by Steve Richer
“Then you have to stop losing so much,” Victor said with a chuckle.
“There’s that too. What can I do for you?”
“I called the task force and they told me you were in the field. I’m processing the evidence and I got something.”
Donnie stopped breathing and unconsciously gripped the steering wheel. “What is it?”
“On the trash bag, the one that was over the vic’s head? I got a speck of saliva. It shouldn’t belong there.”
“Wait? You have an ID on it?”
“Not over the phone, this could be big. My advice is to get your ass over here as soon as you can. This could be really big.”
Chapter 23
Colm had barely eaten all day. It was the afternoon now and even though his stomach rumbled he couldn’t get himself to snack on anything. He was still thinking about what Cardinal Stagnaro had said last night.
What if Colm got promoted to bishop?
Man, his parents would be so proud. Having a priest in the family was the dream of every Catholic in Ireland. But a bishop? It was like winning the lottery. It was like scoring for the national team in the World Cup.
What’s more, Colm began thinking about the actual work it entailed. He would be able to do so many great things once he had the power to implement them. He was full of ideas, in fact.
No matter where he would be posted – probably a diocese back home, at least he hoped so – he wanted to focus on afterschool programs. He saw a need to bridge the gap between kids and the Church. He would do so by not being too preachy. That’s how he’d managed to find God himself, after all.
With a program like this he probably wouldn’t have been a juvenile delinquent. What if churches organized team sports after school? What if priests and laypeople helped with homework? What if they could bring entire communities together? It would be like in the olden days, but without the hierarchy and distrust between the clergy and churchgoers. They would be equals. Partners.
There weren’t enough of these programs as it was. Colm really thought that he could take the Catholic Church into the twenty-first century and make it cool again.
He started to get excited about this, but then something occurred to him. Was it a sin to hope for a promotion? Shouldn’t he be happy with his station in life? It was God’s plan, after all. Nevertheless, maybe it was God’s plan for him to be ordained bishop as well.
And it couldn’t possibly be a sin to wish to improve the community, yes?
This said, it was out of his hands. It was Cardinal Blanchet, his superior, who would decide his fate. He had to defer to his elders. They had to know what was best and it was not his place to argue.
But why was he still so unsure about everything? There was a word for what he was feeling and it was the most frightening thing for a Catholic priest: doubt.
He would pray about it tonight, asking for guidance, wanting to prove that it wasn’t really doubt that he was feeling. But in the meantime he had to unburden his soul and he knew the one person who could help him with that.
He drove out of Vatican City until he found the gym. It was a modern place with all the latest equipment and trendy music. He remembered there was a health café inside and decided he would try to eat a salad before leaving.
As always, he received strange looks as he entered the building although he could never tell if it was because of his Roman collar or his lack of sports bag. Or maybe they wondered what a priest was doing in a place teeming with beautiful women in revealing clothing.
In fact, it wasn’t lost on him. Before anything else, he was a man and obeying his vow of chastity was more difficult at certain times. This afternoon was such a time.
At once his eyes were riveted to a tall blonde on the StairMaster. She was in her early twenties and her damp hair was glued to her forehead. Her body glistened with sweat and it seemingly drew his gaze to her ample cleavage which was bouncing up and down rhythmically.
He swallowed dryly and did his best not to stare, but it was near impossible. She was not only drop-dead gorgeous, but sexy as well. Spellbinding. It used to bother him more when he was younger, right out of the seminary, but now he just went with it. He supposed it was like being married; just because you couldn’t do anything, it didn’t mean you couldn’t look.
“That will be three Hail Marys as a petition for purity and other virtues, Father.”
The clipped British voice brought Colm out of his reverie and he rapidly turned around. He found Nigel Smyth grinning at him as he wiped off his own sweat with a towel.
“How are you, mate?”
“Smashing, actually. I just ran ten kilometers. Remember when I couldn’t do more than one?”
They shook hands and started walking toward the café in the back. Nigel used to be quite chubby and he’d taken up exercising shortly after being assigned to the Vatican. It had started out as a penance and now he was here every chance he got.
“I don’t know how you do it,” Colm said.
“What?”
“Being surrounded by these beautiful women all the time.”
“I call it testing my faith. I haven’t failed yet. You should try it sometime.”
“I’d be afraid to discover that I’m not actually that devout.”
They laughed and Nigel ordered a glass of water from the barmaid. Colm asked for juice. They spent a few minutes catching up. They didn’t see each other as much these days. Nigel was his best friend, but working for the Holy See didn’t provide for much free time.
“What brings you here, my friend? Thinking about beefing up those quads?”
“I knew you’d be here – you always are and sometimes I wonder how you manage to get any work done.”
“The Holy Spirit lends a hand,” Nigel said, putting his hands together as if in prayer.
Colm rolled his eyes and they both laughed.
“I wanted to probe you, Nigel.”
“Don’t let anyone hear you say that in public, mate.”
They laughed again, startling the barmaid as she set down the drinks.
“Seriously, I wanted to get in touch about this whole dirty business.”
