Day Of Confession

8

Rome . Tuesday, July 7, 7:45 a.m.

Jacov Farel was Swiss.

He was also Capo dell'Ufficio Centrale Vigilanza, the man in charge of the Vatican police, and had been for more than twenty years. He had called Harry at five minutes after seven, waking him from a deep sleep and telling him it was imperative they talk.

Harry had agreed to meet with him, and now, forty minutes later, was being driven across Rome by one of Farel's men. Crossing the Tiber, they drove beside it for a few hundred yards, then turned down the colo

A lone man in a black suit stood at the bar as they came in. His back to them, his right hand rested beside a coffee cup. He was probably five foot eight or nine, heavy-set, and what little hair he might have had left had been shaved to the skull, leaving the top of his head shining, as if it had been polished, in the overhead light.

'Thank you for coming, Mr Addison.' Jacov Farel's English was colored by a French accent. His voice was husky, as if he'd chain-smoked for years. Slowly the hand pulled away from the coffee cup and he turned. Harry hadn't been able to see the power of the man from the back, but he could now. The shaved head, the broad face with the flattened nose, the neck as thick as a man's thigh, the burly chest tight against his white shirt. His hands, big and strong, looked as if they'd spent most of their fifty-odd years wrapped around the handle of a jackhammer. And then there were his eyes, deep-set, gray-green, unforgiving – abruptly they flashed toward the driver. Without a word, the driver took a step backward and left, the click of the door sounding behind him as it closed. Then Farel's eyes shifted to Harry.

'My responsibilities are different from those of the Italian police. They protect a city. The Vatican is its own state. A country inside Italy. Therefore I am accountable for the safety of a nation.'

Instinctively Harry glanced around. They were alone. No waiter, no barman, no customers. Just he and Farel.

'The blood of Cardinal Parma splattered my shirt and my face when he was shot. It also fell on the pope, soiling his vestments.'

'I'm here to do anything I can to help.'

Farel studied him carefully. 'I know you talked to the police. I know what you told them. I read the transcripts. I read the report Ispettore Capo Pio wrote after he met with you privately… It's what you didn't tell them that interests me.'

'What I didn't tell them?'

'Or what they didn't ask. Or what you left out when they did, purposely, or because you didn't remember or perhaps because it didn't seem important.'

Farel's presence, considerable before, now seemed to fill the entire room. Harry's hands were suddenly damp and there was sweat on his forehead. Again he looked around. Still no one. It was after eight. What time did the staff come to work? Or people come in off the street for breakfast or coffee? – Or had the trattoria been opened for Farel alone?

'You seem uncomfortable, Mr Addison…'

'Maybe it's because I'm tired of talking to the police when I've done nothing and you people keep acting like I have…

I was happy to meet with you because I believe my brother is i

'That's not the only reason, Mr Addison…'

'What do you mean?'

'Your clients. You have to protect them. If you had called the United States Embassy as you threatened – or arranged for an Italian lawyer to represent you in your talks with the police – you knew there was a very good chance the media would find out… Not only would our suspicions about your brother be made public, they would learn about you as well. Who you are, and what you do, and who you personally represent. People who would not want to be linked, however distantly or i

'Who do you think I represent that would-?'

Farel cut him off abruptly, naming half a dozen of his superstar Hollywood clients in rapid succession.

'Should I keep on, Mr Addison?'

'How did you get that information?' Harry was shocked and outraged. The identity of his firm's clients was carefully guarded. It meant Farel had not only been digging into his background but also had co

'Your brother's guilt or i

The morning sun was begi

'It was a Mr Byron Willis, a partner in your law firm, who informed you of your brother's death.'

'Yes…'

So Farel knew that, too. He was doing the same thing Roscani and Pio had done, trying to intimidate him and get him off guard, let him know that no matter what anyone said, he was still a suspect. That Harry knew he was i

Harry's concern about publicity had been one of the first things he'd addressed yesterday, as soon as he'd left Pio and checked into his hotel, calling Byron Willis at his home in Bel Air. By discussion's end they'd enumerated, almost word for word, the reasons Farel had just given for Harry's keeping a low profile. They'd agreed that, tragic as it was, Da

'Did this Mr Willis know Father Daniel had contacted you?'

'Yes… I told him when he called to notify me of what had happened…'

'You told him what your brother said.'

'Some of it… Most of it… Whatever I said, it's in the transcripts of what I told the police yesterday.' Harry felt the anger begin to rise. 'What difference does it make?'

'How long have you known Mr Willis?'

'Ten, eleven years. He helped me get into the business. Why?'