look into finding a doctor who can write you a prescription. In the meantime, I want you to remember that I left before. You were safe, and I came back. The same thing will happen tomorrow.”
“I know you’re right, but after seeing that man in Florence. I couldn’t go through it again, Knox. I swear it would kill me even if the kidnappers didn’t.”
“It isn’t going to happen again, Tara. Please try to trust that I won’t allow it.”
She nodded and rested her cheek against my heart. I waited for her to fall asleep before I allowed myself to drift off. At least, I hoped she was asleep.
When I arrived at the AISE field office the next day, Agent Casavetti told me additional victims had come forward to say the artwork they’d purchased via Richard Emsworth were verified to be forgeries.
“There are more victims of these crimes who will not come forward,” he warned.
“You say that as though you k
now who some of them are.”
Matteo opened a laptop and stood to turn off the lights in the room when a digital slideshow appeared on a screen on the other side of the room.
“The two Van Gogh pieces you see on the screen were discovered at a known member of the ’Ndrangheta crime syndicate’s home. They were stolen over a decade ago.” I had to admit that while I wasn’t an art aficionado, I was certainly aware of the artist and his work. These were two paintings I’d never seen before.
The next image that came on the screen was of thirteen different images. “The heist in which all of this artwork was stolen occurred over thirty years ago. One of the works was recently discovered when a construction crew began excavating a building known to be owned by a ’Ndrangheta boss.”
“Where are you going with this, Agent Casavetti?”
“It seems there is a secret tradition of art theft among the crime families that goes back to the early twentieth century. As you know, Italy is the greatest artistic treasure house in Europe. Even the most hardened of criminal hearts can’t help knowing the value of the art that surrounds us every day—even in the streets of our cities.”
He was taking a long time to get to the point, but I saw where he was going.
“We have reason to believe the ’Ndrangheta is using stolen art as collateral or even currency in drug deals. Possession of artistic masterpieces is considered tremendous wealth. While it obviously cannot be sold through legal means, that is true of most everything that changes hands through the black market.”
“Emsworth sold forged paintings to members of the ’Ndrangheta?”
“That is our belief, yes.”
“Do you think he’s still alive?”
“Most definitely.”
“Tell me why, Matteo.”
“Our sources believe they want the forger’s head before they take his.”
“Do your sources have any idea who the forger is?”
Casavetti nodded slowly. “They believe it is someone in his family.”
“How closely related?”
“Very.”
“Are you suggesting Emsworth’s daughter is the forger?” The idea of it was ludicrous.
“Not necessarily.”
I wondered how AISE solved a single crime. My experience was they were masters of innuendo in settings that called for the straightforward exchange of information.