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  Claire squeezed his arm firmly. ‘Hold on, is it their surnames or first names?’

  Harker just smiled and sat himself down at the desk. ‘Let’s find out. OK, we start at J which is the Salvador Dali, so the first letter of the surname is D, followed by Issac Newton, which is N.’ He followed the walls around him, his eyes piecing together the password. ‘OK, then the password must be DNPCUP? Unless that’s a bra size I’m unfamiliar with, I’d say we should go with the first names.’

  Harker zipped through the letters in seconds. ‘S-I-N-F-U-L. That has to be it. Sinful.’

  Without hesitation, he typed it in to the log-in window and pressed enter. The screen went blank again, and he heard Claire suck in a worried gasp, which only heightened the tension further. The screen stayed blank for what seemed an eternity before eventually buzzing into life with a series of clicks and a whirr from the hard drive.

  ‘Welcome, old friend,’ the message read.

  Harker wiped his forehead with dramatic exaggeration. ‘Phew, for a second there, I thought …’

  Claire dutifully knelt back down beside him. ‘I never had any doubt.’

  He shot her a sarcastic grin before turning his attention back to the monitor. The screen was blank except for one unopened document. Harker double-clicked on the icon, and a news cutting appeared on the screen.

  ‘See, no naked children. I told you.’

  Claire let out a relieved sigh. ‘Thank God.’

  They both huddled in close, trying to read the news column.

  ‘Claire, it’s in Italian, and you don’t speak Italian.’ Harker nudged her aside, and she reluctantly resumed her earlier position as he scanned the article. ‘It’s a news report about a fire at an orphanage in Castel Madama on the first of September this year. Four children were caught in the blaze and died. Officials believe it started through an electrical fault.’

  He tapped a photo at the foot of the report, which showed the burnt rubble and remains of what had been the orphanage. In the forefront stood an elderly man with bright white hair, wearing a partially burnt blue jumper and faded jeans, with a look of shock spread across his face. The caption read:

  ‘Tivoli’s night of sorrow: Orphanage director Benito Giuseppe looks on in horror as fire fighters try to control the blaze which killed four of the young residents.’

  Harker sat back to allow more space for Claire to examine the photo.

  ‘What else does it say?’

  ‘That’s it, nothing else significant.’ Harker let his words trail off as he tried desperately to connect the dots. What did the deaths of four orphans in a fire have to do with Archie? Unless … ? An unpleasant feeling settled in the pit of his stomach. Did those cracks about molesting children have some basis in fact? He tried to push the vile idea from his mind. Archie wasn’t the type, but, then again, what was the type? He was torn from such thoughts by Claire pulling at his arm.

  ‘Alex, why is this timer running?’ She drew his attention to the small digital timer located in the corner of the screen. The numbers were scrolling down in seconds. ‘Is it a bomb?’

  Harker took a closer look at the spinning numbers. ‘No, it’s not a bomb,’ he said firmly.

  ‘How do you know?’

  He pointed to the first set of numerals. ‘The countdown is measured in hours look, twenty-one hours, ten minutes, and still counting. No one would set an almost day long fuse, would they?’

  Claire composed herself again. ‘So what’s this countdown for?’

  Harker sat back thoughtfully. ‘I’m not sure, but whatever your brother wanted us to uncover, it happens in just over twenty-one hours.’

  She glanced down at her watch. ‘That’s nine o’clock tomorrow morning. What does it all mean?’

  He gave a concerned nod. ‘It means we need to get a move on. Claire, why don’t you call for a taxi? I think we need to pay this Mr Benito Giuseppe a visit.’

  Chapter 10

  ‘Ah, Professor Harker.’ Benito Giuseppe threw his arms wildly around Harker and gave him an over-friendly pat on the back. ‘And you must be Claire Dwyer.’ He clasped both her hands and delicately kissed her cheek. ‘I am so sorry for your brother. He was a lovely, decent man, and you have my condolences. Had your call not been at such short notice, I could have arranged a full tour of the home, but, nonetheless, it is a pleasure to welcome you both here. Please take a seat.’

