Page 111 of Broken

She turns to look at me, and I see mischief in her features before she erases them of all expression. “I can’t believe that lunatic did this to him. He’s a priest!”

The second cop grunts, but he turns his attention to me. His face becomes harder, but there isn’t any accusation there.

As I stare at him, the brush of His hand on my shoulder tells me that I am on the right path. That He has blessed me for protecting the innocent. Otherwise, I’d be in a jail cell. Or a coffin.

I put my faith in Him, and this time, He did not fail me.

Dazed by the prospect, I blink when the officer asks, “Father, can you answer some questions?”

“He’s only just woken up,” Andrea protests.

“We need answers, ma’am,” the second cop replies regretfully.

“I already told you what happened,” she complains. “I saw it all! The other guy was getting in the priest’s face. It happened so fast too. Suddenly, there was a knife, and he plunged it into the father’s stomach. I don’t even know how the father did it, but he grabbed the handle, pulled it out, and swiped blindly. Then, there was just...” She releases a shaky breath, and because I know her better than the police do, I can tell it isn’t fake. The blood, the sheer quantity of it, surprised her. “There was so much blood. It was everywhere.”

Her lies shared, I shoot the officers a stunned look. “Did you hear about Gianni Incrocio’s death?”

The first officer steps forward as he tucks his beret under his arm. “I’mVicebrigadiereEsposito, Father. You mean the hobo who died outside your church today?”

“I took Corelli’s confession prior to Gianni’s death. During his last rites, Gianni said Corelli was the man who shot him. That’s why I went to see him.” In an effort to sound penitent, Iadd a croak to my voice. “I tried to contain my distress, but I had to confront him.

“I went with peace in mind,” I lie. “I urged him to hand himself in to the police. But he wouldn’t. When we went outside, he grew aggressive, saying he exterminated Gianni and did the city a favor!

“The young lady has it right. It played out like something from a film.”

“I’m Bianchi, Father,” the other officer greets. “You say Corelli confessed to Incrocio’s murder?”

“The seal of confession should never be broken, but what I’ve witnessed today?” The shudder that racks through my body isn’t feigned. “I want no more of this world.”

Bianchi drums his fingers on the nightstand. “Did he say why he killed the hobo?”

“Thehobohas a name,” Andrea rumbles, and I’m glad she does because it pisses me off too when they use Gianni’s label rather than what his parents gifted him at birth.

“Apologies, ma’am.” Bianchi shoots her a wary smile. “I think it’s time for you to step outside if you don’t mind?”

“I suppose…” Her eyes cut to me. “Father, I wish you well. If there’s anything I can do?—”

“No, child. Thank you, but you did more than enough for me today.” The motive behind her actions settles like a soothing balm in my soul. “It’s only when you screamed that Corelli became distracted. You saved me from further attack. I’d be dead—” Or worse. “—if it weren’t for you.”

Her bottom lip gets sucked in between her teeth, then Bianchi opens the door and wafts her out. She grabs the anorak she dumped over the back of an uncomfortable-looking armchair. “Officers, you have my contact details if you need to ask me anything else.”

I’m not happy she has to leave either. “Go with God, child.”

Her eyes widen, but she slinks off—slowly turning her head to the side at the last minute.

Bianchi closes the door, cutting off our final glimpse of one another. “We should have escorted her to her accommodation earlier, but she’s pretty stubborn. Refused to leave your side even in the ambulance.”

“I recognize her.” I mumble the falsehood, not even surprised when I start to feel the pain of my injuries now that she’s left me. The distance between us… hurts. That’s impossible—no? “Why do I?”

“She’s a famous writer.” Bianchi’s grin is rueful. “She’s not as crazy as the TV made out. They were saying she was ill or something.”

“Does that affect the providence of her statement?”

“No. She seems lucid to me, and it’s all cut and dry?—”

“I think I remember her,” I mutter.

Esposito tilts his head. “From the alley?”

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