'My responsibilities are different from those of the Italian police. They protect a city. The Vatican is its own state. A country inside Italy. Therefore I am accountable for the safety of a nation.'

Instinctively Harry glanced around. They were alone. No waiter, no barman, no customers. Just he and Farel.

'The blood of Cardinal Parma splattered my shirt and my face when he was shot. It also fell on the pope, soiling his vestments.'

'I'm here to do anything I can to help.'

Farel studied him carefully. 'I know you talked to the police. I know what you told them. I read the transcripts. I read the report Ispettore Capo Pio wrote after he met with you privately… It's what you didn't tell them that interests me.'

'What I didn't tell them?'

'Or what they didn't ask. Or what you left out when they did, purposely, or because you didn't remember or perhaps because it didn't seem important.'

Farel's presence, considerable before, now seemed to fill the entire room. Harry's hands were suddenly damp and there was sweat on his forehead. Again he looked around. Still no one. It was after eight. What time did the staff come to work? Or people come in off the street for breakfast or coffee? – Or had the trattoria been opened for Farel alone?

'You seem uncomfortable, Mr Addison…'

'Maybe it's because I'm tired of talking to the police when I've done nothing and you people keep acting like I have…

I was happy to meet with you because I believe my brother is innocent. To show you I'm willing to cooperate any way I can.'

'That's not the only reason, Mr Addison…'

'What do you mean?'

'Your clients. You have to protect them.