Day Of Confession

125

10:42 a.m.

Roscani walked alone down Via Innocenzo III. It was hot, and getting hotter as the sun moved higher overhead. In front of him was Stazione San Pietro. He'd stepped from the car a half block back, leaving Scala and Castelletti to go on to the station. They were to come in separately from either side, one arriving before Roscani, the other just afterward. They would be looking for Harry Addison, but doing nothing to apprehend him unless he ran. The idea was to give Roscani room to operate comfortably one on one with the fugitive, to keep the thing as easy and relaxed as it could be; but at the same time to position themselves in such a way that if he did bolt, one or the other would be in his path. There were no other police, no backups. It was what Roscani had promised.

Harry Addison had been good. His call had come into the Questura switchboard at ten-twenty. He'd said simply:

'My name is Harry Addison. Roscani is looking for me.'

Then he'd given his cell-phone number and hung up. No time to trace. Nothing at all.

Five minutes later Roscani called him from where he had been since his plane had touched down in Rome and he and Scala and Castelletti had rushed there – the crime scene in Father Bardoni's apartment.

Roscani: This is Roscani.

Harry Addison: We should talk. Roscani: Where are you?

Harry Addison: The train station at St Peter's. Roscani: Stay there. I'll meet you. Harry Addison: Roscani, come alone. You won't know me, I look different. If I see any police, I'll leave. Roscani: Where in the station? Harry Addison: I'll find you.

Roscani crossed the street, closing in on the station. He remembered how he'd first planned to come upon Harry Addison. Alone, with a gun. To kill him for murdering Gianni Pio. But things had turned wildly, and with a complexity he could never have imagined.

If Harry Addison was here, in the station as promised, he was still outside Vatican territory. So, Roscani hoped, was Father Daniel. Perhaps he had a chance yet, before the whole thing crumbled into the hands of Taglia and the politicians.

Harry saw Roscani come in and cross the lobby, then walk out to stand near the tracks. Stazione San Pietro was small, a depot serving a small circuitous route through Rome. There were few people. Looking around, he saw a man in a sport coat and tie who might be a plainclothes cop. But he had noticed the man a few moments earlier, before Roscani had come in, and that made it hard to tell.

Leaving the station by another door, he walked around to the side, and came down the platform from another angle, slowly, without energy. A priest waiting for his train; a priest who had purposely left his false identification tucked under the bottom of the refrigerator in the kitchen of the apartment on Via Nicolo V.

Through an open door, he saw another man come into the station. His shirt was open at the throat, but he wore a sport coat like the first man.

Now Roscani saw him, watched him approach.

Harry stopped, a dozen feet away. 'You were supposed to come alone.'

'I did.'

'No, there are two men with you.' Harry was guessing, but he thought he was guessing correctly. One man was still in the station, the other had come out onto the platform and was looking directly at them.

'Keep your hands where I can see them.' Roscani's eyes were frozen on Harry's.

'I'm not armed.'

'Do as I say.'

Harry moved his hands out from his waist. It felt awkward and uncomfortable.

'Where is your brother?' Roscani's voice was flat. No emotion at all.

'He's not here.'

'Where is he?'

'He's – someplace else… In a wheelchair. His legs are broken.'

'Other than that, he's all right?'

'Mostly.'

'The nurse is still with him? Sister Elena Voso?'

'Yes…'

Harry felt a thud of emotion as Roscani said Elena's name. He'd been right when he'd said they would identify her from what she'd left behind in the grotto. And now he knew they were treating her as a willing accomplice. He didn't want her to be this involved, but she was anyway, and there was nothing he could do about it.

Abruptly, he glanced behind him. The other man had come out onto the platform, keeping his distance, the same as the first man. Beyond him, a group of teenagers waited for a train, chattering, laughing. But it was the police who were closest.

'You don't want to take me in, Roscani, not now, anyway.'

'Why did you call me?' The policeman continued to stare at him. He was strong and very focused. The same as Harry remembered.

'I told you, we need to talk.'

'About what?'

'Getting Cardinal Marsciano out of the Vatican.'