Day of Confession by Allan Folsom

to imagine.”
    “Mr. Addison, the remains you saw are those I identified.” The cardinal’s response was sharp, even indignant. “Presented to me by the Italian authorities.” No longer the comforter, Marsciano had suddenly become acerbic and authoritative.
    “Twenty-four people were on that bus, Mr. Addison. Eight survived. Fifteen of the dead were positively identified by members of their own families. That left only one….” For the briefest moment Marsciano’s manner reverted and his humanity returned. “I, too, had hopes that a mistake had been made. That it was someone else. That perhaps Father Daniel was still away, unaware of what had happened.
    “But I was confronted by fact and evidence.” Marsciano’s edge returned. “Your brother was a frequent visitor to Assisi and more than one person who knew him saw him get on the bus. The transport company was in radio contact with the driver along the way. His only stop was at a toll station. Nowhere else. Nowhere where a passenger could have gotten off prior to the explosion. And then there were his personal belongings found among the wreckage. His reading glasses, which I knew only too well from the many times he left them on my desk, and his Vatican identification were in the pocket of a shredded jacket still on the remains…. We cannot change the truth, Mr. Addison, and mole or not, and whether you want to believe it or not, the truth is he is dead.” Marsciano paused, and Harry could see his mood shift once more and something darker come into his eyes.
    “You have encountered the police and Jacov Farel. So have we all…. Did your brother conspire to kill Cardinal Parma? Or perhaps even the Holy Father? Did he actually fire the shots? Was he, at heart, a Communist who despised us all? I cannot answer…. What I can tell you is that for the years I knew him he was kind and decent and very good at what he did, which was controlling me.” The hint of a smile flickered, then left.
    “Eminence,” Harry said, intensely. “Did you know he’d left a message on my answering machine only hours before he was killed?”
    “Yes, I was told…”
    “He was scared, afraid of what would happen next…. Do you have any idea why?”
    For a long moment Marsciano said nothing. Finally he spoke, directly and quietly. “Mr. Addison, take your brother from Italy. Bury him in his own land and love him for the rest of your life. Think, as I do, that he was falsely accused and that one day it will be proven so.”
    * * *
    FATHER BARDONI SLOWED the small white Fiat behind a tour bus, then turned onto Ponte Palatino, taking Harry from Gasparri’s and back across the Tiber to his hotel. Midday Rome was loud, with bright sun and filled with traffic. But Harry saw and heard only what was in his mind.
    “Take your brother from Italy and bury him in his own land,” Marsciano had said again as he’d left, driven away in a dark gray Mercedes by another of Farel’s black-suited men.
    Marsciano had not talked of the police and Jacov Farel without purpose; his not answering Harry’s query, too, had been deliberate. His charity had been in his indirectness, leaving it to Harry to fill in the rest—a cardinal had been murdered, and the priest thought to have done it was dead. So was his colleague in the murder. So, too, were fifteen others who had been on the Assisi bus. And whether Harry wanted to believe it or not, the remains of that priest, the suspected assassin, were officially and without question those of his brother.
    To make certain he understood, Cardinal Marsciano had done one more thing: turned and looked at Harry severely as he’d walked down the steps to his car, his glance more telling than anything he’d said or implied. There was danger here, and doors that should not be opened. And the best thing Harry could do would be to take what had been offered and leave as quickly and quietly as possible. While he still could.

15
    Ispettore Capo, Gianni Pio
    Questura