Midnight Angels (5 page)

By the summer of 1985 the pieces of the elaborate puzzle were in place. The Immortals opened their doors to the business of dealing in illicit art. And in that year, David, the quiet boy from a Detroit suburb who grew up to be an art history prodigy, ceased to exist.

He was now and would for the rest of his years be known as the Raven.

ROBERTO KEPT HIS EYES
on the rows of cash in the briefcase, took a deep breath and nodded. “What do you need me to do?” he asked.

The Raven smiled, slid his hands into his pants pockets and walked toward the door leading out the rear of the shuttered restaurant. “For the time being, don’t leave the city,” he said, without turning to face the thief. “You will, at some point soon, be contacted by one of my associates. Follow his instructions from that moment on.”

“I wouldn’t worry,” Roberto said. “I always hold up my end of the deal.”

The Raven turned back. “I never worry about people like you,” he said. “If you fail me or you betray me, someone will replace you that very day.”

He turned, flipped the latch on an old wooden door, swung it open and stepped out into the darkness of the Florentine night.

CHAPTER
5

K
ATE WESTCOTT WOULD ALWAYS REMEMBER THE MOMENT
.

She sat in a corner of a crowded gym, her T-shirt drenched, her brown hair clinging to her face, fresh from an hour-long treadmill workout. She held a thin envelope in her hands and stared at the stenciled Italian writing on the front. The letter had arrived in her office mailbox two days before, and she had yet to muster the courage to open it. She had been fretting over its arrival for weeks, as nervous on this late afternoon as she was three months earlier, when she dropped off the thick FedEx package filled with all the information her Michelangelo Fellowship required. She felt her odds were favorable. She had the proper academic credentials. She had completed a wide variety of high-level internships, starting as far back as junior high school. She spoke three foreign languages, including Italian. She had glowing letters of recommendation from some of the most prominent scholars in the field. And she was now halfway through her second year as an adjunct art history professor at a northeastern liberal arts college, giving her the type of work experience that helped round out a high-tier academic résumé. Still, she knew there were only six Michelangelo scholar positions open each year, and 1,200 equally qualified candidates from the United States alone had submitted their applications.

“It’s not going to open by itself,” a man said.

Kate turned her head, crumpling the letter as she did, and looked up at Sandy Walker, a first-year English professor she had befriended and helped as he navigated the school’s bureaucracy. Sandy was tall, rail thin, with a thick head of curly blond hair that always seemed windblown. He
was a decent teacher, but lacked both the passion for his chosen profession and the ambition to go further in the field. At twenty-five, he was already a man set in his ways, counting down the hours to the final bell, when he would be free to pursue the leisure activities that seemed to occupy the bulk of his time.

“It would make it so much easier if it could,” Kate said.

“C’mon,” he said, “crack it open, read the good news and then we can go out and celebrate. We’ll hit Alfie’s for fresh clams and as many beers as they can pour. My treat.”

“Why don’t you go ahead,” she said, “and maybe I’ll meet up with you later, good news or bad.”

“The fellowship’s a slam dunk for you, Kate,” Sandy said. “You earned it. But you also need to allow yourself to enjoy it. And I don’t know if you can get it together enough to let that happen.”

“And getting drunk in a clam bar would prove you wrong?”

“It would be a start,” he said. “And you wouldn’t be getting drunk alone. I’ll be with you every step of the way. Scout’s honor.”

“I had something else in mind,” Kate said.

“Care to share it?”

“I’d rather not,” she said.

“I’m at a loss here, Kate,” Sandy said. “I’ve tried my best to get close to you, but I’m starting to feel as if that’s something you would prefer I not do. I’m just looking to be your friend, nothing more.”

“I don’t make friends easily,” Kate said.

“So I’ve noticed,” he said.

“Maybe I expect too much,” she said.

“Or maybe you give too much of your time to the past,” Sandy said, “and not enough to the present.”

“I trust what I know,” Kate said. “And I’m not alone in thinking that.”

