Pontiff (A Thriller)

by Richard Bowker

  She found his office with little difficulty. He was seated with his back to her, staring out the window. Apparently these guys didn't have all that much to do. "Father Hurley?"

  He spun around in his chair and stared at her, looking startled and confused. "Oh, um, hi, uh—"

  "Lieutenant Morelli," she said. "May I come in?"

  "Sure, I'm sorry, Lieutenant. Please have a seat."

  She entered the office and sat down on the other side of his desk. She hoped he wasn't one of those priests who were terrified of women. He didn't look like that kind of priest, but in Morelli's opinion you had to be seriously screwed up to enter the priesthood, so she assumed that something was wrong with him, and it probably had to do with women or little boys. "Father, I'd like to talk to you about Ed McAllister."

  His confusion lingered for a moment, and then his face darkened. "Look," he said, "I'm sorry I brought it up. I didn't mean to step on everyone's toes. I thought I was helping. I thought someone might actually care."

  "I care," Morelli responded.

  "Oh." He smiled at her—a crooked gosh-I'm-cute smile that he probably thought was devastatingly attractive—and said, "I'm glad to hear it."

  "I'm going to pass your information to Homicide and make sure they follow up on it. And if it does have something to do with the pope's visit, you can be sure we'll be on top of it."

  He seemed less than totally enthusiastic at the news. "Your boss—Captain Ryan, was it?—didn't seem very enthusiastic," he pointed out. "Won't you get into trouble?"

  Typical priest, she thought. Obedience was the only virtue they really cared about. Not that he was necessarily wrong about Ryan; Ryan liked obedience, too. "Why don't you let me worry about that," she replied, perhaps a little too forcefully. "And how do you know that Ryan is my boss?"

  He was instantly repentant. "I'm sorry," he said. "Didn't mean to—the fact is, my own boss chewed me out just now for even bringing this up. So I guess I'm feeling a little gun-shy."

  Well, that was better. "Look," she said, "Ryan is my boss, but that doesn't mean I can't have a different opinion. All I really came here for is to go over your story again, to make sure I have it all straight. Why don't we just do that, and I'll get out of your hair?"

  "Sure. That would be fine. And you're not 'in my hair,' Lieutenant. I'm very grateful for your interest."

  So he went through it once more, and Morelli took notes and asked a few questions, and then it was done. She stood up. "Thank you, Father," she said. "You've been a big help."

  He stood up as well and flashed his cutesy smile. "Call me Joe," he said.

  As if. "I'll call you if I need any further information."

  "Thank you, Lieutenant. Let me know how you make out."

  * * *

  Call me Joe. Hurley wasn't the terrified-of-women kind of priest, Morelli decided. He belonged to the charming ladies-man school, the kind who would make her mother giggle with delight at his slightly off-color jokes and her father grumble about the proper behavior required of a man of God. But that just meant he had a different kind of problem with women.

  Morelli herself had a problem with priests. Or, more specifically, with the Catholic Church. Priests were just the Church's most visible representatives. It wasn't worth thinking about, though. The Church wasn't part of her life anymore, and the less she had to do with people like "Father Joe" the better.

  Morelli returned to Police Headquarters in Roxbury and sought out Tim Lafferty, the detective who had interviewed Hurley. She wasn't looking forward to this; her few interactions with Lafferty had not been pleasant. Like many people in the department, he had a long memory, and little sympathy for Kathleen Morelli.

  He was seated at a desk piled high with case files and paperwork, his collar open and sweat stains under his arms. He glared at her and said nothing when she approached.

  "Hi," she said. "Sorry to bother you, Tim, but I have a potential lead in the McAllister case. It's from Father Joe Hurley—you spoke to him about a phone call he got from McAllister the night he died?"

  Lafferty continued to glare. He wasn't going to help her at all. She took a deep breath and plunged ahead. "It has to do with a man named Bandini," she began. And she repeated Hurley's story. "I know it's all kind of tenuous," she admitted when she was done, "but I think it may be worth checking into—especially if you're not coming up with much."

