Allan Folsom - Day Of Confession

'And you think Cardinal Marsciano knows that…'

'Yes.'

'You are aware he is one of the most powerful and prominent men in the Vatican.'

'So was Cardinal Parma.'

Pio studied Harry, then glanced in the rearview mirror. A dark green Renault was a half mile back, holding speed with them, and had been for some time.

Pio looked back to the road ahead, accelerating past a truck hauling lumber, then pulled into the lane in front of it.

'You know what I would be thinking if I were you.' Pio kept his eyes on the road.

'Is my brother still alive? And if he is, where is he?'

Harry looked at Pio, then turned away. That Danny might still be alive was a thought that came the moment he realized the corpse was not his. But he hadn't let himself think about it. Couldn't let himself think about it. Danny had been on the bus. Those who survived were accounted for. So, for Danny to still be alive wasn't possible. Any Bore than it was possible for Madeline to have remained Vive all that time under the ice. Yet Harry had stayed there watching, an eleven-year-old shivering in his wet and freezing clothes, refusing to go home and change, while the fire department divers worked. Yes, Madeline was down there in the icy, black water, freezing cold and wet as he, but she was still alive, he knew it. But she wasn't. And neither was Danny. To even consider it, was not only unrealistic, it was also far too painful and self-defeating.

'Anyone would have thought about it, Mr Addison. When there is a change of facts, hope is natural. What if he were still alive? I would like to know that too… So, one way or another, why don't we attempt to find out?' Pio smiled, not unselfishly, and glanced in the mirror once more.

They had reached the bottom of a long hill with the lumber truck now almost a mile behind. Then Pio saw a car come into the passing lane beside it, accelerate, and then cut back into the travel lane in front of it.

The green Renault.

It was after four when they came off the Autostrada, moving with traffic down Via Salaria toward the center of the city. Pio had been alert the whole time, watching the green Renault in the mirror. He'd been expecting it to follow them off at the toll exit and was prepared to radio for assistance if it had. But it hadn't and instead stayed on the Autostrada.

Still, its presence, the way it had remained with them for so long made him nervous, and he kept an eye on the road behind them as he unveiled his thoughts to Harry.

The idea, he told him, would be to use the gun found at the bus site as a reason to keep Harry in Rome for further questioning and to once again visit the victims of the Assisi bus. Querying the survivors to determine if any had seen a man with a gun onboard; a question that would not have come up earlier because there had been no reason to suspect a gunman and because most still suffered from some degree of shock. There was a chance, of course, the gun had been used against a passenger, but because of the silencer, the others would not have heard it. It would have been a bold move, one made by a professional. But done right, in all probability it would have worked. The victim, appearing to be doing nothing more than sleeping, would not have been found until the bus had reached the terminal and everyone else had gotten off and dispersed.

Using that possibility as justification would give them a chance to carefully reexamine everyone. The living and the dead. They would start with the eight survivors and go from there. Some were still hospitalized, others had been sent home. If Father Daniel was not among them – and Pio was certain he would not be – then they would move on to the dead, professing to be looking for gunshot wounds, something that could have easily been overlooked earlier, considering the condition of the corpses and the gun's small caliber. In that way each set of remains could be carefully examined once more, this time from a different perspective, because they would be looking for one person in particular, Father Daniel. And, if after everything, his body was still not there, then it would be safe to begin to suspect that the accused killer of the cardinal vicar of Rome was still somewhere among the living.

Roscani would know their real purpose, but only he. No one else would be told, not even Farel.

'I must tell you truthfully, Mr Addison.' Pio stopped for a red light. 'We can go just so far before Farel finds out. When he does, he may terminate everything.'

'Why?'

'Because of what Cardinal Marsciano said to you. Because if what has happened has to do with Vatican politics, Farel will end it right there. The case will be closed, and we will have no authority to pursue it. The Vatican is a sovereign state and not part of Italy. Our job is to cooperate with the Holy See and help them any way we can. And if they do not invite us in, we cannot go.'

'Then what?'

The light changed, and Pio moved the Alfa Romeo off, shifting through the H of the manual transmission. 'Then nothing. Unless you go to Farel. And Farel, I can assure you, will not help you.'

Harry saw Pio glance in the mirror again. He had done it several times while they were on the Autostrada, and he'd thought nothing of it. A driver being cautious. But now they were on city streets, and this was the third time in the last few minutes.

'Something wrong?'

'I don't know…'

A small white Peugeot was two cars behind them. Pio had been watching it ever since they'd turned onto Via Salaria. Now he turned left onto Via Chiana and then right onto Corso Trieste. The Peugeot moved out in traffic, staying with them.

Ahead was a cross street bordering a small park, and Pio took it fast, downshifting suddenly and making a sharp right without a signal. The Alfa leaned heavily, its tires screeching. Immediately Pio slowed, his eyes on the mirror. The Peugeot came into view but did not turn, just continued on.

'Sorry.' Pio accelerated again. They were in a quiet neighborhood separated by the park. Old buildings interspersed with new. Big trees, lush bushes, and everywhere oleander in bloom. Pio turned a corner and again glanced at the mirror.

The Peugeot.

It had just cut in from a side street and was accelerating toward them. Instinctively Pio slid a 9mm Beretta from a clip under the dash and put it on the seat beside him. At the same time he reached for the car's radio.

'What's going on?' Fear stabbed at Harry.

'Don't know.' Pio glanced in the mirror. The Peugeot was right behind them. The windshield was heavily tinted. It was impossible to see the driver. Downshifting quickly, he stepped hard on the accelerator.

'Ispettore Capo Pio-,' he said into the radio.

'Look out!' Harry yelled too late.

A truck abruptly pulled out of a side street blocking the road. A tremendous squeal of tires was followed by a deadening crash as the Alfa hit the truck full on. The force pitched Pio forward, his head slamming off the steering wheel. Harry flew forward, then was jolted back by his safety belt.

Instantly the door beside him was pulled open. He saw a face for the briefest moment, then something hit him hard and everything went black.

Pio looked up to see his own gun in the gloved hand of a stranger. He tried to move, but his seat belt held him in. Then he saw his gun buck in the stranger's hand and thought he heard a thundering explosion. But he was wrong. There was nothing but silence.

Hospital St Cecilia. Pescara, Italy.

Still Wednesday, July 8. 6:20 p.m.

Nursing sister Elena Voso passed the man at the door and went into the room. Her patient was as she'd left him, on his side, sleeping. Sleeping was what she called it, even though from time to time he opened his eyes and was able to blink in response when she squeezed a finger or toe and asked if he could feel it. Then his eyes would close and he would be as he was now.