Allan Folsom - Day Of Confession

For a long moment Harry stared, saying nothing. When he did speak, he was quieter but no less adamant. 'Isn't it possible there was a mix-up at the morgue? That maybe another family has Danny's body in a sealed casket without knowing it?… It's not unreasonable to imagine.'

'Mr Addison, the remains you saw are those I identified.' The cardinal's response was sharp, even indignant. 'Presented to me by the Italian authorities.' No longer the comforter, Marsciano had suddenly become acerbic and authoritative.

'Twenty-four people were on that bus, Mr Addison. Eight survived. Fifteen of the dead were positively identified by members of their own families. That left only one…' For the briefest moment Marsciano's manner reverted, and his humanity returned. 'I, too, had hopes that a mistake had been made. That it was someone else. That perhaps Father Daniel was still away, unaware of what had happened.

'But I was confronted by fact and evidence.' Marsciano's edge returned. 'Your brother was a frequent visitor to Assisi and more than one person who knew him saw him get on the bus. The transport company was in radio contact with the driver along the way. His only stop was at a toll station. Nowhere else. Nowhere where a passenger could have gotten off prior to the explosion. And then there were his personal belongings found among the wreckage. His glasses, which I knew only too well from the many times he left them on my desk, and his Vatican identification were in the pocket of a shredded jacket still on the remains… We cannot change the truth, Mr Addison, and mole or not, and whether you want to believe it or not, the truth is he is dead… what is left of his physical being embodied in the remains you have seen…' Marsciano paused, and Harry could see his mood shift once more and something darker come into his eyes.

'You have encountered the police and Jacov Farel. So have we all… Did your brother conspire to kill Cardinal Parma? Or perhaps even the Holy Father? Did he actually fire the shots? Was he, at heart, a Communist who despised us all? I cannot answer… What I can tell you is that for the years I knew him he was kind and decent and very good at what he did, which was controlling me.' The hint of a smile flickered, then left.

'Eminence,' Harry said, intensely. 'Did you know he'd left a message on my answering machine only hours before he was killed?'

'Yes, I was told…'

'He was scared, afraid of what would happen next… Do you have any idea why?'

For a long moment Marsciano said nothing. Finally he spoke, directly and quietly. 'Mr Addison, take your brother from Italy. Bury him in his own land and love him for the rest of your life. Think, as I do, that he was falsely accused and that one day it will be proven so.'

Father Bardoni slowed the small white Fiat behind a tour bus, then turned onto Ponte Palatino, taking Harry from Gasparri's and back across the Tiber to his hotel. Midday Rome was loud, with bright sun and filled with traffic. But Harry saw and heard only what was in his mind.

'Take your brother from Italy and bury him in his own land,' Marsciano had said again as he'd left, driven away in a dark gray Mercedes by another of Farel's black-suited men.

Marsciano had not talked of the police and Jacov Farel without purpose; his not answering Harry's query, too, had been deliberate. His charity had been in his indirectness, leaving it to Harry to fill in the rest – a cardinal had been murdered, and the priest thought to have done it was dead. So was his colleague in the murder. So, too, were sixteen others who had been on the Assisi bus. And whether Harry wanted to believe it or not, the remains of that priest, the suspected assassin, were officially and without question those of his brother.

To make certain he understood, Cardinal Marsciano had done one more thing at the last: turned and looked at Harry severely as he'd walked down the steps to his car, his glance more telling than anything he'd said or implied. There was danger here, and doors that should not be opened. And the best thing Harry could do would be to take what had been offered and leave as quickly and quietly as possible. While he still could.

Ispettore Capo, Gianni Pio

Questura di Roma

sezione omicidi

Harry sat in his hotel room, turning Pio's card over in his hand. Father Bardoni had dropped him off just before noon, saying he would pick him up at six-thirty the following morning to take him to the airport. Danny's casket would already be there, checked in. All Harry would have to do would be board the plane.

The trouble was, even in the shadow of Marsciano's warning, Harry couldn't. He could not take a body home and bury it for all time as Danny's when he knew in his heart it was not. Nor could he take it home and, by burying it, make it easy for the investigators to officially close the book on the murder of the cardinal vicar of Rome; an act that, for all intents, would brand Danny forever as his killer. And this, after his meeting with Marsciano, was something Harry was more certain than ever was not true.

The problem was what to do about it, and how to do it quickly.

It was twelve-thirty in the afternoon in Rome, three-thirty in the morning in Los Angeles. Whom could he call for help there right now who would be able to do anything other than be sympathetic? Even if Byron Willis or someone in the office could arrange for a prominent Italian attorney to represent him in Rome, it wouldn't happen in the next few hours.

And even if it did, then what? They would meet. Harry would explain what had happened. And he would be back to square one. This wasn't simply about a misidentified corpse, it was about an investigation of murder on the highest levels. In no time, they would all be under an intense media spotlight, and he, his firm, his clients would make world news. No, he had to find another way. Come from the inside, ask the help of someone who already knew what was going on.

Again Harry looked at Pio's card. Why not the Italian homicide investigator? They had developed a relationship of sorts, and Pio had encouraged further communication. He had to trust someone, and he wanted to believe he could trust Pio.

12:35

Someone in Pio's office who spoke English said the ispettore capo was out but took Harry's name and number, saying he would call back. That was all. That he would call back. No idea when.

12:55

What to do if Pio doesn't call? Harry didn't know. The best he could do was put his faith in the policeman and his professionalism and hope he would call back sometime before six-thirty tomorrow morning.

1:20

Harry had taken a shower and was shaving when the phone rang. Immediately he picked the receiver from the mount over the sink, smearing it with Ralph Lauren gel.

'Mr Addison-'

Jacov Farel – Harry would never forget the voice.

'Something new has come up concerning your brother. I thought it might interest you.'

'What is it?'

'I'd rather you saw for yourself, Mr Addison. My driver will pick you up and take you to a site near the scene of the bus explosion. I will meet you there.'

'When?'

'Ten minutes.'

'All right, ten minutes.'

The driver's name was Lestingi or Lestini. Harry didn't quite get the pronunciation, nor did he ask again, because the man apparently spoke no English. Dressed in aviator sunglasses, off-white polo shirt, jeans, and running shoes, Harry simply got into the rear seat of a maroon Opel and sat back as they drove off, staring at the blur of Rome as they wound through it.

The idea of another encounter with Farel was disturbing enough, but projecting what he might have found at the site of the explosion troubled Harry even more. Obviously, whatever it was would not be something in Danny's favor.