“Insanely tragic, isn’t it? And now they’re saying the Pope was murdered. Blimey…”
“Yes, it’s devastating. Pope Callixtus was such a great man. And I don’t think you’ll be surprised that my boss is already hard at work planning for the conclave.”
“Not surprised, no,” Nigel said. “I suspect he has you running around trying to convince other cardinals.”
“Convince? No, not really. I’ve been mostly tasked with making spreadsheets and picking up people at the airport.”
“Currying favor, I see. It’s logic.”
Colm creased his brow. “I don’t understand. What do you mean?”
“Come on, mate…”
“What?”
“Colm, your boss is angling for the job.”
“Of course not! Cardinal Blanchet just wants to make sure that there’s a smooth transition when we have a new Holy Father.”
“Stop mucking around, you know it. Everybody knows it. Cardinal Blanchet wants to be elected as our next pontiff.”
Colm reeled from this sentence. His friend had uttered it so matter-of-factly that it positively stunned him.
“What are you saying? I know nothing about this, I swear.”
“Really? The way my boss tells it, everybody knows. Cardinal Blanchet was in the running five years ago, at the last conclave. Apparently, he campaigned hard, promising influential positions to anyone who would back him up. I hear some sort of blackmail was also implied.”
“No…” Colm whispered in disbelief.
“It’s what I heard from the rumor mill.” Nigel leaned closer. “So you be careful, all right, my friend? I would hate for you to get caught doing his dirty work for him. Watch your back.”
How had he gotten in this position? Colm had come here to do some good. All of a sudden, Vatican City seemed like
the most dangerous place on earth.
Chapter 24
The NYPD Crime Lab was located in Queens, but it might as well have been on planet Venus, as far as Donnie was concerned. And he thought that as someone who actually lived in that borough. He was too apprehensive about Victor Bray’s phone call to think rationally.
What could this be about? What was the big discovery? His buddy had even seemed anxious about it and that wasn’t his style. No, Victor had always been laid back, not exactly casual about evidence, but not a tight ass either.
So time stretched as he and Emma drove out of East Harlem, crossed the bridge, and took the Grand Central Parkway all the way down to Jamaica Avenue.
“What do you think it is?” Emma asked.
“I’m betting on Jimmy Hoffa, personally. I think he killed the Pope. Seriously, at this point nothing would surprise me anymore. What do you think? What’s your going theory?”
The way she glanced at him, he could tell she wasn’t sure if he wanted her opinion or not, so she didn’t speak. It would be lunchtime by the time they got there. He decided that after meeting with Victor they’d stop for lunch somewhere. It would calm him down and he knew a great Bangladeshi place close by.
Getting to the Crime Lab, parking wasn’t a problem. Given the hour, many of the employees had gone out to eat. The building was a nondescript blocky affair that kind of looked like a high school. There was a small park across the street.
They entered the building, flashed their credentials, and went upstairs. The silence was uncomfortable in the elevator and they both picked up on it.
“So…” Emma began. “Are you going to stay at my place again tonight?”
“Uh, I don’t know. I don’t want to impose or anything. And I probably should go home to see if my wife has burned the house down or something to get back at me.”
“Sure, of course. But the offer is still there. You can come by anytime.”
Donnie nodded his gratitude at her, but his mind was racing. The way she’d said that, he couldn’t help wondering if she actually meant something else. Was that her way of coming on to him?
In essence, there was nothing wrong with her putting herself out there. She was young, nice, beautiful, and single. Hell, there wasn’t anything technically wrong either with him going along with it. It would be a nice revenge against what Nicole had done to him. Still, it was a bad idea all around.
Then again, maybe he was reading too much into it.
Donnie didn’t come here often, but knew that Victor had his workspace on the fourth floor and that’s where they got off the elevator. Apparently, he had an office, but he was always in a lab because, as he often said, forensics wasn’t about filing reports, it was about analyzing evidence.
“Have you ever had samosas?” he asked as they walked to the lab.
“I used to live in India, remember?”
“Okay, little miss world traveler. But did you ever have them made of beef? There’s this little joint a few blocks down. They serve it with Bengali dhal, I swear it’s so delicious.”
They turned to the right and Donnie found the lab door. They walked in. Not only did the building look like a high school, but the space was just like his old high school chemistry lab, albeit with better equipment. He was assaulted with that sterile-chemical smell which reminded him of hospitals. How could his friend work here every day?
“Yo, Victor!”
They walked in further, went around a corner, and Victor was there. He was lying on the floor, blood pouring out of his throat. He was gurgling faintly.
He was dying.
“Oh shit…” Donnie mumbled as he dropped to his knees next to him.
Victor was a big man and there were several puncture wounds across his chest and throat. His white lab coat was turning red at breakneck speed as he lost blood.
Emma muttered a prayer under her breath, but simultaneously she was all business. She was instantly looking over the wounds, searching for the most important ones to treat first.
“Jesus Christ… What happened? Help!”