  "What makes you think I'm not coming up with much?" he demanded.

  Because you haven't arrested anyone yet in the biggest murder case of the year, she thought. "It's up to you," she said, ignoring his question. "The man's name is Bandini. The woman Hurley talked to is Janet Leahy. She and her husband Dave live in Framingham. Here's the phone number."

  Morelli dropped a slip of paper onto his desk. Lafferty ignored it. "Did your priest friend tell you that McAllister was as queer as a three-dollar bill?" he asked.

  She shook her head, bristling at the phrase priest friend. "What's that got to do with anything?" she replied.

  Lafferty shrugged. "Just that it looks to me like a much more interesting avenue of investigation than this thing. Why don't you leave the detective work to professionals, honey? Go back to what you're good at, like kissing the commissioner's butt."

  Morelli stared at him, willing herself not to scream at him. "If this lead turns out to be important and you ignore it," she managed to say, "your career is fucked, no matter what you think of me."

  Lafferty puckered his lips and made a kissing sound. Morelli turned and stormed from his cubicle.

  Why did she keep trying? When was she going to get it through her head that it just wasn't going to work?

  She had bad genes, she supposed. Stubborn Irish. Stubborn Italian. She thought of her father, persevering in what he knew was right despite hatred all around him. Was it possible that she was turning into her father?

  If Lafferty wasn't interested in the priest's information, then she would just run with it herself. She could already feel herself sliding down the slope of another disaster, but it didn't seem to matter. She knew what she had to do.

  * * *

  Father Hurley was a good boy and tried to put McAllister and Bandini out of his mind; Doyle made sure he had plenty of other things to occupy his time. As for Lieutenant Morelli—well, frankly, she scared him a little. Very tightly wound, he thought. And a priest-hater; he had good antennae for that sort of person. There were lots of them around nowadays. He had tried going on a bit of a charm offensive, but it was so obviously going to fail that he hadn't put his heart into it. He could just imagine her starting in on him about contraception or female priests or pedophilia. Women like her seemed to take especial aim at him because he was young and so presumably should know better. It was a pity, because he liked her directness and intensity. Well, okay, and her green eyes, too. She wasn't model-pretty, he supposed, but she had an open, attractive face, and he was certain she'd have a great smile, if he ever got to see it.

  That evening he got a call from Ann. "Hey Joe," she said, "you seemed to have gotten Homicide's attention. A detective called me up and gave me what-for about my letting you investigate the murder. What's going on?"

  He explained what he had been up to—the information Janet Leahy had provided him, the security meeting, Lieutenant Morelli's interest in pursuing the matter. "Morelli must have brought it up with Detective Lafferty," he said, "and he apparently took umbrage. I'm sorry if he gave you a hard time."

  "Well, screw him and his umbrage, Joe," Ann replied. "If you think you have something, go with it. Wouldn't it be great if Ed was murdered because he really was trying to do a good deed?"

  "He's full of surprises, Ann."

  "Hang in there, Joe. Let's see if we can find out the truth."

  Sure, and get slammed by my boss for my trouble, he thought. He hadn't told Ann that part. Oh, well. It was in Morelli's hands now.

  Except that Morelli called him at work the next day. "Father, it's Lieutenant Morelli," she said.


  "Call me Joe," he replied, to annoy her as much as anything. He knew she didn't want to call him by his first name. "Your buddy Detective Lafferty certainly doesn't seem interested in Mr. Bandini." He explained how this information had gotten back to him.

  "Obviously Lafferty isn't my buddy," she said. "And if you ask me, he's not that good a detective. Have you heard of a group called 'The Protectors of the Unborn'?"

  The abrupt question took Hurley aback. "Uh, I don't think so. Some kind of radical pro-life organization, I suppose?"

  "An ultraradical one. You've heard of Robert Coulter?"

  "The guy who murdered those abortion doctors. Sure."

  "Well, it's the group he's supposed to belong to. Anyway, word is that Dave Leahy is a member. That's why he hasn't been active in the mainstream pro-life movement lately."

