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“When was he born?” asked Gabriel quietly.
“Fifteen sixty-three.”
“What was his name?”
“Orazio Lomi.”
“What sort of work did his father do?”
“He was a Florentine goldsmith.”
“Who was Gentileschi?”
“An uncle he lived with when he moved to Rome.”
“Where did he paintDanaë and the Shower of Gold?”
“Probably in Genoa.”
“Where did I paint my version?”
“None of your fucking business.”
Capitano Luca Rossetti left the coffeehouse at 3:27 p.m. and crossed to the opposite side of the elegant tree-lined boulevard. Gabriel tensed as the young Carabinieri officer reached his right hand toward the intercom of Galerie Konrad Hassler. Fifteen seconds elapsed, long enough for the dealer to have a good long look at his visitor. Then Rossetti leaned on the glass door and disappeared from view.
Five minutes later Gabriel’s phone shivered with an incoming call. It was General Ferrari.
“Nothing exploded, did it?”
“Not yet.”
“Let me know the minute he walks out of there,” said the general, and rang off.
Gabriel returned the phone to the tabletop and directed his gaze toward the gallery. By now the introductions had been made and the two men had withdrawn to the dealer’s office for a bit of privacy. A photograph had been placed on his desk. Perhaps two. When viewed together, the images made it clear that a talented new forger hadstepped onto the stage of the illicit art market. Which was exactly the message that Gabriel wished to send.
Just then his phone pulsed with another call. “What’s going on in there?” asked General Ferrari.
“Hold on, I’ll run across the road and check.”
This time it was Gabriel who killed the connection. Two minutes later the door of the gallery opened, and out stepped Rossetti, followed by a well-dressed man with iron-gray hair and a crimson face. A few final words were exchanged, and fingers were pointed in anger. Then Rossetti ducked into a taxi and was gone, leaving the crimson-faced man alone on the pavement. He looked left and right along the boulevard before returning to the gallery.
Message delivered, thought Gabriel.
He dialed Rossetti’s number.
“Looks as though you two really hit it off.”
“It went exactly the way you said it would.”
“Where’s the photograph?”
“It’s possible that in my rush to get out of the gallery I might have left it on his desk.”
“How long before he sends it to our girl?”
“Not long,” said Rossetti.
