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  Claire sat in silence, just staring at him blankly. He couldn’t tell now if she was mulling the news over or about to go ballistic, so he readied his hands underneath the table to catch any object hurled his way when, much to his relief, she calmly sat back in her seat. ‘Who asked you?’

  ‘A company … well, more like a charity, I think,’ Harker said, nervously playing with his coffee mug. ‘But they genuinely believe there’s more to Archie’s death than meets the eye.’ He could tell she wasn’t convinced, so there was only one way to get her on board: by telling the truth. He cleared his throat with an uncomfortable cough. ‘They also offered me money, which is the reason I know they’re serious.’

  ‘How much?’ There was no resentment in her voice.

  ‘Just a small fee,’ he lied. ‘And that was for attending the meeting, regardless of whether I looked into it further.’

  Claire’s jaw fell open. ‘So you’re getting a pay cheque out of this! Jesus, Alex, what did they want you to do?’

  She seemed genuinely shocked now and was staring at him mistrustfully. He was losing her.

  ‘They wanted me to find out what happened to Archie, and the truth is I’d been feeling pretty shitty about everything since he died. I’d always thought our friendship would pick up where it left off, at some point, but … well, that’s not going to happen now, is it?’ His throat starting to dry up, he took a moment to take a quick sip of his cappuccino. ‘So, when these people contacted me, it seemed a great way to do our friendship some justice as well as make amends. Besides, if Archie was in trouble, I want to know why, and I know you’d feel the same way.’

  He sat back confidently into his chair, aware of the gurgling in his stomach that was beginning to subside. He felt relieved at coming clean because everything he had said was true, and just saying it out loud seemed to absolve the burden of his guilt.

  ‘It’s all right, Alex, I’m not annoyed. I’m too sad to be annoyed but …’ She ran a hand through her long red hair and sighed. ‘I don’t think Archie was involved in anything. It was more a case of him having a personal crisis, a …’ she searched for the words, ‘… a falling out with his faith.’

  Harker gently leant towards her. ‘How can you be so sure?’

  ‘Because I’m his sister, for one, and I knew him better than anyone. Besides, considering what they found on him, it makes sense.’

  The confused look on Harker’s face prompted her to continue.

  ‘You know about the silver pieces they found on him. It was mentioned in all the news reports.’

  Harker felt like an idiot, as he’d not heard anything about pieces of silver. ‘I was only aware of the suicide and where it had happened, that’s it.’ He had seen a photograph of Archie’s limp body hanging from the balcony at St Peter’s in one of the British tabloids but had chickened out when it came to watching the YouTube clip. His usual curiosity had been surpassed by his wish not to see the tragic last moments of his former best friend’s life.

  ‘No, it’s what they found on him,’ Claire explained. ‘In the pocket of the robe, he was wearing was a bag of thirty pieces of silver.’

  The symbolism was instantaneously obvious. ‘Like Judas Iscariot …’

  Claire nodded sadly. ‘The apostle who betrayed Jesus for the princely sum of thirty silver pieces and then hanged himself. That’s how I know Archie must have had a religious crisis: a loss of faith that made him feel like he had betrayed the Church, and that’s why he did what he did.’ She glanced across at him, raising both palms upwards. ‘Christ, Alex, you know how devout he was and how unstable he could be when he was growing up.’ She rubbed at her temple as she struggled to convey the difficult truth. ‘It was his faith that gave him his strength, but he was always just one step away from cracking up. Always.’

  As her eyes began to fill up once more, she poked around in her handbag for a handkerchief. Harker pulled one of the taxi driver’s serviettes from his pocket and passed it over. At least, those things had not been a total waste of money.

  ‘Archie was a lot stronger than that, Claire,’ he said it gently so as not to push her into a full-blown sobbing session. ‘I know he had his own demons, but to kill himself in such a way … Well, there must have been a more serious reason than just a lapse in his personal faith. There has to have been more to it for him to commit suicide, which is a cardinal sin. That means going straight to hell …’

  Harker watched her wince at the thought, revealing that Claire was more religious than she let on. ‘And the silver coins sounds like he was trying to make amends for something a lot more serious.’

