The Pope's Suicide

by Steve Richer

  Completely out of breath, Donnie limped to the door and found that the fence was locked. He had no energy to go over it.

  By the time he tried to locate the suspect again, he was no longer there. The door opened on Archer Street and across the way was a parking lot. There were a dozen people milling about since it was lunch hour. The perpetrator could be any one of them, or most likely none of them.

  There were footsteps behind him. It was another police officer and a technician in dark blue overalls.

  “Did you get him?” the officer asked.

  Donnie shook his head as much an answer as a gesture of disappointment.

  “Send some people across the street. He can’t be that far.”

  In his heart he believed he had lost him though. If he’d been skilled enough to enter the NYPD Crime Lab, he would be good enough to leave without a trace. Except…

  He had left a trace, Donnie realized. He came closer to the fence and craned his neck. There was blood on one of the spikes. They had the man’s DNA!

  There were more footsteps as officers showed up. As to not contaminate the crime scene, Donnie had them leave by the garage door instead. Emma showed up right after, herself out of breath.

  “How’s Victor?” he asked her.

  She shook her head. “I’m sorry.”

  “Goddamn it!” He started pacing, holstering his gun and breathing hard. “Get some CSUs down here. We have some blood, a piece of the killer. This needs to be analyzed right fucking now.”

  As Donnie’s heart rate returned to something resembling normalcy, his mind went on a tangent. Victor had called him because he had important information to share. So how had the killer known about it? How had he come here so fast?

  Did they have a mole?

  Chapter 26

  Sierra tiptoed through the house. Her mother was asleep on the couch, mouth open, which told her she wasn’t faking it. The TV was on, tuned to some house flipping show on HGTV.

  She went to the kitchen and found her mom’s pills. At noon she had to take some kind of cortisone medication for the swelling which followed radiotherapy. She read the label to make sure of the dosage and she took out a pill before pouring a glass of water.

  She brought these to her mom in the living room but didn’t wake her. She would see the water and capsule on the table soon enough. Then she covered her mother with the blanket. Again, she didn’t even stir.

  She returned to the kitchen and decided to write a note. She probably should do this in person or at least leave a voice message on her phone – not to mention her dad who would kill her – but she was too scared of the consequences.

  So she decided to keep it short. Her note was only a handful of words letting her parents know that she was okay and not to worry about her. She would get in touch soon enough. She didn’t say anything about going off to live with Ridge.

  She was exhausted and had gotten very little sleep. Getting arrested had been quite an overwhelming experience. Maybe in twenty years she would laugh at this whole event, it would be a story to tell her kids, to let them know how cool she used to be, but for now she was still shaking. She couldn’t believe everything that was happening to her.

  She went up to her room and as quietly as possible she packed a bag. She was using her gym satchel so she couldn’t take everything she wanted. There was this cute outfit she’d gotten from Hot Topic that she wanted to bring, but at the last second decided not to. There was no telling what would happen next and she was better off bringing comfortable pants and shirts.

  Before leaving her room, Sierra dug out her diary. Even though she hadn’t written in it since the age of fourteen, that’s where she kept her money. It was mostly birthday gifts from Grandpa Mike. She had close to two hundred dollars left and pocketed it.

  She said a solemn goodbye to her room and it affected her more than she thought it would. It’s where she had lived her whole life and leaving was surprisingly grim. But she told herself that a new life was waiting for her.

  A better life.

  Sierra gave one last look at her mother as she came back downstairs – she was still sleeping on the couch – and she left the house, closing the door quietly behind her.

  Ridge was sitting in his car, parked on the curb. She was hoping he would get out to help her with her bag, but he didn’t. Instead he grinned at her through the open window. She reached the car, put her bag in the backseat, and got in.

  “’Sup, baby,” he said as he leaned over to kiss her. “You ready?”

  “Yeah, let’s go.”

  He shifted into drive and they pulled away from the curb. There was rap music playing on the radio although not too loud. She started getting nervous.

  Was she doing the right thing? It had been so clear earlier inside the house. She would move in with her boyfriend, they would live happily ever after. They would get by no matter what because they had each other.

  But was that truly the right thing to do? She wasn’t stupid, she acknowledged that she was only sixteen. It would be hard to get a job, plus she would miss her friends, her mother. She would even miss her dad a little.

  “Hey,” Ridge said, reaching for her hand. “You okay?”

  “Yeah, sure. I’m fine.”

  “I’m so grateful for you, Sierra. It was so crazy last night, right?”

  “Totally.”