  "How do you know that?" Hurley asked.

  "We have people in the department who keep tabs on groups like this. They're more cooperative than Lafferty."

  "Have they heard of Bandini?"

  "No, but that doesn't mean much. This group is extremely secretive. No one seems to know how they're organized, who funds them, or almost anything about them."

  "Interesting. But what's this have to do with the pope?"

  "I don't know," Morelli admitted. "I was hoping you might have some clue why a group like this would want to kill the pope."

  "Well, no. I mean, Pope John hasn't come out against the unborn, that I've heard."

  Morelli was silent on the other end of the line. Hurley hoped she wasn't going to start in about abortion. "In any case," she said finally, "I want to go have a talk with Dave Leahy."

  At this point, he knew better than to ask her if this would get her into trouble with Detective Lafferty. Instead he found himself saying something totally surprising. "I'd like to come along," he said.

  "Why would you want to do that?" she replied, not surprisingly.

  "Because I owe it to Ed McAllister—and his sister—to keep investigating. I know I haven't been very good at it, but I did come up with something. Besides, Leahy is a devout Catholic. I doubt he'd say anything to a police officer, but he might open up to a priest."

  "Um, are priests allowed—" She hesitated.

  "What? To be seen in public with a grown woman? Grown women aren't the problem, frankly."

  Morelli fell silent again. Did she want to be seen in public with him? "It's not really standard procedure," she pointed out finally. "This could be dangerous. Leahy could be, well, a terrorist. You never know how people are going to react."

  She hadn't flat-out refused him, which meant he would be able to talk her into it. Did he want to? Or did he want to accept the offered excuse and let the police handle it from here? Let Lieutenant Morelli be the one to get into trouble.

  But again he found himself pressing ahead. "Let me come, Lieutenant," he said. "I understand there's a risk. But I really think I can help. And of course I'll do whatever you say. It's your show."

  "Well..." Morelli said dubiously. "Tonight. Can you do it tonight?"

  "You bet," he replied. "And thanks."

  They made the arrangements and then hung up. Hurley found himself rehearsing the excuse he'd give to Doyle if this got back to him. The whole thing was nuts, of course. But still...

  At the very least it would give Lieutenant Morelli a car ride in which to yell at him about the Catholic Church. That was probably sufficient justification right there.

  Hurley smiled and got on with his work.

  * * *

  She should have just told Hurley to take a hike, Morelli thought afterwards. Tell him the professionals would handle things from here. What was this all about, anyway? Did he really think he was going to help crack the case? Or was he just a busybody, sticking his nose into places it didn't belong, sure he wouldn't get slapped down because, after all, he was a priest?

  So why hadn't she told him to take a hike? Reflexive politeness from the old days, when you wouldn't dream of contradicting a priest? Or maybe she really did think he could help. This was not likely to be an easy interview, after all.

  Maybe. She had to admit that it was hard to come up with a negative interpretation of his request to tag along. He genuinely seemed to want to help. And he apparently didn't mind disobeying his boss, which in her book was a very encouraging sign.

  Well, she would give him the benefit of the doubt, she decided. And if things went well tonight, maybe she'd call him Joe.

  Chapter 16

  Pope John sat behind his desk and listened to the argument. He had been listening to a lot of arguments lately. Like many of them, this one was between Monsignor Fieri and Cardinal Valli. Somehow it had escaped his notice until too late that these two men cordially detested each other, and now he had to deal with their constant disagreements.

  This one was about the itinerary for the American trip, which the pope had assumed, probably foolishly, had already been seen and approved by the appropriate people.

  "In Boston, public Mass in Fenway Park," Fieri said, gesturing at a printout. "In New York City, public Mass in Central Park. In Miami, public Mass at the Orange Bowl. It goes on. Holiness, we live in an age of terror, and America is the focus of that terror. I think we are taking too many unnecessary risks by staging these huge open events in city after city. You can get your message across without standing in the open in front of fifty thousand people."

