Allan Folsom - Day Of Confession

Well, she had reached it and was at the base of the steps across from the Hotel Du Lac, and all she saw were police. They were right in front of her – an ambulance and three police cars and a crowd of onlookers directly across the street near the boat landing at the edge of the lake. To her left was the little park with the public telephone she had been instructed to use to call Father Daniel's brother at the hotel.

'Someone drowned,' she heard a woman say, and then other people pushed past her, coming down the steps, rushing to see what had happened.

Elena watched for a moment, then glanced toward the telephones. Father Daniel was in her care, Edward Mooi had said. Maybe so, but reason told her that when she got the chance she should go directly to the police. Whether her mother general knew what was going on made no difference. Nor was it her business what Father Daniel had done or had not done. That was what the law was for. He was wanted for murder and so was his brother. There were the police. All she had to do was go.

And she did, moving away from the phones, crossing the street toward them. As she reached the far curb, a loud noise went up from the crowd at the water's edge. More people hurried past, anxious to see what was going on.

'Look!' someone said, and Elena saw police divers in the water near the boat landing lift a body from the lake. Policemen onshore hefted it from them and put it down on the landing. Another rushed to throw a blanket over it.

That breathless moment in time, that uncounted second, when the public glimpses the suddenly dead and becomes instantly silent, froze Elena Voso where she stood. The body fished from the lake was that of a man.

Luca Fanari.

Harry watched the police and the crowd across the street I moment longer, then turned from his hotel room window to look back to the television. Adrianna in her L. L. Bean field jacket and baseball cap stood in a pouring rain outside the Geneva headquarters of the World Health Organization. A major story was coming, piecemeal, from mainland China. Unofficial reports from the city of Hefei in eastern China indicated that a major incident had taken place concerning the area's public water supply – thousands of people were rumored to have been poisoned and more than six thousand were already dead. Both Xinhua, the New China News Agency, and the Chinese Central Broadcasting Bureau dismissed the reports as unfounded.

Abruptly Harry hit the mute button and Adrianna was silenced. What the hell was she doing in Geneva reporting on an 'unfounded' incident?

Unsettled, he glanced back out the window. Then at the bedside clock.

8:20 a.m.

No calls. Nothing. What had happened to Edward Mooi? Had he not reread the fax? And now Adrianna was in Geneva when she should have been in Bellagio. Crazily, he felt abandoned. Left in a tiny hotel room while the world went on.

He turned back to the window. As he did, a police car pulled up directly across the street. The doors opened, and three men in plainclothes got out and headed for the boat landing. Harry's heart stopped. The man walking first, leading the others, was Roscani.

'Jesus.' Instinctively he twisted back from the window. At almost the same instant there was a knock at the door. Every nerve stiffened. The knock came again.

Quickly he went to the bed, opened the suitcase, and took out the sheet of paper with Edward Mooi's telephone number. Ripping it in pieces he went into the bathroom and flushed it down the toilet.

The knock came once more. Softer this time. Not the authoritative strike of the police. Eaton – of course. Harry relaxed, then walked to the door and opened it.

A young nun stood there.

'Father Roe?'

Harry hesitated. 'Yes…'

'I am nursing sister Elena Voso…' Her English was accented with Italian but clear nonetheless.

Harry stared, unsure.

'I would like to come in.'

He looked past her to the hallway. He saw no one.

'Yes, of course…'

Stepping back, Harry watched her turn and close the door behind her.

'You phoned Edward Mooi,' Elena said, carefully.

Harry nodded.

'I've come to take you to your brother…'

Harry stared. 'I don't understand…'

'It's all right…' She could feel his caution, see his uncertainty. 'I'm not with the police…'

'I'm sorry, I don't know what you're talking about.'

'If you are not sure… follow me out. I will be waiting on the steps leading up to the village. Your brother is ill… Please… Mr Addison.'

Harry took her down the backstairs and at the ground floor opened the door to a rear hallway.

uscita. Exit.

The sign with the arrow pointed off. Harry hesitated – he wanted to go out a rear or side door, anything but through the front and out onto the street where Roscani was. But there was only one sign, and he followed it, moving them off in the direction the arrow pointed. A minute later they pushed through a door and into the hotel lobby. The only way out was through the front door.

'Damn it,' Harry breathed. People were at the front desk, checking in or out. Past them, a rotund man was in animated conversation with the concierge. Harry looked back. If there was another exit he had no idea how to find it. Just then the elevator doors opened, and two couples and a porter pushing a luggage cart came toward them. If they were going out, this was the time.

Taking Elena's arm, Harry timed his move to keep in step with the porter. As they reached the door he motioned for the man to go ahead. The porter nodded and pushed the luggage cart through. Harry and Elena came out just behind. The sunlight hit, and Harry turned them abruptly left along the sidewalk, walking with other pedestrians.

'Buon giorno.' A man tipped his hat. A young couple smiled at them. They kept on.

'Go up the steps to the left,' Elena said calmly.

Then Harry saw Roscani coming up the walk from the water, the same way Harry had come last night. He was walking quickly, the other two plainclothes policemen at his heels. Harry moved closer to Elena, keeping her between himself and the police.

They were almost to the corner now, and Harry could see the steps Elena was talking about. Suddenly Roscani looked up. Directly at him. In the same instant, Elena began talking in Italian. He had no idea what she was saying. But she gestured ahead, using her hands, talking as if what they were doing and where they were going was hugely important. At the steps, she turned him abruptly left and up, still talking, sounding now as if she were scolding him, then, as quickly, smiling at an elderly man coming down the steps toward them.

Then they were in a mix of people on the stairs. Winding their way through them, passing shops and restaurants. It was only when they had reached the top that Harry looked back. Nothing. No police. No Roscani. Just shoppers. Civilians.

'Those men coming up from the landing were police,' Elena said.

'I know.' Harry looked at her as they moved on, worrying, for the first time, who she was, and why she was doing this.

9:10 a.m.

Grinding gears, Harry turned a corner, then, gritting his teeth, shifted again and accelerated down a narrow street. The farm truck was old and cranky, its clutch and manual shift worn and difficult. Crunching the gear box once more, he turned past a park, and then they were out of the city.

'Tell me about my brother.' He took his eyes from the road and looked at Elena, calculating, to see if she really knew.

'His legs are broken, and he has been burned over parts of his head and upper body. He suffered a very serious concussion. But he is better now, and is beginning to take solid food and can talk a little. His memory comes and goes, which is normal. He's weak but is healing. I think he will be all right.'