The Fallen Angel by Daniel Silva Read Free Book Online

feet and came slowly toward him through the half-light.
    â€œWhere did you get those?” she asked, nodding toward the keys in Gabriel’s hand.
    â€œThey were found in Claudia’s desk,” he said as the knife of guilt twisted slowly within his chest.
    â€œWas anything else found?”
    â€œSuch as?”
    â€œA suicide note?”
    Gabriel could scarcely believe she hadn’t said my suicide note. “I’m afraid you’ll have to ask the Vatican police about that,” he said.
    â€œI intend to.” She took a step closer. “I’m Paola Andreatti,” she said, extending her hand. When Gabriel hesitated to grasp it, her eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “So it’s true, after all.”
    â€œWhat’s that?”
    â€œMy sister told me that you were the one who was restoring the Caravaggio, Mr. Allon. I have to admit I’m rather surprised to see you here now.”
    Gabriel grasped the outstretched hand and found it warm and damp to the touch.
    â€œForgive me,” she said, “but I was doing the dishes before you arrived. I’m afraid my sister left quite a mess.”
    â€œWhat do you mean?”
    â€œEverything in the apartment was slightly out of place,” she said, looking around. “I’ve tried to restore some semblance of order.”
    â€œWhen did you speak to her last?”
    â€œA week ago Wednesday.” The answer came without hesitation. “She sounded busy but entirely normal, not at all like someone who was about to . . .”
    She stopped herself and looked at Chiara. “Your assistant?” she asked.
    â€œShe has the great misfortune of being married to me.”
    Paola Andreatti smiled sadly. “I’m tempted to say you’re a lucky man, Mr. Allon, but I’ve read enough about your past to know that’s not exactly the case.”
    â€œYou shouldn’t believe everything you read in the newspapers.”
    â€œI don’t.”
    She studied Gabriel carefully for a moment. Her eyes were identical to the ones he had seen earlier that morning staring lifelessly into the dome of the Basilica. It was like being scrutinized by a ghost.
    â€œPerhaps we should begin this conversation again,” she said finally. “But this time, don’t lie to me, Mr. Allon. I just lost my sister and my closest friend in the world. And there’s no way the Vatican would send a man like you to collect a few stray files.”
    â€œI won’t lie to you.”
    â€œThen please tell me why you’re here.”
    â€œFor the same reason you are.”
    â€œI’m trying to find out why my sister is dead.”
    â€œSo am I.”
    The ghost seemed relieved she was no longer alone. She stood her ground for another moment as if guarding the passageway to her secrets. Then she stepped to one side and invited Gabriel and Chiara to enter.
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    The sitting room was a place of academic disarray, of shelves sagging beneath the weight of countless books, of end tables piled high with dog-eared files and hulking monographs. It had an air of urgency, as though its occupant had been in pursuit of something and had been struggling to meet a deadline. Paola Andreatti was right about one thing; everything in the apartment looked slightly askew, as though it had been moved and hastily put back into place. Gabriel walked over to the cluttered writing desk and switched on the lamp. Then he crouched and examined the surface of the desk in the raked lighting. In the center was a perfect rectangle, about ten inches by fifteen inches, where no dust was present. He picked up a half-drunk cup of coffee and carried it into the kitchen, where Chiara and Paola Andreatti stood before the sink finishing the last of the dishes. Neither woman spoke as he placed the cup on the counter and sat at the tiny café-style table.
    â€œWas your sister a believer?” he asked.
    â€œShe was a devout Catholic.