“I’m sure there is a guy out there somewhere who feels the same way,” Sandy said. “I’m just not that guy.”

“I’ll have dinner with you Saturday,” Kate said, standing and facing him. “But there’s something I need to do first, and if you are really a friend you won’t ask to know any more than what I’ve just told you. Agreed?”

“Do I have a choice?”

“No,” Kate said.

“Then it’s a date,” Sandy said, managing a weak smile. “But drinks and dinner are on me and I won’t take no for an answer.”

“Want to bet?” Kate asked. She turned and walked out of the gym, her head down, the letter still clutched in her right hand.

KATE STOOD NEXT
to Professor Edwards, the sand at their feet soft from the rush of the ocean waves. She held two fresh batches of flowers in her arms and stared out at the angry waters, roiling and slapping hard against the turf. It was the middle of the night in the middle of the week, and the Atlantic Ocean seemed to be in no mood for company. Professor Edwards lifted the collar of his sweater against the sharp chill and took in a deep breath of air tinged with the flavor of salt.

“How do you always remember the exact spot?” Kate asked him. “You could have been standing anywhere on this beach, it’s changed so much over the years.”

“How could I
not?
” Edwards said. “Disposing of your parent’s ashes was the hardest thing I’ve ever done.”

“I miss them so much,” Kate said. “I envy you the time you were allowed to spend with them. You got to know them in ways I never could. You were probably more of a child to them than I was. I hope that doesn’t sound harsh, because I don’t mean it in that way.”

“I know you don’t,” Edwards said. “But believe me, I never saw them happier than when they held you in their arms. They were lucky in so many ways. They were passionate about their work, each other, their child. It’s a rare gift they were given, even if it was for too short a time.”

“I’ve had a fantastic life so far, so I don’t want anything I say to sound like it hasn’t been,” Kate said. “And much of that is due to you, to the things you taught me and the love you showed. I was too young back then to be aware of how much you were giving up to raise me. To know what a sacrifice it must have been. But I’m not too young to know that now.”

Edwards stared out at the ocean, the spray of the waves coating his face and arms. “I didn’t give up anything, Kate,” he said in a low voice. “I’ve been the one to benefit from our years together. Never doubt that for a moment.”

“It took me a week to open the letter, I was so nervous,” she said. “Not just for all that it meant for me, but for you and for them as well.”

“The notion of you
not
getting it never even entered my thinking,” he said. “I even got you your plane ticket
before
the letter went out.”

“What made you so sure?”

“Well, for one, I know how gifted you are,” he said. “For another, I called the University and spoke to the fellowship director myself.”

“You called?”

“Oh, I hate surprises,” Edwards said with a shrug. “Which shouldn’t come as a surprise to you. And if you by some fluke were not getting the fellowship, I wanted some time to help brace you for the disappointment.”

“My understanding was that they weren’t allowed to give out any information regarding the program,” Kate said. “I thought they couldn’t even discuss it outside of private chambers.”

“They can’t,” Edwards said, “which is why I never asked about the fellowship.”

“What did you talk about?”

“Apartments, mostly,” he said. “Length of lease. That was very important, as far as I was concerned. I was just curious if, in his opinion, the director thought a one-year lease was a better way to go than a short-term one.”

“Follow all the rules but do so in as flexible a way as possible,” Kate said. “I’m pretty sure that’s one right out of your playbook.”

“It was one of theirs, really,” Edwards said, his eyes still focused on the crashing waves. “If I abide by any rules, they are the ones your parents taught me. And the ones I’ve done my best to teach to you.”

“I haven’t been able to sleep much since I applied for the fellowship,” she said. “I can only imagine how happy they would be right now if they were standing here with us.”

“This time for you in Florence is a turning point, Kate,” he said. “It will allow you to take your work to an entirely new level. I’m not just being complimentary when I brag to friends about your abilities. You’re very talented. And now we’ll see those talents put to their proper use.”

