Day Of Confession

31

Beverly Hills, California. Thursday, July 9, dusk.

Byron Willis let out a deep breath and hung up the phone. Turning off Sunset and onto Stone Canyon Road, he switched on the Lexus's headlights and saw them illuminate the ivy-covered walls guarding the massive, elegant estates he wound past. What had happened was impossible. Harry Addison, his Harry Addison, the guy whom he brought into the firm and loved like a brother and who had an office down the hall, was suddenly on the run in Italy, wanted for the murder of a Rome detective. And his brother was accused of the assassination of the cardinal vicar of Rome. And it had happened bang, bang. Like an auto accident. Already the media were tying up the office switchboard, trying to get a statement from him and the other partners.

'Son of a bitch!' he enunciated angrily.

Whatever the hell had happened, Harry was going to need all the help he could get, and so was the firm. The night was going to be spent fending off the media and making certain their clients knew what had happened and telling them to say nothing when the reporters pounced. At the same time he would be trying to find Harry and get him the best legal representation in Italy.

Slowing, Byron Willis saw the satellite trucks and the gaggle of media gathered in front of the security gates of his home at 1500 Stone Canyon Road. Pressing the remote that opened the gates, he waited for people to clear, then drove through, waving politely, doing his best to ignore them. On the far side he stopped, making certain no one slipped past as the gates closed. Then he drove on, his headlights cutting an easy path through the darkness, illuminating the long, familiar drive up to his house.

'Dammit,' he breathed.

In an instant a friend's world was turned upside down. It only made him realize his own situation more. Another late meeting, another coming home after dark. His wife and two young sons were away at the family ski house in Sun Valley. A wife and two young sons whom, even when they were home, he barely saw, even on weekends. God only knew what lay around any corner. Life was rich and to be lived thoroughly, and the demands of work should not be allowed to take up so much of it. And in that moment he made a resolve that once the business with Harry had been worked through – and it would be worked through – he would cut his time at the office and begin to enjoy the unpretentious rewards life had presented him.

Another push of the remote, and the door to his garage swung open. Usually the garage lights came on when the door opened, but for some reason this time they didn't, and he didn't know why. Opening the door, he stepped out.

'Byron-,' a male voice said in the dark.

Byron Willis started and swung around to see the vaguest outline of a figure coming toward him.

'Who are you?'

'A friend of Harry Addison.'

Harry? What the hell did that mean? Suddenly, fear stabbed through him. 'How did you get in here? What do you want?'

'Not much.'

There was a dance of flame and the smallest sound, as if someone had spit. Willis felt something hit him hard in the chest. Instinctively he looked down, wondering what it was. Then he felt his knees begin to buckle. The sound came again. Twice. The man stood right in front of him.

Byron Willis looked up. 'I don't understand…'

They were the last words he ever said.