Day Of Confession

52

Rome, 7:00 a.m.

Harry had seen the video clip on an English-language channel an hour earlier – a Hollywood trade paper photograph of Byron Willis, exterior shots of their Beverly Hills office building and of Byron's home in Bel Air. His friend, boss, and mentor had been shot to death as he arrived at his home Thursday night. Because of his association with Harry and the events concurrent in Italy, the police had withheld the news pending further inquiry. The FBI was now involved, and investigators from Gruppo Cardinale were expected to arrive in Los Angeles later in the day.

Stunned, horrified, Harry had taken the chance and called Adrianna's office, leaving word to have her call Elmer Vasko immediately. And she had, from Athens an hour later. She'd just returned from the island of Cyprus, where she'd covered a major confrontation between Greek and Turkish politicians and had only just learned of the Willis piece herself and tried to find out more before she called him.

'Did it have to do with me, with what the fuck is going on here in Italy?' Harry was angry and bitter and fighting to hold back tears.

'Nobody knows yet. But-'

'But what, for Chrissake?'

'From what I understand, it looked like a professional hit.'

'… God, why?' he whispered. 'He didn't know anything.'

Pulling himself back, fighting off the dark swirl of emotion, Harry asked her what the status was in the hunt for his brother. Her response was that the police had no leads, that nothing had changed. It was why she hadn't called.

Harry's world was collapsing around him in violence. He'd wanted to call Barbara Willis, Byron's widow. To talk to her, to somehow touch her, try to comfort her and share her terrible pain. He'd wanted to call Willis's senior partners Bill Rosenfeld and Penn Barry to find out what the hell happened. But he couldn't. Not by phone or fax or even E-mail without fear it would be traced to where he was. But he couldn't sit still either; if Danny was alive, it was only a matter of time before they got to him just as they got to Byron Willis. Instantly his thoughts shifted to Cardinal Marsciano and the stance he had taken at the funeral home, telling him to bury the charred remains as if they were his brother's, then warning him forcefully afterward not to press further. Clearly the cardinal knew a great deal more than he was telling. If anyone knew where Danny was now, it would be he.

'Adrianna,' he said forcefully, 'I want Cardinal Marsciano's home phone number. Not the main number, the private one that hopefully only he answers.'

'I don't know if I can get it.'

'Try.'