'Buon giorno.' A man tipped his hat. A young couple smiled at them. They kept on.

'Go up the steps to the left,' Elena said calmly.

Then Harry saw Roscani coming up the walk from the water, the same way Harry had come last night. He was walking quickly, the other two plainclothes policemen at his heels. Harry moved closer to Elena, keeping her between himself and the police.

They were almost to the corner now, and Harry could see the steps Elena was talking about. Suddenly Roscani looked up. Directly at him. In the same instant, Elena began talking in Italian. He had no idea what she was saying. But she gestured ahead, using her hands, talking as if what they were doing and where they were going was hugely important. At the steps, she turned him abruptly left and up, still talking, sounding now as if she were scolding him, then, as quickly, smiling at an elderly man coming down the steps toward them.

Then they were in a mix of people on the stairs. Winding their way through them, passing shops and restaurants. It was only when they had reached the top that Harry looked back. Nothing. No police. No Roscani. Just shoppers. Civilians.

'Those men coming up from the landing were police,' Elena said.

'I know.' Harry looked at her as they moved on, worrying, for the first time, who she was, and why she was doing this.

77

9:10 a.m.

Grinding gears, Harry turned a corner, then, gritting his teeth, shifted again and accelerated down a narrow street. The farm truck was old and cranky, its clutch and manual shift worn and difficult. Crunching the gear box once more, he turned past a park, and then they were out of the city.

'Tell me about my brother.' He took his eyes from the road and looked at Elena, calculating, to see if she really knew.

'His legs are broken, and he has been burned over parts of his head and upper body. He suffered a very serious concussion. But he is better now, and is beginning to take solid food and can talk a little. His memory comes and goes, which is normal. He's weak but is healing. I think he will be all right.'

Danny was alive! Harry felt the breath go out of him. A rush of emotion followed, as the reality of it hit home. Suddenly he looked at the road in front of them. Cars were slowing, coming to a stop.

'Carabinieri,' Elena said.

Harry's hand went to the shift lever. Immediately there was a loud wrench of grinding gears as he downshifted, coming to a halt inches behind a white Lancia stopped in a clog of vehicles pulled up at the police checkpoint.

Two uniformed carabinieri armed with Uzis checked each car as it came abreast and stopped. Two others stood to the side watching.

Now the car ahead of them was waved through, and Harry ground the truck into gear. It bucked raggedly forward, bouncing to a stop only after one of the carabinieri had jumped out of the way, yelling for Harry to halt.

'Jesus Christ.'

The carabinieri came up, one on either side.

Harry glanced at Elena. 'Talk to them. Say anything.'

'Buon giorno.' The carabinieri glared at Harry.

'Buon giorno.' Harry smiled and Elena began. Speaking rapid-fire Italian. Gesturing between herself and Harry and the truck, talking to both policemen at once. In a matter of seconds it was over. The carabinieri stood smartly back, saluted, and waved them through. And with a grinding of gears and a sharp backfire, Harry steered past them, leaving all four police turning away in a cloud of blue smoke.

Harry watched the mirror, then looked to Elena.

'What did you tell them?'

'That the truck was borrowed and that we were on our way to a funeral and were late… I hope it's not so…'

'So do I.'

Harry looked back to the highway as it began to rise toward the distant cliffs, then instinctively glanced in the mirror. There was nothing but the checkpoint and vehicles being waved through one by one.

Slowly Harry took his eyes from the mirror and looked to Elena. She was staring at the road ahead, quiet, even introspective. Suddenly she turned and looked at him, as if she knew what he was thinking and was about to ask.

'Your brother's care was assigned to me by my convent.'

'You mean you knew who he was?…'

'No.'

'Did the people at your convent?'

'I – don't know…'

'You don't?'

'No.'

Harry looked back to the road. She certainly knew who Danny was now. And she knew who Harry was, and still she had put herself in all kinds of potential trouble tap-dancing them through the police.

'You mind if I ask what seems like a silly question?… Why are you doing this?'

'That is something I have been asking myself, Mr Addison…' She glanced down the road and then back to Harry, her brown eyes suddenly intense and penetrating.

'You should know that when I came to Bellagio I was going to go to the police. To tell them about you and about your brother. And I almost did – except… the body they pulled from the lake in front of your hotel was that of a man who helped bring your brother to where he is… Only hours ago he learned his wife had been murdered, and he left immediately to go back to his home…' Elena paused, as if the memory of what she had seen was too heinous to talk about. Then Harry saw her gather strength, and she went on.

'They said he drowned. I don't know if that's true… There were two other men with him… I don't know where they are or what happened to them… In result, I – made up my mind…'

'About what?…'

Elena hesitated. '… about my own future, Mr Addison… God gave me a job to do caring for your brother… No matter what else has happened, it is something He has yet to dismiss me from… The decision was really quite simple…'

Elena's eyes held on Harry, then she looked back down the road. 'Those trees ahead – just past them is a dirt road to the right. Please take it.'

78

10:15 a.m.

Edward Mooi stood naked, towel in hand. Dripping from the bath.

'Who are you? What do you want?'

He had not heard the door open or had any idea how the blond man in jeans and light jacket had found his way to the second-floor apartment. Or how he had gotten past the Gruppo Cardinale police still outside and into the building. Or even onto the grounds of Villa Lorenzi, for that matter.

'I want you to take me to the priest,' the blond man said quietly.

'Get out of here, now! Or I will call security!' Edward Mooi pulled the towel around him angrily.

'I don't think so.' The blond man took something from his jacket pocket and set it on the white porcelain sink next to the poet.

'What am I supposed to do with that?' Mooi looked at what had been set on the sink. Whatever it was was wrapped in what looked like a dark green restaurant napkin.

'Open it.'

Edward Mooi stared at him, then slowly, picked up the napkin and unwrapped it.

'Oh, Lord!'

Heinously blue. Bloodied. Grossly swollen with bits of the green napkin fiber clinging to it – a neatly severed human tongue. Half gagging, Mooi threw it into the sink and backed away, terrified.

'Who are you?'

'The ambulance driver didn't want to talk about the priest. Instead he wanted to fight.' The blond man's eyes were on his. 'You are not a fighter. The television says you are a poet. That makes you an intelligent man. Which is why I know you will do as I ask and take me to the priest.'

Edward Mooi stared. This was who they had been hiding Father Daniel from.

'There are too many police. We will never get past them-'

'We will see what we can do, Edward Mooi.'