'Your brother's voice on the answering machine. You said he sounded frightened.'

'Yes.'

'As if he might be afraid for his life?'

'Yes.'

'Did he mention names? People you would both know. Family? Friends?'

'No, no names.'

'Think carefully, Mr Addison. You hadn't heard from your brother in a long time. He was distraught.' Farel stepped closer, his words running on. 'People tend to forget things when they're thinking about something else.'

'If there had been names I would have told the Italian police.'

'Did he say why he was going to Assisi?'

'He didn't say anything about Assisi.'

'What about another city or town?' Farel kept pushing. 'Somewhere he had been or might be going?'

'No.'

'Dates? A day. A time that might be important-'

'No,' Harry said. 'No dates, no time. Nothing like that.'

Farel's eyes probed him again. 'You are absolutely certain, Mr Addison…'

'Yes, I'm absolutely certain.'

A sharp knock at the front door drew their attention. It opened, and the eager driver of the gray Fiat – Pilger, Farel called him – entered. He was even younger than Harry had first thought, baby-faced, looking as if he were barely old enough to shave. A priest was with him. Like Pilger, he was young, probably not thirty, and tall, with dark curly hair and black eyes behind black-rimmed glasses.

Farel spoke to him in Italian. There was an exchange, and Farel turned to Harry.

'This is Father Bardoni, Mr Addison. He works for Cardinal Marsciano. He knew your brother.'

'I speak English, a little, anyway,' Father Bardoni said gently and with a smile. 'May I offer my deepest condolences…'

'Thank you…' Harry nodded gratefully. It was the first time anyone had acknowledged Danny in any context outside of murder.