  Claire crumpled up the tear-sodden serviette and threw it into the empty ashtray. She now glared at Harker as anger replaced her sadness. ‘I’m sure, for whatever money you’re getting, you’d like there to be more to it, wouldn’t you?’

  This comment caught Harker off guard, and not wanting to cause a scene, he waited patiently for Claire to vent her frustrations.

  ‘If you hadn’t been offered a fee, I wonder if you’d have even bothered turning up here at all. So much for you being his best friend.’

  Harker once again felt his stomach begin to churn furiously as he tried to remain calm but failed miserably in the attempt. Not causing a scene suddenly seemed unimportant. ‘Easy, Claire, I loved Archie like a brother despite any problems we may have had. If I’d known he was about to top himself, I’d have come running …’

  Claire raised an eyebrow at his casual directness.

  ‘That’s right, I said top himself. And, if he’d had any fucking sense left, he would have called and let me help. As for the money, it was nothing more than a positive incentive in a situation that’s totally fucking negative. Now, I may not have been there in his hour of need, but you can bet your arse I’m going to find out what really happened to him, with or without your help.’

  It was at about this point that they both realised the small cafe had fallen silent, all the customers now riveted by the argument unfolding right in front of their noses. A waiter heading towards their table was distracted by a portly Italian waving a finger, obviously keen to see how the heated discussion would end. Harker’s indignation melted away just as quickly as it had arisen, and embarrassment began to take hold.

  ‘I should go now before I say something I really regret.’

  Claire, her eyebrows still raised in shock, let slip the beginnings of a smile. ‘I’d say it’s a little late for that.’

  Harker stood up and rummaged through his wallet before dropping ten euros on the table. ‘It was good to see you again, Claire.’

  And with that, he was striding across the piazza, heading to where he had no idea, but he needed to cool down and regroup; that at least he did know.

  He had only made it ten metres when he heard a voice call out to him from behind, and he turned to see Claire following hot on his heels.

  ‘You’re not getting away that easily, Alex Harker.’ She grabbed his hand and held on to it tightly with the tenacity of a young child. Her smile was growing by the second. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to …’

  He cut her off and took her in his arms, hugging her tightly. ‘No, I’m the one who’s sorry. I’m angry. You’re angry, and we’ve got no one to blame.’

  Claire looked up towards the sky and gave a little shake of her fist. ‘I do love you, Archie, but damn you can be a pain in the arse.’

  They both laughed and then pulled apart from their clinch.

  ‘So where do we go now?’

  Harker looked puzzled. ‘We?’

  She gave him a determined look. ‘If there’s any possibility that Archie was involved in something that led to his death, then I want to know about it.’

  ‘OK, Ms Dwyer, where first?’

  She grabbed his hand and pulled him towards a light-blue taxi stand situated just off the piazza. ‘I’m meant to pick up Archie’s belongings from his house this afternoon. That’s as good a place to start as any.’

 
He allowed her to pull him along. ‘OK, I’m in your hands then.’

  The two of them headed towards the taxi rank blissfully unaware of the grey fiat Uno parked on one corner of the square. Inside it, Drazia Heldon mopped his gigantic forehead with a handkerchief. It was a hot day, and the weatherman on the radio had warned that it could get hotter, rising well into the ’90s. Heldon hoped not because the air conditioning in the Uno was useless.

  On the passenger seat, his iPhone began to vibrate, and he let slip a moan. He knew who it was, and they weren’t happy after all the trouble his boss had gone to in tracking down Vito Malpuso; Heldon had not managed to get a single word out of him despite the pain he put the small man through. The priest had been a lot tougher than he looked.

  ‘Hello … Yes, they were right where you said they would be … No, No, I understand … Merely follow them and report back … Again, sir, I’m sorry about the priest … I won’t fail you again, and I will find the items.’