  "I thought that was part of the strategy," Pope John responded.

  Valli nodded. "Indeed it was—and is. If you simply want to speak to reporters or make statements, you can do so from this room; no need to go to America at all. Or you could go there and merely meet with important people behind closed doors. But if you want to capture the attention of the American people, if you want to energize the American Church, then you must have these kinds of spectacles. Nothing else will suffice. And if you don't, there will inevitably be comparisons made with your beloved predecessor. What would he have done? How would he have acted?"

  Fieri shook his head. "I can't believe that the same outcome can't be achieved by less dangerous means. Americans know that times have changed. They won't hold it against you if you exercise some prudence."

  "Holiness, we are of course in touch with the American authorities," Valli said, ignoring Fieri. "None has expressed any concerns about the proposed itinerary. If concerns were to arise, we would respond appropriately. We aren't wedded to this plan or to any particular event. But it would be a mistake to simply give up on such things. The Secretariat knows what it is doing."

  Fieri started to respond, but Pope John raised a hand; he had heard enough. "Thank you both," he murmured. "I appreciate your candor, as always. Let us proceed with the plan. I have every confidence that my safety will be in good hands. And if there is a problem..." He shrugged. "Then we will all be in God's good hands."

  "Thank you, Holiness," they both murmured in unison, and they left his office. The next time he saw either of them alone, he knew, they would try to continue the war against the other. There would be another issue, another battle. The pope wasn't yet sure whether he was seeing legitimate differences of opinion, or whether this was simply an ongoing battle for power and influence, with little concern over the substance of what they were fighting about.

  As for this issue, he didn't feel strongly one way or the other. He was not especially enamored of public religious spectacles; he himself preferred private prayer to these Masses in sports stadiums. But as usual Valli was right, he supposed. Lots of people liked this sort of thing, and presumably expected it from their pope; it made them feel connected to the Universal Church, and that was all to the good. As for the risk—well, after what he had been through in his life, it hardly seemed worth considering. If something was going to happen, it would happen. It wasn't worth any further thought.

  Thomas came into the office, bearing the pope's afternoon milk and cookies.

  "How many times in your life were you certain you were
going to die, Thomas?" the pope asked him.

  Thomas scratched his head and smiled. "When I was in prison I expected it every morning. Sometimes, when the beatings got bad, I prayed for it. I hope you'll like these cookies, Holiness. The nuns have found a new recipe."

  The pope took a bite. "Delightful," he said. Then, after a second bite: "Perhaps still a bit dry?"

  Thomas sighed. "Yes, I suppose they are. We can't tell the nuns, though. They'll be heartsick."

  "Of course not. You must tell them I swooned with joy when I took my first bite. Do you ever miss those days back home, Thomas? It may sound absurd, but... we knew our cause was just, no matter how much we suffered."

  Thomas shook his head. "All in all, I'd rather have been watching it on television. But I know what you mean."

  "Are you worried about my going to America?"

  Thomas considered. "Why would it be any less dangerous than the Vatican?" he asked. "You don't have to finish the cookie if you don't want to, Holiness. It isn't a penance."

  "Monsignor Fieri tells me that Cardinal Valli wears a hair shirt," the pope remarked, putting down the inedible cookie.

  "Perhaps he has much to do penance for."

  The pope finished his milk. "I have never even considered wearing a hair shirt," he said. "I must admit that sometimes Cardinal Valli makes me feel rather inadequate."

  Thomas picked up the tray. "Let His Eminence save a nation," he said. "Then maybe he'll be worthy of comparison to you."

  He bowed and left the office.

  The pope smiled and leaned back in his chair. Fieri would be back soon, he knew, and the long day would continue. He often found himself weary and perplexed and suspicious. But he was beginning to think that it would be all right. Thomas's half-serious compliment was half-right, after all. He had made it through worse than this and triumphed in the end. There was no reason that he couldn't triumph here.

  He would even, he decided, find a way to get the nuns to bake better cookies.

  * * *