Donnie hoped that his shout would be heard, but he doubted it so he called 911 to report “officer down”.
Victor was still conscious. His lips moved, but no sound came out.
“What is it, buddy?”
Victor tried again, Donnie coming closer to listen, but again there was nothing. Then he noticed Victor’s eyes. They turned toward the secondary door.
“The guy who did that, he went that way?”
There was the faintest of nods from the technician. The scene was becoming clear. Victor had just been stabbed, the blood was fresh. So the assailant was probably still in the building.
If he’d had more time, Donnie would have called security downstairs and get the building in lockdown. But he couldn’t spare a minute to search for the appropriate number. His only chance was to find the guy himself.
“Apply pressure to the wounds,” he told Emma despite the fact that she was already doing that.
Then he sprung up to his knees and took off. He drew his Smith & Wesson 5906 from his holster and sprinted out of the lab through the secondary door.
The hallway led into two distinct directions: the elevators or the stairs. He gambled that a killer wouldn’t take a chance of getting trapped in an elevator car so he ran toward the emergency stairs.
Just as he got there, the heavy metal door was closing. He caught a glimpse of the perp. It was too fast to make out any features, but he was a man about his height dressed in dark clothing.
“Stop!” he shouted at him in vain.
In addition, Donnie could swear that there was something in his hand, a crumpled file. This explained a lot. Whatever Victor had found and had written a report on, this guy had come here to steal it before it became public.
He was removing the only evidence they had about the Pope’s assassination.
Chapter 25
The man disappeared into the stairwell and Donnie took off after him. It had been an eternity since he had himself taken down a suspect. These days, his work consisted of doing interrogations and then having uniforms pick up the criminals. He hadn’t been involved in a foot chase in almost fifteen years.
But it was like riding a bike. Adrenaline coursed through his veins and he was grateful that he was still sporting comfortable footwear. He slammed the door open and ran down the stairs.
“Stop, NYPD!” he screamed again even though he knew it wouldn’t work.
The guy was a flight of stairs ahead of him and he was fast. The only reason Donnie was keeping up was because he was pissed off at what had happened to Victor. He was a good guy. He worked in a lab, for chrissakes. This sort of thing should never have happened to him.
He had to catch that motherfucker!
On the third floor landing, the guy changed directions. Instead of continuing downward, he opened the door and entered the hallway.
The sudden change of course almost made Donnie skid off the steps. He was able to catch himself at the last second and leave the stairwell.
The guy was running to the left and once more he couldn’t make up his features. In fact, was he wearing pantyhose over his head? He couldn’t tell, but he intended to find out when he cuffed him.
“Stop moving or I’ll shoot!”
That was the worst thing he could say because at that moment, the perp aimed his own weapon over his shoulder and squeezed off two rounds.
“Fuck…” Donnie said, stumbling to his right to avoid the shots.
Nothing was hit aside from drywall, but now his heart was pumping like never before.
The bad guy turned a corner and a second later there was a high-pitched squeal, followed by glass breaking. When Donnie got there, he saw that a woman had been knocked down along with sample vials.
He didn’t stop to lend her assistance. She seemed fine. At the end of the hallway, a young officer caught what was happening and drew his service weapon.
“You, stop!”
He didn’t have time to say anything else. The suspect leveled his gun and shot him twice in the chest. The officer went down instantly.
Not having any choice, Donnie raised his own pistol and fired without warning. Alas, with his own fatigue, excitement, and motion, he wasn’t able to get a straight shot and he took off a chunk from the wall.
The man reached the central staircase and charged down. Donnie kept up with him. He had no idea where he was anymore or where they were going. His only hope at this point was for more officers to show up and put this bastard down.
They went down hallways, turned corners. Lab employees moved out of the way, yelping with surprise, but at least no one else was shot.
Before long, the man was back into the emergency staircase, once more going down. Donnie was feeling his age. He had to get back into shape and he vowed to do it if he survived this. He was sweating like a hog and he was certain his legs were about to give out.
Reaching the bottom of the stairs, the suspect pushed the panic bar and left the stairwell again. They were no longer in the lab proper, Donnie realized as he followed him out. This was more industrial. They had to be close to the garage where technicians went over the cars that were impounded as evidence.
Donnie was winded, he wanted to keep going, but he just didn’t have the strength anymore. The son of a bitch was creating more distance between them.
He turned to the left and opened a metal door. The hallway was flooded with sunlight and Donnie instinctively stopped, totally blinded. And yet, the man was still not out of the building. What was he waiting for?
After his eyes adjusted, Donnie concluded there was a chain-link fence blocking the way and the suspect was climbing over it. This was his chance to take him out.
“NYPD, stop! Don’t move, you cocksucker!”
But the guy did move, reaching the top of the fence. Having no other choice, Donnie fired. He could have killed him, but he didn’t want to. This man might have answers about the Pope. So he aimed his two shots to the corner of the fence.
The man didn’t stop. It made him go faster. However, his arm got snagged on top and he winced loudly. He’d hurt himself going over the fence.