  The line went dead before he could say anything else, and he slammed the phone down on the dashboard. The digital clock above the steering wheel read 11.30 a.m., and he now promised himself he would have all the objects required by that same evening. Drazia Heldon pressed his huge palms together and said a quick prayer, before starting up the Uno’s engine.

  He waited for the white taxi with its two passengers to pass him before following it at a safe distance, snorting in disgust at the thought of the ex-priest in the vehicle. Was there anything worse than a man of the Church who had lost his faith? When this was all over, he planned to dispatch the low life with far more pain than he had dished out to Vito Malpuso. The good professor would feel the full force of his expertise. He smiled because he would have a lot of fun in applying it too.

  Chapter 8

  ‘Cardinal Rocca, let me be blunt and get straight to the point. An administrative error from time to time is understandable. It is almost to be expected, considering the vast extent of the Church’s activities. But a twenty-five-million dollar black hole within the Academy of Sciences’ budget is something else entirely. Two weeks ago, you assured me that I would have the accounts in full, and last week, you confirmed that once again, yet I’ve still received nothing. Please accept my apologies for having to concoct a story, but, given your recent actions, it seemed the only way to achieve this meeting. So now I am asking you for a third time, where are those accounts I requested?’

  Cardinal Salvatore Vincenzo let his question hang in the air. He had already spent half the morning luring his clerical colleague into the Governorate offices to talk about these urgent matters, and he certainly wasn’t in the mood to waste any more time or tolerate any further delay.

  ‘Well?’

  Cardinal Karl Rocca sat coolly on the opposite side of Vincenzo’s grand mahogany work desk, looking remarkably unconcerned. ‘As I told you at our last meeting, we are still accumulating the necessary accounts, and, once that task has been completed, I will hand them directly over to you. It should take us no longer than forty-eight hours.’

  Vincenzo took both elbows off his glinting lacquered desk and placed them in his lap, concealing his increasingly clenched fists. ‘That’s exactly what you told me last week, and they never materialised.’

  A smirk crept across Rocca’s face. ‘I’m not a miracle worker, Cardinal.’

  Vincenzo’s eyes began to widen in frustration as his guest calmly continued.

  ‘But you have my word those accounts will be with you by tomorrow evening.’

  This assurance lessened some of the tension between the two men, but Vincenzo was still far from satisfied. He sat back in his seat and eyed the younger cardinal with mistrust. ‘Cardinal Rocca, I appreciate you’ve only been in your current position for a few months, but I feel the need to explain for a second time what our overall responsibilities are.’ Vincenzo rose to his feet and surveyed the impressive marble-lined walls of his office, ignoring his visitor’s rolling eyes. ‘I am the president of the Governorate, the group of Vatican departments that exercises executive power, including the Papal State’s accounting and administrative departments.’ Vincenzo smiled sarcastically. ‘And you, Cardinal Rocca, are the recently appointed president of the Administration of the Patrimony of the Apostolic See, and your role, amongst other things, is to oversee all the properties and academies belonging to the Church. You are there to ensure that all the incomes of these properties are properly accounted for and the results passed over to us for assessing. It is this income, in part, that allows the Church to stay financially secure and to operate effectively around the world.’

  Vincenzo rubbed the base of his spine and lowered himself onto one corner of his desk, silently cursing the sciatica that was playing merry hell with his legs. ‘Now, Cardinal, I know you must be still getting used to the extended duties of your appointment and additional responsibilities for other departments, but …’ He leant forwards, ignoring the spreading pain in his thigh. ‘I am only concerned now with one thing, and that is the twenty-five million dollars missing from the Academy of Sciences’ budget!’

  Rocca sat quietly as Vincenzo hoisted himself off the desk and settled back into his more comfortable armchair.

  ‘If I do not have that report here on my desk by tomorrow afternoon, Cardinal, I will have no other option but to go directly to the Pope himself and ask for a formal investigation to be carried out.’

