Murder at the National Gallery by Margaret Truman Page A

more readily to his ideas than the others. Besides, the government had little control over the Gallery’s daily activities. Its funds were mandated by Congress—changes of administration meant virtually nothing where money was concerned. Of course, there was always the push by a new administration for patronage jobs, all of which were summarily rejected.
    Still, it was nice to have a White House like the Jeppsen-Aprile version demonstrating a particular interest in art. No sense turning one’s back on it. The executive branch might not exactly feed the Gallery, but there was nothing to be gained, and perhaps much to be lost, by biting its hand.
    The trustees placed no stumbling blocks in what had become, by that time, Whitney’s shared enthusiasm for bringing
Grottesca
to the National Gallery. There were the expected questions about the unusual circumstances of the painting’s discovery by Luther Mason, and the manner in which it would leave Italy for its brief residency in Washington. But Whitney urged that Luther, as a foremost Caravaggio expert, be given a free hand. Once the work was securely in the Gallery, he assured them, he, Courtney Whitney III, would take personal charge.
    He asked the trustees for public silence until he made the official announcement at the first of two dinners and ended the meeting with a final comment about the unusual conditions of bringing the masterpiece to Washington: “Unorthodox, perhaps, ladies and gentlemen, but no more so than the artist himself.”
    The following morning, he chaired a series of meetings, including one at which Annabel Reed-Smith represented the White House Arts Council. By that time there had been discreetcommunications between Mrs. Aprile and the council, the National Gallery, and Italy’s Ministry of Culture confirming the details of how
Grottesca
would travel to the United States.
    The rumor that a world-class announcement would be made at the dinner had resulted in a crush of media requests to attend. The public-information office urged that a press conference be held prior to the dinner, but Mason was squarely against that idea and pressed Whitney to quash it. “So much more potent, Court, to allow the news to emerge from the dinner. The more mystery the better. Build the suspense.”
    Whitney was persuaded. Only top dogs from carefully selected news organizations were invited to the dinner, and they were asked simply to enjoy the evening—no snooping, no questions, no reporting. But press releases were prepared in advance for handing out afterward.
    The question of who would make the announcement about
Grottesca
had also been a topic for debate.
    Whitney had thought carefully about it. If
he
made the announcement—which would be expected—it might appear that he was stealing Mason’s thunder, something he was perfectly willing to do, provided it didn’t look as though he were doing it. He had asked Luther if he would prefer being the bearer of good news. “After all,” he said, “it was you who made this possible.”
    Mason didn’t hesitate. “No, Court. It’s the director’s responsibility and privilege. Thank you for offering, but you’re the appropriate person to do it.”
    Whitney checked his watch. Time to go. As he slipped into his evening jacket and checked his appearance in a mirror, down the hall Luther Mason was in the midst of a heated discussion with the defrocked priest.
    “Absolutely not,” Mason said.
    Pasquale Giocondi, who wore his “uniform” for the evening—brown habit, sandals, and a large wooden cross suspended from a leather thong—shrugged and said, “I did not realize when I agreed to do this that so much would be at stake,Signor Mason. You are asking me to take part in a crime,
si
? But for so little money. I must weigh the risk.”
    “There is no risk,” Mason said sharply. “All the risk is mine. All you have to do is say a few words about—”
    “A few lies, you mean.”
    “From what I understand,