Part 2 (1/2)
”We would like to hear the message on your machine.”
”I erased it.”
”Why?”
”Because the tape was full. It wouldn't have recorded anything else.”
”Then there is no proof there was a message. Or that you or someone in your home did not actually speak with him.”
Abruptly Harry sat forward. ”What are you insinuating?”
”That perhaps you are not telling the truth.”
Harry had to work to hold down his anger. ”First of all, no one was in my house when the call came. Secondly, when it came in, I was at Warner Brothers studios in Burbank, California, talking about a movie contract for a writer-director I represent and about the opening of his new film. For your information, it just came out this past weekend.”
”What is the name of this film?”
”Dog on the Moon,” Harry said flatly.
Roscani stared for a moment, then scratched his head and made a note on the pad in front of him.
”And the name of this writer-director,” he said without looking up.
”Jesus Arroyo.”
Now Roscani did look up.
”A Spaniard.”
”Hispanic-American. A Mexican to you. Born and grown up in East L.A.” Harry was getting angry. They were pressing him without telling him anything. Acting as if they thought not only Danny but also he were guilty of something.
Roscani stubbed his cigarette into an ashtray in front of him. ”Why did your brother murder Cardinal Parma.”
”What-?” Harry was stunned, taken completely off guard.
”Why did your brother kill Rosario Parma, the cardinal vicar of Rome?”
”That's absurd!” Harry looked at Pio. Nothing showed. He was the same as he'd been before, arms still folded over his chest, leaning against the wall by the window.
Roscani picked up another cigarette and held it. ”Before Father Daniel joined the Church he was a member of the United States Marine Corps.”
”Yes.” Harry was still reeling, trying to grasp the magnitude of their accusations. Clear thinking was impossible.
”He trained with an elite unit. He was a highly decorated marksman.”
”There are thousands of highly decorated marksmen. He was a priest priest, for G.o.d's sake!”
”A priest with the skill to put a tight three-shot pattern into a man's chest at two hundred yards.” Roscani stared at him. ”Your brother was an excellent shot. He won compet.i.tions. We have his records, Mr. Addison.”
”That doesn't make him a murderer.”
”I'll ask you again about Miguel Valera.”
”I said I never heard of him.”
”I think you have...”
”No, never. Not until you brought his name up.”
The stenographer's fingers were running steadily over the keyboard, taking it all down; what Roscani said, what he said, everything.
”Then I will tell you-Miguel Valera was a Spanish Communist from Madrid. He rented an apartment across the Piazza San Giovanni two weeks before the shooting. It was from that apartment the shots were fired that killed Cardinal Parma. Valera was still there when we arrived. Hanging from a pipe in the bathroom, a belt around his neck....” Roscani tapped the cigarette's filter end on the desk, compacting the tobacco. ”Do you know what a Sako TRG 21 is, Mr. Addi-son?”
”No.”
”It's a Finnish-made sniper rifle. The weapon used to kill Cardinal Parma. It was found wrapped in a towel behind the couch in the same apartment. Valera's fingerprints were on it.”
”Just his...?”
”Yes.”
Harry sat back, hands crossed in front of his chin, his eyes on Roscani. ”Then how can you accuse my brother of the murder?”
”Someone else was in the apartment, Mr. Addison. Someone who wore gloves. Who tried to make us think Valera acted alone.” Roscani slowly put the cigarette in his mouth and lit it, the match still alive in his hand. ”What is the price of a Sako TRG 21?”
”I have no idea.”
”About four thousand U.S. dollars, Mr. Addison.” Roscani twisted the burning match between his thumb and forefinger, putting it out, then dropped it in the ashtray.
”The apartment had been rented at nearly five hundred U.S. dollars a week. Valera paid for it himself in cash.... Miguel Valera was a lifelong Communist. A stonemason who worked little. He had a wife and five children he could barely afford to feed and clothe.”
Harry stared at him, unbelieving. ”Are you intimating that my brother was the other person in the room? That he bought the gun and gave Valera money for the rent?”
”How could he, Mr. Addison? Your brother was a priest. He was poor. He was paid only a small stipend by the Church. He had very little money at all. Not even a bank account.... He did not have four thousand dollars for a rifle. Or the equivalent of one thousand dollars in cash to pay for the rental of an apartment.”
”You keep contradicting yourself, Detective. You tell me the only fingerprints on the murder weapon belonged to Valera and in the same breath want me to believe it was my brother who pulled the trigger. And then you carefully explain how he could afford neither the gun nor the apartment. Where are you coming from?”
”The money came from someone else, Mr. Addison.”
”Who?” Harry glanced angrily at Pio, then back to Roscani.
The policeman stared for a moment and then his right hand came up, smoke rising from the cigarette between his fingers, the fingers pointed directly at Harry.
”You, Mr. Addison.”
Harry's mouth went dry. He tried to swallow but couldn't. This This was why they had so carefully met him at the airport and brought him to the Questura. Whatever had happened, Danny had become a prime suspect and now they were trying to tie him in. He wasn't going to let them. Abruptly he stood, pus.h.i.+ng his chair back. was why they had so carefully met him at the airport and brought him to the Questura. Whatever had happened, Danny had become a prime suspect and now they were trying to tie him in. He wasn't going to let them. Abruptly he stood, pus.h.i.+ng his chair back.