Page 39 of Chasing Caine

Mario said, “We did.”

Another officer took photographs with a large camera, an over-sized light attached to the top.

“My notes don’t indicate what colors were taken.”

Mario looked at Antonio and me. “Colors?”

“Do the stolen pigments match the stolen piece of the wall?” De Rosa focused on his notebook, jotting down information. “Is it possible the events are linked? Maybe the thief enjoys the yellow color of the flower petals?”

The twelve-year-old vanished, his eyes sharpening. That was an excellent question. Two thefts from areas which should have been limited to Park staff. Mario had spoken to almost everyone about the wall segment, but this would change the questions.

Why wouldn’t Bianca have told me about the pigments when we spoke earlier? Was I wrong about her fidgeting? Was it actually guilt instead of nerves around Antonio? She’d been working at the Park for years, had access to the computer systems, would have known when people would be in the Casa, and was ‘off sick’ for two days after the theft.

Or was she hiding it for Antonio? Since he seemed to be hiding it from me. Although, Mario didn’t seem to realize Antonio was keeping secrets, and it was unlikely Bianca was in on something Mario wasn’t.

De Rosa continued, “I know the one recovered in Rome Saturday morning was blue, but what colors were the other two?”

Recovered? More things Antonio didn’t tell me. “Did you catch someone with it?”

“You’ll have to speak with the laboratory staff about that,” said Antonio. There it was again. The irritation and impatience. He hadn’t cut me off, but put up a barrier between my question and the officer’s potential answer.

He hadn’t once brushed me off like that while I was investigating the Chagall—even though he’d kept the truth from me the entire time—or the stolen painting at the auction. He’d seemed impressed. Told me he was proud of me.

But now?

Despite his frustration at my wanting to be seen as something more than ‘Dr. Ferraro’s girlfriend,’ he seemed to understand this was important to me. So what was with his attitude?

“We’re going to speak with Bianca before going to the museum,” I said. Antonio and I had a week left together. Plenty of time for touring, romancing, and following a few obvious leads, even if an official investigation was also in progress.

Antonio exhaled slowly and smiled at me, tight-lipped. “Of course.”

“And your name was…” De Rosa flipped pages in his small notebook while the other carabiniere scrolled through photos on the camera. “Dr. Antonio… Ferraro?”

“Sì, I’m in charge of the conservation project which will start here soon.”

“Ferraro…” De Rosa inserted a finger to bookmark the page with our names and flipped to a fresh sheet. “You were the last one to see it here?”

Antonio frowned. “No, someone from the lab took photos on Saturday morning. I was here Friday, then Sunday when we noticed the fresco was missing.”

The carabiniere nodded thoughtfully, making a few more notes. “Who took the photos?”

Mario said, “I don’t know.”

“I was asking Dr. Ferraro.” De Rosa smiled pointedly at Mario. “It’s his project, after all. He should know everything going on here, shouldn’t he?”

“The project has not started yet.” Mario’s jaw clenched, a look I’d seen from Antonio several times before. “And no, he won’t be keeping track of everyone who comes in and out of this space, especially considering there’s no security to the north of the building. Just fields.”

De Rosa’s features seemed to age another few years as he said to Antonio, “Your accent is Roman. I was stationed in Rome before I transferred here. It occurred to me after we spoke on Saturday that I know a few Ferraros.”

Antonio’s face darkened. People recognizing his family should have made him happy or proud, shouldn’t it? “My father’s brother, Andrea, runs the Ferraro Fine Art Restoration and Conservation studio in Roma.”

De Rosa nodded thoughtfully. “Yes, I’m familiar with the company.”

That was practically the same thing Nathan had said to Antonio, the first night my big brother stand-in almost got into a fight with him. ‘Familiar with your family’ had been Nathan’s line. Then he’d implied a connection between Antonio’s family and some sort of illegal activities. But he was making wild leaps with that information. Wasn’t he?

“I didn’t ask you the other day… How long have you been in the country, Dr. Ferraro?” The carabiniere’s tone was casual, but the questions were coming faster and faster. The note-taking looked more like an act than actual notes.

“I arrived last Tuesday.”