“I was just hoping to barhop and take in the sights,” Kate said, smiling. “And maybe even latch onto one of those cute Italian guys whose only goal will be to break my heart.”

“Then we’re both on the same page,” Edwards said, quick to return the smile. “Just remember, cute Italian guys are often joined at the hip by stern Italian mothers who are not quick to warm to the notion of their
sons being swept away by beautiful young women. Or any women, for that matter.”

“Does your cliché about Italian mothers hold true when it comes to their daughters as well?” she asked.

“Just as much,” Edwards said.

“So your affair didn’t work out?”

“We didn’t allow ourselves the chance to work it out,” he said. “It was no one’s fault, really. There are dozens of reasons why love affairs come skidding to a halt, and they all seem important as they happen. But as the years pass, you realize how foolish those reasons were.”

“Have you kept in touch with her?”

“Not initially,” he said. “It’s a series of stages. First you want to be with her every single moment of every single day. Then, after the breakup, you decide a cooling off period would be best, and before you know it fifteen years have gone by. And then, one day, with no particular motive, you pick up a phone and there’s a voice on the other end that still brings a smile to your face and, if you’re at all lucky, a friendship begins to develop.”

“Still, none of it could have been easy,” Kate said. “I’m the same age you were when my parents died. But instead of being allowed to go off on your own adventures, you were burdened with a four-year-old. You deserved an entirely different life.”

“I haven’t missed out on one single thing,” Edwards said. “And if I have regrets, it’s for the times when my work forced me to be away from you and our home. You were alone a lot more than you should have been. It’s one reason I made sure you were kept plenty busy, hoping that all those activities in some way would help ward off any bouts of loneliness.”

“Do you miss not having a family of your own?”

“You are my family,” Edwards said, “as were your parents, and that makes me one very lucky man. And now here we are, the four of us, together again.”

Kate bent down, her knees resting on the wet sand, and laid the flowers atop a wave. She watched as the foamy water pulled back, dragging the bouquets in its wake. She stood, moved closer to the professor and rested her head on his shoulder. “I’d say the four of us make a pretty formidable family, don’t you think?”

He put an arm around her and the two turned away from the waves and began a slow walk back. “You have no idea,” he said.

CHAPTER
6

K
ATE AND MARCO WALKED ON THE SOUTH SIDE OF VIA GHIBELLINA
heading for number 70, the address of Casa Buonarroti. The residence had originally been three houses which were bought by the sculptor in 1508 and used primarily as rental properties. Upon his death, Michelangelo willed the homes to his nephew, Leonardo, who in turn opened a gallery in the home in 1612 to serve as a memorial to his great-uncle.

“This is the
last
street we should be on,” Marco said, speaking in hushed tones even though the street was nearly deserted. “And that is the
last
house we should be walking toward.”

“We’ve been followed and chased for the last five days,” Kate said. “I think we both know what they want. What neither of us knows is who they are. Aren’t you the least bit curious?”

“Not at all,” Marco said. “And if we give them what they want, then maybe we’ll never need to know who they are.”

“Is that why you told your friends what it was that we found?” she asked. It came out sounding like an accusation, which wasn’t what Kate had intended, but which also didn’t seem wrong to her.

“No,” Marco said, stung by the tone of her words. “I would never betray you. It wasn’t anything at all like what you’re thinking.”

“But you did betray me,” she said. “I asked you not to tell anyone. I made you promise not to tell anyone. And then, not even two days later, we’re being chased through the streets like fugitives. I need to know who they are, and I can’t find that out if I spend my time hiding. It would be a big help if I knew who it was you told and why.”

They were standing now across the street from the wooden front doors leading into Casa Buonarroti.

“We still have an hour until they open,” he said. “Maybe that will be enough time for me to explain.”

“The truth shouldn’t take that long,” Kate said.

Marco took a deep breath and gazed up and down both sides of the quiet street. “This is one of the few times I wished I smoked.”