  “But the fact that they pinched you and that you didn’t rat me out… Shit, ain’t nobody ever did anything so nice for me before. You know I love you, right?”

  Her head snapped up. He had never said that before. He picked up on her expression and laughed.

  “That’s right,” he continued. “I’m absolutely, completely in love with you, Sierra.”

  “Me too,” she said, her heart beating faster in her chest. “I love you so much.”

  “Awesome.”

  He dragged her to him and kissed her long and deep, all the while not even paying attention to the road. She realized this and pushed herself back so they wouldn’t crash. Again, he found that funny, like she was silly to worry about that.

  “We’re gonna have such a great life together, you know. I’m gonna cook breakfast for you every morning.”

  “You are?”

  “Damn right, girl! I’m gonna bring it to you in bed, too. We’ll be able to be together all the time, do whatever we want whenever we want. No one’s gonna come between us, ever.”

  “I like the sound of that,” she said, meaning it.

  She took off her seatbelt and leaned toward him as he put an arm around her shoulders. They took a turn, heading for the Long Island Expressway. Soon they would cross into Manhattan and she would put her boring life behind her forever.

  Ridge cleared his throat. “So, baby, tell me what happened last night.”

  “It’s like I told you already. They arrested me even though I didn’t do anything.”

  “What uh… what about the package I gave you to deliver?”

  “I managed to toss it away before they caught me. That’s why they let me go, they didn’t have anything against me, Ridge.”

  It wasn’t the complete truth and she didn’t like lying to him. Still, just a little white lie seemed unimportant at the moment.

  But anger flashed in his eyes. She saw his knuckles turn white on the steering wheel and he stopped hugging her to him. He punched the already cracked dashboard.

  “Fuck! Goddamn fuck! Why did you do that, Sierra?”

  She shuddered with fright, returning to her seat and cowering. “I don’t understand, I had to do it.”

  “There was Rush-K in that package. It was worth thirty-five grand! How the fuck do you expect me to come up with that kind of cash?”

  “But…”

  He took deep breaths, grabbing the wheel with two hands and focusing on controlling himself. He wasn’t even looking at Sierra anymore as he turned right onto Queens Boulevard.

  “Those pills weren’t mine, baby. This was Zhirov’s stash and I w
as only supposed to make the delivery. I made the delivery, I got a cut, and it was supposed to be super routine, all right? Goddamn it!”

  “I-I’m… I’m sorry.”

  He nodded as he continued his breathing exercises. At long last, he smiled to her but she didn’t think it was genuine. His eyes were cold.

  “I’ll try to make some sort of deal with Zhirov, try to make it up to him. It’s okay, baby. I’m sorry I snapped at you. Maybe I can work something out with Boomer. I’ll have to talk to him.”

  “I’m so sorry, Ridge.”

  He shook it off. “It’s okay. The important thing is that we’re together, right? Just you and me together. Ain’t nothing can go wrong when we’re together.”

  In spite of his words, Sierra was still afraid. She had never seen that side of her boyfriend before. What if that was his default setting? She wanted a new life, but she was suddenly scared that her new life could turn into a nightmare.

  She had been so certain that she was making the right decision by going away with him, yet her entire lifetime’s worth of advice from her parents came rushing back. She had to admit that it was his bad boy attitude that had drawn her to him in the first place. But maybe bad boys were better in small measures rather than full-time.

  The Queensboro Bridge loomed ahead. Before long they would be in Manhattan and she would be in his backyard. Her mind was racing, going through all the possibilities, doing her best to analyze how her future would be if Ridge thought he could go off on her all the time.

  “Pull over, please.”

  This took him aback. “What?”

  “Please stop the car. I think I’m going to be sick.”

  This was the magic word as he surely didn’t want her to throw up in his car. He pulled to a stop by the sidewalk and immediately she got out of the car, taking her bag with her. He followed her.

  “Baby, what’s going on?”

  “Ridge, I can’t do this.”

  “Can’t do what?”

  “Live with you,” Sierra said.

  “But I love you, it’s just like I said.”

  She was about to say that she loved him too but stopped. She wasn’t sure if she did. Maybe it was just the excitement of having a boyfriend from the wrong side of the tracks that she loved.

  “I don’t think I would be good at this life,” she said. “It’s dangerous. The things you do are… kind of illegal, right?”

  He straightened up, puffing up his chest with pride. “I do what I gotta do to survive.”

  “Maybe you could let me help you. Maybe you can turn your life around too?”