  If Karl Rocca was concerned by this threat, he showed no sign of it. Instead, he simply stood up and made his way to the door before stopping briefly to face Vincenzo directly, his expression impenetrable. ‘There will be no need for an investigation, Cardinal Vincenzo. I guarantee it. You will have those accounts on your desk by tomorrow evening.’

  With that, he was gone, leaving the door wide open, and Vincenzo was still shaking his head in frustration when a priest appeared there, looking somewhat embarrassed. ‘Shall I close the door, Your Eminence?’

  Vincenzo nodded solemnly. ‘Yes, but first I need you to do something for me.’

  The priest ventured a few steps further into the room. ‘Of course. What may I do for you?’

  The Governorate president pondered the question for a few seconds before making up his mind. ‘Can you ask Father Reed to come up here as I’d like a word with him?’

  The priest looked unsure, whereupon Vincenzo pre-empted his next question.

  ‘Like yourself, he’s a recent addition to the department. But you’ll find him on the ground floor section B, I think. Send him up here quickly, please. Actually, don’t bother. I’ll call him myself.’

  The priest nodded dutifully before gently closing the door behind him with a click. Vincenzo picked up the receiver of his desk phone and tapped in an extension number.

  ‘Father Reed, it’s Cardinal Vincenzo. Could you please come up to my office? There’s something I would like you to do for me.’

  Vincenzo gently returned the receiver to its cradle and gazed out of the double-paned windows just in time to see a carefree-looking Cardinal Rocca strolling towards the Academy of Science building beyond. ‘Cardinal Rocca,’ he murmured, ‘what exactly are you up to?’

  Chapter 9

  The blazing midday sun glinted off the taxi’s silver roof as it renegotiated the cobblestone road it had driven down moments earlier. Harker watched in relief as it turned a corner and vanished from sight. The journey had been a fifteen-minute drive through a myriad of tight winding streets, which Claire was just as certain they wouldn’t fit through as the driver was sure they would. The local had been right, of course, even if they had come close to scraping a few stonewalls and even closer to running down an elderly street vendor. The remainder of their trip had been engulfed in an uneasy silence, and Harker felt relieved to be a pedestrian once more.

  Archie Dwyer’s home was located in the centre of Rome, less than a mile away from Vatican City and just a few minutes’ walk from the famous Piazza del Popolo. The apartment was on the top floor, and the dome of St Pe
ter’s Basilica was easily visible just on the other side of the River Tiber. The property itself was owned by the Vatican, and both Harker and Archie had been allowed to live there for the duration of their three-year training.

  The dusty, humid air and the sight of the city now teased at Harker’s memory, and he found himself reminiscing back to the times he and Archie had spent in that very neighbourhood. The lessons and learning were the most prevalent memories, but the hot weather and the experience of a new environment, especially one as beautiful and alluring as Rome, were not easily forgotten. Harker had found ignoring the local nightlife a lot harder than his friend had and, on a few rare occasions, had ended up passed out on the front step of their doorway. Not good behaviour for a priest in training, and Archie had been furious, severely reprimanding him before dragging him inside through the same door that Claire was now busily trying to unlock.

  ‘I think the lock’s broken,’ she declared, taking a step back to survey the stone-built façade of the narrow house. ‘And I’m not surprised either. Look at the state of this place. I don’t know why you two would ever live here, or why he came back to it.’ She gave the door a single thump in frustration. ‘It’s a total tip.’

  Harker pulled his eyes away from the beautiful vista. ‘He stayed here for the sake of the view. It’s one of the best in Rome, certainly the best of the Vatican.’

  Gently he extracted the set of keys from Claire’s hand and carefully worked one into the rusty lock.

  ‘All you need is the right touch.’ He grinned cheekily. ‘A man’s touch.’

  Claire reached over and rested a hand on his shoulder. ‘Of course, it also helps if you used to live here too.’