Murder at the National Gallery by Margaret Truman

congregation. I couldn’t believe my eyes. I’ve been studying the
Grottesca
and its disappearance for years. I’ve read every bit of scholarship ever written about it and had explored all avenues in the hopes of one day finding out what actually happened to it.
    “And there it was, Court. In
front
of me, in this humble former church, presented to me—placed in my hands—by this retired priest.”
    Whitney frowned. “Is this priest that astute about art to have realized it might be an original Caravaggio?”
    “Yes. Since his retirement, Father Giocondi has pursued the study of art. He’s extremely knowledgable. It’s like Italians and opera. They practically breathe it. I was impressed with what he knew.”
    “What said to
you
, Luther, that this was, in fact, the lost
Grottesca
?”
    “Many things. Every scrap of information I’ve learned about it came into play. For instance, Caravaggio’s 1597
Bacchus
has always been considered the final painting he did in his famous series using the same young boy as a model. Remember? That, too, disappeared but was found in 1917 in a back room of the Uffizi. But my research has told me—and I say this without hesitation or reservation—that
Grottesca
was, in fact,
the
final work using that same youthful model.
    “I examined it carefully for an hour, went over every inch. There is no question that the same model was used. Court, the painting is so alive you can feel the thorns trapping the boy and beasts, hear the anguished cries. The medium appears to be walnut oil, although that can easily be determined by Donald’s lab.”
    “The
craqueleure
,” he said, referring to hundreds of minute cracks formed by the drying of the oil paints and shrinkage of the pigments, “is definitely what you would expect to find in a work this old. The paint was applied in that same sure, heavy hand that marks Caravaggio’s technique. I saw no sign of sketches beneath.” Caravaggio was known to avoid using preliminary sketches, attacking his work directly with his paints.
    “The brushstrokes are so sure, Court. The stark realism. The harsh, single source of light It’s all so—so—so Caravaggio. Believe me, Court, it is an original Caravaggio. It
is Grottesca
!”
    “A remarkable story, Luther. Perhaps too remarkable.”
    “What do you mean?”
    “Finding two lost Caravaggio masterpieces in one decade is just—well, too much to accept.”
    “
The Taking of Christ?
An important find, yes. But not of the magnitude of
Grottesca
.”
    Caravaggio’s
The Taking of Christ
, painted over four hundred years before and “lost” for most of that time, had been discovered in 1990 in the St. Ignatius Residence of Jesuit priests in Dublin, Ireland, by an Italian art restorer, Sergio Benedetti, when he was called in to clean a number of paintings hanging in the old Georgian building’s dining room. By the time it had been restored and given to Ireland’s National Gallery, its worth had been estimated at close to $40 million.
    “Perhaps,” said Whitney. “What are you suggesting?”
    “I am suggesting that we bring
Grottesca
to Washington to anchor the exhibition. A monumental coup for us. One of the world’s greatest pieces of art, lost for centuries, is now resurrected—by the National Gallery of Art.”
    “Whoa, Luther, slow down,” said Whitney, using his hand to emphasize the point. “Forgive me if I must inject the pragmatic view that it will take more than your opinion, as formidable as it might be, to authenticate its provenance.”
    “Of course,” said Luther.
    “And what makes you think the Italian government, to say nothing of the Vatican, will allow such a priceless treasure to be brought to Washington for exhibition?”
    Mason’s face said he’d been waiting for that question. His smile was smug. “It has already been arranged, Court.”
    Whitney said too loudly. “Arranged? What do you mean ‘arranged’?”
    Mason glanced about to see whether the