“Listen,” Leo whispers, “I’m sorry. I told myself—I was sure—it wasn’t this gun that killed him. Alex, you’ve got to understand. That caliber is almost the weakest there is. That’s the whole reason I recommended it. And someone would need a crowbar to open Roger’s model of gun case without the combo. Nobody could’ve done that. I still don’t believe it.”
I recognize his tone of voice. He isn’t telling. He’s confessing.
“Simon and I were trying to save his life,” he says, “by getting him that gun.”
I can’t stomach this right now. “Did Simon know the combination?” I ask.
“I don’t know.” He hesitates, then repeats, “Alex, I’m sorry.”
But time is running out. The court’s recess ends in three minutes.
“You should’ve told me,” I say. “But what happened to Ugo wasn’t your fault.”
I GET BACK TO the courtroom just as the gendarmes begin to close the doors. At the defense table, Mignatto hasn’t unpacked his briefcase. There’s no legal pad or pen between us. He stares blankly at the photo of John Paul on the wall.
The witness table is empty. The TV cart is gone. Inspector Falcone must be needed elsewhere; security for the exhibit will be tight. When I ask Mignatto if we’re finished for the day, he continues peering at John Paul and says, “We’ll know soon enough.”
The doors open to admit Archbishop Nowak. For a second I wonder if he’s our final witness. But instead he takes his usual seat.
I wonder why he’s here. Why, with Simon under arrest in John Paul’s own apartments, he bothers to come at all, hanging on the words of witnesses who don’t know what happened any better than he does. Simon must still be refusing to talk. John Paul could’ve stopped this trial with a word—could’ve prevented it from ever beginning—but in two hours the Orthodox will be standing in the museums, waiting to see what Ugo discovered, and the Holy Father needs answers. If that’s our timetable, then this final witness is our last chance.
I pull Ugo’s letter from my cassock, looking again at the pattern of gospel verses. Trying to imagine what triggered his discovery. Just three weeks earlier, he’d been tracking the Shroud out of Jerusalem in the hands of Doubting Thomas. What could’ve changed?
But I can’t keep my eyes on the page. What troubles me most is the final quarter-hour of Ugo’s life. In my bones I know Simon is hiding more than Ugo’s discovery. There must be a reason he lied about hearing the gunshot.
The gendarmes open the courtroom door. Mignatto turns to look. His face wears an expression of dull foreboding. His unease makes me turn as well.
The judges have taken their seats. From behind us, I hear one of them say, “The next witness may enter.”
The gendarme stands at attention. He calls out, “His Eminence Lucio Cardinal Ciferri.”
I watch as my uncle steps into the courtroom.
CHAPTER 35
ALL THREE JUDGES stand in respect. Every gendarme bows. The promoter of justice and the notary rise. Mignatto follows, motioning for me to do the same. Even Archbishop Nowak comes to his feet.
Lucio no longer wears his customary black. He has changed from his priest suit into a simar, the cassock of a cardinal. Like the skullcap on his head, its buttons and trim and sash are scarlet, a color that even bishops and archbishops are forbidden to wear. On top he wears a sweeping scarlet cape reserved for occasions of high formality, and over his heart hangs a baroque pectoral cross. The fourth finger of his right hand glints with the giant golden ring given to cardinals by the pope. This is a clerical show of force. No one here, not even Nowak, can match it.