“The killer was sitting right opposite your brother. They were looking at each other. The killer raised the gun and fired through the screen.”

Jesus, Dane thought, seeing Michael, his head cocked just slightly to one side, listening so carefully to the penitent, trying to feel what the person confessing was feeling, trying to understand, wanting to forgive. But not with this guy, Dane was sure of that. His brother had been worried about this guy. The guy just raised the damned gun and shot him right through his forehead? For a moment, Dane couldn’t even think, the horror of what had happened to Michael deadening his brain. He wished it would deaden the rest of him, but of course it didn’t. He felt hollow with pain.

Delion gave Dane Carver some time to get himself together, then said, “We’ve already started checking local gun shops to see if they still carry either of these models or have carried them in the past, and if so, who’s bought one in the last few years. Our local gun shop folk keep very thorough records.”

Dane couldn’t imagine using such a gun to murder someone, particularly if he’d bought the gun here in San Francisco. He’d get caught in no time at all if he bought it here, but it was an obvious place to begin.

“How was he discovered?”

“An anonymous call to nine-one-one, made only minutes after the murder.”

“A witness,” Dane said. “There’s a witness.”

“Very possibly. It was a woman. She claims she saw the man who shot your brother come out of the confessional, the proverbial smoking gun still in his hand. She says he didn’t see her. She started crying-and then she hung up. Nine-one-one calls are taped, so if you’d like to listen to the call, we can do that. We haven’t got a clue who the woman is.”

“The woman hasn’t called again?”

Delion shook his head.

“She didn’t say whether or not she could recognize him?”