  Benito gestured to the two small plastic children’s chairs placed in front of his desk. ‘Forgive me, but I don’t have many adult guests. Most of the visitors to my office are a little bit smaller.’ He made his way around to a comfortable-looking leather chair behind the desk and promptly sat himself down as both his guests shuffled about in their miniature seats. ‘The kids call those the hot seats, but to me, they’re just the naughty chairs. Now, please tell me, how may I be of help?’

  Harker straightened out the crease in his trousers that was cutting off the circulation to his groin and tried to look as relaxed as he could whilst perched on a foot-high chair. ‘Thank you for seeing us at such short notice, and I’m sorry we’re late.’

  The fifty-minute-long trip up to Castel Madama had been a challenge. The orphanage was situated far off the main roads, and even the taxi driver had trouble finding this isolated spot outside of the main town. Claire had become convinced that the driver was deliberately trying to bump up the fare, but, not wanting to get dumped in the middle of nowhere, Harker had opted for the diplomatic option – keeping his mouth shut – and because Claire spoke no Italian, it was his vote that counted.

  Benito Giuseppe smiled wildly, the veneers on his spectacles glinting in the bright sunlight that shone through the side window and on to the orphanage director’s green leather-clad desktop. ‘No trouble at all. Father Dwyer gave us so much of his time that it’s the least I can do.’

  Harker finally managed to position himself comfortably as Claire continued the struggle to figure out the best way to sit without revealing too much. ‘Mr Giuseppe, we’re trying to find out precisely what affiliation Archie Dwyer had with the orphanage?’

  The director sat back in his chair and stroked his forehead thoughtfully. ‘Is this to do with those rumours in the gutter press?’ He glanced at Claire sympathetically. ‘Because that’s all lies. Your brother was no more a child molester than I am a brain surgeon. I’m afraid some journalists today don’t have the honesty and integrity they once did. As long as it sells, they run with it and then worry about the consequences afterwards. I’ve already had the child-protection authorities crawling over this place for the past two weeks, and I can assure you that they left here quite satisfied.’

  Suspecting that the conversation was about to plunge into the legalities of their visit, Harker butted in, ‘No, Mr Giuseppe, I’m sure everything’s above board, and that’s not the reason we’ve come here today.’ Lying was not one of Harker’s strong points, and he’d been rehearsing this speech on the way over. ‘The truth is that both Claire and I had lost touch with Archie, and, after his funeral this morning, we both realised how little we know about the last few years of his life.’ The last part of the rehearsed speech now totally escaped him. Damn! ‘So here we are.’

  Benito rubbed his hands together vigorously, and, for a moment, Harker was sure this friendly Italian was about to lose his temper. A few seconds passed before a thin smile appeared on the director’s face. ‘I do understand. It’s not until they leave us that we realise how short our time on this earth is.’

  The remark received a depressed stare from Claire.

  ‘I’m sorry, my dear, I don’t mean to upset you.’

  She smiled bravely and simply shook her head, much to the relief of the Italian.

  ‘Well, what else can I tell you? Father Dwyer came up here to see us almost every weekend. He took the children on sightseeing tours of the city and also to the Vatican itself. He was always very giving of his time, and the kids loved him. He even had a great talent for making his sermons fun
and exciting – something which is hard enough with adults, let alone when dealing with young children.’

  This image conjured up pleasant memories in Harker’s mind. Even as a young man, when most teenagers would rather die than take their siblings along with them, Archie Dwyer had never faltered in his protective attention to Claire and her younger classmates. It was a trait that Harker had always admired in his friend but never mastered for himself. That ability to engage always on the same level, regardless of the person’s age, was one he’d obviously put to good use here at the orphanage.

  ‘He was a great communicator … always was.’

  ‘Yes, you’re right, of course, Professor and he had a real talent for bringing people together.’ Benito gave a short undignified sigh and looked out of the office window at a couple of the home’s younger inmates playing with a frisbee on the grass lawn below, his mood suddenly darkening. ‘But that all changed after the fire.’

