Day of Confession - Allan Folsom [16]
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,” Harry said, quietly.
Farel studied him. “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 felt 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 innocent. And to show you I’m willing to cooperate any way I can.”
“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 innocently, to the murder of the cardinal vicar of Rome.”
“Who do you think I represent that—?”
Abruptly, Farel cut him off, 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 connections in Los Angeles capable of getting him whatever he asked for. A reach and power that was frightening.
“Your brother’s guilt or innocence aside, there is a certain practicality to things…. That’s why you’re talking to me, Mr. Addison, alone and of your own free will and will continue to do so until I am done with you…. You have to protect your own success.” His left hand found its way up to caress his skull just over his left ear. “It’s a nice day. Why don’t we go for a walk…?”
THE MORNING SUN was beginning to light the top floors of the buildings around them as they came out and Farel turned them left, onto Via Ombrellari—a narrow cobblestone street without sidewalks, the apartment buildings interrupted here and there by a bar or restaurant or pharmacy. A priest walked by across from them. Farther down, two men noisily loaded empty wine and mineral water bottles into a van outside a restaurant.
“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 innocent made little difference. Law school years had made him more aware than most of the long history of jails, prisons, and even gallows that had been peopled with the guiltless, men and women charged with crimes far less grievous than the one being investigated here. It was unnerving, if not frightening. And Harry knew it showed, and he didn’t like it. Moreover, Farel’s digging into his professional world gave everything a calculated spin. One that gave the Vatican policeman added power, because