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 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, pushing his chair back.

'I want to call the U.S. Embassy. Right now.'

'Tell him,' Roscani said in Italian.

Pio moved from the window and crossed the room. 'We did know you were coming to Rome. And what flight you were on, but it wasn't for the reason you thought.' Pio's manner was easier than Roscani's, the way he stood, the rhythm of his speech – or maybe it was just that he sounded American.