  ‘The fire?’ Harker could feel Claire’s eyes on him as he feigned ignorance of the disaster. No, he was not a good liar at all, but, thankfully, it was a fact that Benito seemed oblivious to.

  ‘Yes, we had a fire break out here in September. It was a terrible accident, and we lost four of our children. It was the worst tragedy we’ve ever had at the orphanage, and, if I’m honest, we’re still reeling from the loss.’ The dark rings beneath the director’s eyes told of the sleepless nights he had endured since. ‘But no one took it harder than Father Dwyer. Like I said, it changed him – it really did.’

  ‘In what way?’

  It was the first time Claire had really spoken since the beginning of the meeting, and Benito shifted in his chair, turning his attention towards her.

  ‘He took it very personally and simply stopped visiting us. I only saw him once again, shortly before he …’ The Italian lowered his head slightly, though never taking his eyes off Claire. ‘… passed away, and that was it until I read of his demise in the newspapers.’

  Harker leant forward inquisitively, wincing as the keys in his pocket dug painfully into his thigh. ‘What did he want to see you for?’

  ‘He wanted to apologise for his absence and to tell me that due to his new commitments, he would no longer be able to visit us here. He gave me a parting gift for the home, and that was it – he was gone.’

  Harker was opening his mouth to speak when Claire beat him to it.

  ‘What was this gift?’

  Benito looked down at his squirming guests and smiled.

  ‘Those seats can be torture. Please follow me, and I’ll be happy to show you. I really ought to get some new chairs,’ Benito added apologetically, ‘but our budget is so tight. Please, this way.’

  The curving corridor outside the director’s office circled a grassy courtyard where two female carers were busily gathering the children for playtime.

  They had only made it halfway round the walkway when something caught Benito’s attention. He rapped on the corridor’s glass window and pointed to a small boy who was down on his hands and knees, staring up the skirt of one of the supervisors. His knock on the window caused the woman to turn around, first to recognise Benito and then to see the pint-sized peeper almost beneath her. She shook her head disapprovingly and gave the child a light slap across the head before sending him over to confront the unhappy-looking director.

  ‘I’m sorry, but I need to deal with this matter now,’ Benito said wearily as the young boy yanked the corridor’s glass door open with both hands and sheepishly ambled over towards them.

  ‘Now, Gustavo …’ The pudgy director bent down and spoke softly in Italian. ‘We’ve spoken about this sort of behaviour before, haven’t we?’

  The boy nodded solemnly, barely making eye contact as he fidgeted with his hands. ‘Yes, signor Mr Giuseppe.’

  Benito knelt down to the child’s level and placed a hand on the ten-year-old’s shoulder. ‘You know better than that, don’t you, Gus?’

  The boy nodded again, his face flushing as the embarrassment grew.

  ‘Tell me, Gustavo, why is it wrong to look up ladies’ skirts?’

  ‘Because it’s naughty?’ the boy said, offering more a question than an answer.

  ‘Yes, but why?’

  Young Gustavo took a moment to think about it, his lips curling as he tried to remember the right answer. ‘Because it’s an infwingnment of their space.’

  Benito tapped him gently on the shoulder, clearly pleased by this response. ‘That’s right, it’s an infringement of someone’s personal space.’

  He allowed the youngster to think about that for a second before continuing.

  ‘And what did we agree would happen if you did it again?’

  The boy looked down at his feet and then up again with a cheeky grin on his face. ‘I’d get second helpings at dinner.’

  Harker came close to bursting into laughter at the boy’s response, and he turned away to face Claire who, not speaking a word of Italian, was clueless to what was being said.

  ‘No, Gustavo, don’t be cheeky. There will be no frisbee playing with the other children until tomorrow. Now go back to the group and think about what you’ve done.’

  The punishment didn’t seem to have the desired effect, and Gus headed back to the group with a happy smile, already scoping out the other female carer whose skirt was even shorter.

  Benito stood up straight again and continued with their tour, ‘That boy suffers from an unhealthy obsession.’

  ‘Didn’t we all at that age?’ Harker said as Benito exhaled a defeated sigh.

