'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 competitions. 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 Addison?'

'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.'