The Fallen Angel

steps.”
    “And we’re going to search every one.”
    “For what?”
    “When I saw Claudia last night, she was wearing a gold cross around her neck.”
    “And?”
    “It’s no longer there.”
    Gabriel mounted the first step with Donati at his heels and climbed slowly upward. His careful search of the stairwell produced nothing but a few discarded admission tickets and a crumpled flier advertising the services of a less-than-saintly enterprise involving young women from Eastern Europe. At the top of the stairs was a landing. In one direction was the roof terrace; in the other, the viewing gallery for the dome. Gabriel peered over the balustrade at the now-miniaturized figures of Vitale and Metzler, then set out slowly along the catwalk with his eyes lowered toward the timeworn marble. After a few paces, he found the cross. The clasp was intact, but the thin gold chain had been snapped.
    “It’s possible she tore it off before climbing over the balustrade,” Donati said, examining the broken chain by the light of one of the dome’s sixteen windows.
    “I suppose anything is possible. But the more likely explanation is that the chain was broken by someone else.”
    “Who?”
    “The person who killed her.” Gabriel was silent for a moment. “Her neck was snapped like a twig, Luigi. I suppose the break could have occurred on impact, but I believe it happened up here. Her killer probably didn’t notice he broke the chain of Claudia’s cross as well. He did notice the shoes, though. That’s why they were found so far apart. He probably hurled them over the barrier before making his escape.”
    “How certain are you that she was murdered?”
    “As certain as you are.” Gabriel studied Donati’s face carefully. “Something tells me you know more than you’re saying, Luigi.”
    “Guilty as charged.”
    “Is there anything you wish to confess, Monsignor?”
    “Yes,” said Donati, peering down at the floor of the Basilica. “It’s possible the person responsible for Claudia Andreatti’s death might be standing right in front of you.”
     
     
    They headed out onto the roof terrace of the Basilica to walk among the apostles and the saints. Donati’s black cassock billowed and snapped in the cold wind. In one hand, entwined around his fingers like the beads of a rosary, was Claudia’s gold necklace.
    “She was conducting . . .” Donati paused for a moment, as if searching for the appropriate word. “An investigation,” he said at last.
    “What sort of investigation?”
    “The only kind we ever do around here.”
    “A secret investigation,” said Gabriel. “Ordered by you, of course.”
    “At the behest of the Holy Father,” Donati added hastily.
    “And the nature of this investigation?”
    “As you know, there’s been a debate raging within the art world and the curatorial community over who owns antiquity. For centuries, the great empires of Europe looted the treasures of the ancient world with reckless abandon. The Rosetta Stone, the Elgin Marbles, the great temples of ancient Egypt—the list goes on and on. Now the source countries are demanding the symbols of their cultural heritage be returned. And they often turn to the police and courts for help in getting them back.”
    “You were afraid the Vatican Museums were vulnerable?”
    “We probably are.” Donati paused along the façade of the Basilica and pointed toward the Egyptian obelisk in the center of the square. “It’s one of eight here in Rome. They were built by craftsmen from an empire that no longer exists and brought here by soldiers of an empire that also no longer exists. Should we send them back to Egypt? What about the Venus de Milo or the Winged Victory of Samothrace? Would they really be better off in Athens than in the Louvre? Would more people see them?”
    “You sound like a bit of a hawk on this issue.”
    “My enemies often mistake me for a liberal who’s trying to destroy the Church. In reality, despite my Jesuit education, I am as doctrinaire as they come. I believe that great treasures of antiquity should be displayed in great museums.”
    “Why Claudia?”
    “Because she disagreed with me vehemently,” Donati replied. “I didn’t want the report to be a whitewash. I wanted the potential worst-case scenario, the unvarnished truth about the source of every piece in our possession. The Vatican’s collection is among the oldest and largest in the world. And much of it is completely