Day of Confession - Allan Folsom [83]
“Why?”
“It just is…. His schedule is full…”
Harry turned to look at him. “Bullshit.”
Father Bardoni let his eyes wander past Harry. “On the hill behind you, Mr. Addison, are several carabinieri on horse patrol. A little closer and to your right are two more on motorcycles.” His eyes came back to Harry. “You are one of the two most wanted men in Italy…. By simply moving toward the police and waving my arms…. Do you understand?”
“My brother is alive, Father. And His Eminence knows where he is. Now, either he can take me to him himself, or we can call the police over here and let them convince him to do the same thing…”
Father Bardoni studied Harry carefully, then his gaze caught a man in a blue shirt on the far side of the fountain watching them.
“Perhaps we should go for a walk…”
HARRY SAW THE MAN as they left, moving out of the crowd, following them at a distance as they crossed an open grassy area and started down a paved walkway through the park.
“Who is he?” Harry pressed. “The man in the blue shirt.”
Father Bardoni took his glasses off, rubbed them on his sleeve, then put them back on. Without them, he seemed stronger and more physical, and the thought crossed Harry’s mind that he didn’t need them at all, that they were there for effect in an attempt to soften his appearance. That maybe he was more like a bodyguard than a personal secretary. Or, if not that, a man much more involved with what was going on than he seemed to be.
“Mr. Addison—” Father Bardoni glanced over his shoulder. The man in the blue shirt was still following them. Abruptly he stopped. Deliberately letting the man catch up. “He works for Farel,” he said quietly.
The man was up to them, nodding as he passed. “Buon giorno.”
“Buon giorno, “Father Bardoni said in return.
Father Bardoni watched him go, then looked to Harry. “You have no idea what’s going on, or what you are getting into.”
“Why don’t you tell me?”
Father Bardoni glanced after the man in the blue shirt. He was still walking up the path, moving away. Once again he took off his glasses and turned back to Harry.
“I will speak with the cardinal, Mr. Addison,” Father Bardoni acquiesced for the moment. “I will tell him you wish to meet with him.”
“It’s more than a wish, Father.”
Father Bardoni hesitated, as if he were judging Harry’s determination, then slid the glasses back on. “Where are you staying?” he asked. “How can we get in touch with you?”
“I’m not sure, Father. It’s best I get in touch with you.”
At the end of the pathway, the man in the blue shirt stopped and glanced back. When he did, he saw the two priests shake hands and then Father Bardoni turn and walk off, going back the way he had come. The other priest, the one in the black beret, watched him go, then, taking another path, walked away.
55
CASTELLETTI TOOK A CIGARETTE FROM A pack on the table in front of him and started to light it. Then he saw Roscani staring at him.
“You want me to go outside?”
“No.”
Abruptly Roscani took a bite out of a carrot stick. “Finish what you were saying,” he said, then, glancing at Scala, turned to stare at the bulletin board on the wall next to the window.
They were in Roscani’s office, their jackets off, sleeves rolled up, talking over the din of the air conditioner. The detectives bringing Roscani current on their separate investigations.
Castelletti had traced the numbers on the Harry Addison videocassette and found it had been bought at a store on Via Frattina, which was little more than a five-minute walk from the Hotel Hassler and the American’s room.
Scala, looking for the source of the bandage seen on Addison’s forehead in the video, had canvassed every street within a half-mile circumference of the site where Pio had been slain. In that area were twenty-seven physicians and three clinics. None had treated anyone matching Harry Addison’s description the afternoon or evening of the murder. Furthermore, Roscani’s request to have the video’s image computer enhanced to get a more detailed look at the wallpaper behind Addison had