  ‘In truth, yes, but that’s the second time today I’ve had to reprimand him. Unfortunately, it’s become more of a hobby with Gustavo. One I’m hoping he’ll lose interest in over time.’

  ‘Good luck.’ The comment came out, sounding rather more sarcastic than Harker had intended, but Benito Giuseppe smiled at the truth in it before silently continuing down the corridor to enter a small classroom at the end.

  The room was neatly lined with child-size desks and a world map hung on the wall behind the teacher’s desk. Benito produced a silver key from his trouser pocket, unlocked the top drawer of the main desk, and then reached inside to pull out a framed picture, which he handed to Harker.

  ‘From happier times.’

  It was a group photograph of four brown-haired children with Mediterranean complexions, all sitting on the grass lawn at the orphanage’s entrance. Standing directly behind them was Archie Dwyer with a satisfied smile across his face, and next to him stood two other priests, each with an arm resting on one of Archie’s shoulders. Underneath the photo itself was a miniature map of the area surrounding the orphanage.

  ‘Do you know who the other two priests are?’ Harker asked.

  ‘One’s Father Maddocks and the other Father Malpuso. Father Malpuso only visited us a few times, but Father Maddocks came here almost as regularly as Archie. We considered both of them benefactors of the home, and he and Father Dwyer were close friends.’

  The name resonated in Harker’s mind as he remembered Archie’s note: ‘Maddocks 23-45-64.’

  ‘They both gave much of their spare time to the orphanage and, of course, to the four angels.’

  ‘Four angels?’ It was Claire’s curiosity that had now been aroused.

  Benito pointed to the four children. ‘Yes, that’s what both the fathers called them.’

  At first glance, the four children looked like … well, regular children. But, as Harker examined them more closely, he could see they were far from regular. At first, he thought they were all smiling, but they weren’t. Each of the children had a look of sheer terror etched on his face, their mouths hung open as if shouting something, and their arms and legs were bent unnaturally. They were clearly disabled and severely so.

  ‘Yes, it’s the name that Father Dwyer – and then all of us – used. As you can see, they had serious physical problems, and when they first arrived here, we were unsure if we could offer the proper care they needed.
But Father Dwyer convinced us otherwise, and he even secured a regular donation from the Church to pay for new wheelchairs and medication.’

  Suddenly and abruptly, a plump Italian woman in a tight-fitting cream jumper and jeans appeared at the classroom’s doorway, looking flustered. ‘Mr Giuseppe, I apologise for interrupting, but I need you.’

  Benito looked embarrassed by the intrusion of his blushing colleague. ‘Can’t it wait, Ms Malik?’ He gestured to his guests. ‘I’m a little busy.’

  Ms Malik turned to Harker and nodded respectfully. ‘I’m sorry, but it’s Gustavo. He’s doing it again, and he won’t take any of us seriously. He needs to be properly disciplined, Mr Giuseppe. Would you talk to him, please?’

  The director sighed despairingly. ‘Don’t work yourself up. I’ll be right there.’

  She nodded again and disappeared as quickly as she’d come. The grey-haired director turned back to his guests with sagging shoulders.

  ‘You know, in the good old days, I’d have put him straight over my knee for a good spanking. Of course, nowadays, we can’t even use harsh language. Would you excuse me for a moment?’

  Benito marched out of the classroom, his posture stiffening already in anticipation of his little chat with the mischievous Gustavo.

  Claire pulled the picture frame from Harker’s hands and eyed it suspiciously. ‘Maddocks … that’s the same name as on Archie’s note?’

  Harker nodded silently and pulled the worn piece of paper from his pocket, passing it to Claire whilst taking the framed photograph back into his grasp. ‘And I’m pretty sure I know what the numbers stand for.’

  He placed the photo down flat on the desk in front of them and ran his fingers across the tiny map included below it. ‘Those numbers aren’t a code or password.’ He drew her attention to the dark-blue digits ranged along the edges of it. ‘They’re map co-ordinates, look.’

  Claire edged closer, holding Archie’s crumpled note to one side of the frame as Harker traced the numbers to their point of convergence with two separate index fingers.