The Fifth Gospel(185)

            “Your Grace,” Mignatto says humbly. “Please.”

            But Nowak says, “It is important. Let this be shown.”

            The gendarme officer feeds a disc into the machine. For a moment there’s no sound in the courtroom except the disc’s furious spinning. Then a video begins to play.

            It’s grainy and soundless. Nothing in the image moves. But I recognize the landscape immediately.

            “This was taken,” Falcone says, “by the security camera closest to the deceased’s car. Less than one hundred feet from where the body of the deceased was found.”

            In the video, a car flits by on a road. A single tree branch sways rhythmically. Dark clouds scud in the distance. The storm is approaching. I watch with a surge of foreboding.

            Suddenly a shape appears on the screen. Falcone presses a button on the remote. The image freezes.

            Ugo. He’s alive. Walking left to right across the screen, just inside the gate. The sight of him jolts me. He seems so alone.

            “Nogara is moving south,” Falcone says. “Away from the villa, toward his vehicle.” He points to a digital marker in the bottom right of the screen. “Please note.”

            16:48. Twelve minutes to five o’clock.

            I try to orient myself. Ugo is walking away from Simon and the Orthodox. As if planning to leave Castel Gandolfo in his car. This would’ve been shortly after the last time he and Simon spoke by phone.

            Falcone unfreezes the footage. Ugo continues across the screen. If the playback is at real speed, he’s walking quickly. Then, at the instant Ugo leaves our field of view, Falcone points to the time again. Still twelve of five.

            Now he fast-forwards. Tree branches wave wildly. Drifting leaves race.

            “Watch,” he says as the footage returns to normal speed.

            A new shape enters the frame. Much larger than Nogara. For a moment, in the fading light, it’s only a silhouette. But everyone in this room can identify him.

            “Ten minutes before five o’clock,” Falcone says.

            Simon is running after Ugo. In mere seconds, he’s gone.

            Falcone freezes the footage. Mignatto, without even looking at the legal pad, writes a note in giant letters.

            TWO MINUTES.

            The total time that separates Ugo and Simon in this footage.

            Falcone returns to his notes. “The following,” he says, “is from our incident report. I quote. Bracco: Father, when you found Doctor No-gara, what condition was he in? Andreou: Not moving. Bracco: Shot? Andreou: Yes. Bracco: Did you see or hear anything before you arrived? Andreou: No. Nothing.”

            Falcone looks up. He points to the screen. He doesn’t say a word.

            Simon lied to the police.



* * *



            THE JUDGES PLAY THE footage again. Then a third time. Mignatto insists on it. He wants to hear it with sound. Without fast-forwarding. He wants to see the footage immediately before and immediately after. Maybe he thinks this will dull the judges’ shock. Anesthetize them with the repetition. But they see the truth: the defense is groping. Buying time until Mignatto recovers enough to think of something better. As I look at him, I see myself. A flailing man just trying not to drown.

            Each loop of the video adds something new. Something worse. Once the sound is turned up, the gunshot becomes audible. Simon undoubtedly heard it. It’s all here. Cardinal Boia knew this video was his trump card.

            “Monsignors,” Mignatto says in a trance, “may we see the film just one more time?”