  “The hell?! You want me to be some sort of suburban bitch? Let me tell you something, little girl. Your life is fake. It’s bullshit! You wanted to get away from it, remember? We can still do that.”

  “Ridge…”

  “Get back in the car and we’ll be together. Everything’s going to be great, I promise. I’m gonna take care of you.”

  As much as she’d loved being with him, in his arms, that lifestyle wasn’t for her. He had gotten her to deliver a package last night. What would it be next time? She didn’t want to live a life where she’d have to wonder about this constantly.

  “I love you, baby,” he said with puppy dog eyes.

  She almost surrendered. But in the end she held her ground.

  “No, I’m sorry, Ridge. I can’t do it.”

  She crossed the street and headed for the train station to go back home.

  Chapter 27

  There had been no time for a Bangladeshi meal after all. Besides, Donnie had lost his appetite after finding out that Victor Bray hadn’t made it.

  The good news was that the officer that the attacker had shot was still alive. The bullets had caught his bulletproof vest and all the cop had to deal with was a little bruising.

  They had reviewed the surveillance tapes and what Donnie had found was a big fat nothing. The guy had walked into the Crime Lab building at the same time as a group of people and he had known how to get through security. What’s more, nobody seemed to remember who he was or what he looked like.

  After that, it was like Donnie had thought. The man had worn a stocking on his head to distort his features. They had nothing. In fact, they had lost evidence because he had stolen the saliva sample Victor had collected as well as his search results.

  So in the absence of answers, Donnie decided to focus on Butterfield. His gut feeling told him it was him whom he’d chased through the building. It had to be, right? Everything fit perfectly. He had a motive and an opportunity.

  And so they were back at his apartment in Spanish Harlem.

  Now they had a warrant and were searching the place. Officers from the 23rd Precinct were on hand along with task force detectives to offer assistance. They were turning the small apartment inside out.

  “What do I do?” Emma asked, visibly feeling useless.

  “You know people within the Church, right? The Sisters of Holy Whatever you were in?”

  “The Franciscan Missionaries of Mary.”

  “Right, those ladies. Start there, okay? Have them help you. Make some calls. Try to find out anything you can about Perry Butterfield. I want to know if he ever tithed, how his first communion went, everything.”

  She nodded and pulled out her phone. For his part, Donnie joined the search, going to the bedroom. He rifled through the closet. There were clothes, sports equipment – Butterfield was into softball, apparently.

  There was a box of photographs and Donnie got his hopes up.

  There was an awful lot you could tell about someone from pictures. You could find old friends and acquaintances, former hangouts. Unfortunately, this was another waste of time. There were some family photographs dating at least thirty years but, for the most part, they were nature shots. It seemed like Butterfield was an amateur photographer.

  Very amateur, Donnie thought.

  The closet was a dead end, even after going through every pocket of every pair of pants and shirt. Next, he stripped the bed and meticulously felt the coverlet to make sure there was nothing hidden inside. He was about to take a knife to the mattress when he realized he hadn’t looked under the bed.

  He got on his knees and peeked under the frame. Sure enough, there was an old Samsonite suitcase. His heart lurched. He slid it out and opened it.

  “Shit,” he groaned.

  It was nothing but a matchbook collection. Did these even still exist? He remembered when every bar and restaurant had a matchbook in the ashtray. Now you couldn’t even smoke within three hundred yards of anyone. How the world had changed…

  He was about to push the suitcase under the bed again so it would be out of the way when he remembered a friend bringing a matchbook to school one day. His older brother had gotten it at a strip club and there had been a sexy lady on the cover. Donnie wondered if there were any of those here.

  He picked one at random and lifted it to take a look. No dice, it was a burger joint. The thing had to be twenty-five years old and it was in pristine condition. For kicks, he opened it and his heartbeat accelerated when he saw there was something scribbled inside the cover.

  All priests should be murdered.

  “Oh shit…”

  He lifted another matchbook, this one from a Staten Island bar. There was also something written inside: I want to see churches burn.

  And so he pulled another, and yet another, and another one. They all had something scrawled inside the cover.

  God doesn’t exist.

  The Pope is evil.

  Death to all religions.

  “What’s going on?” Emma asked as she tentatively joined him in the bedroom.

  “Our motive just became ironclad. Look at this. I’ve read ten of these matchbooks so far and they all contain rants against the Church.”

  “Oh, boy.”

  Donnie got back to his feet. “What about you? Did you find anything?”

  “Uh, yes. Yes, I did. Perry Butterfield was indeed
part of this scandal at St. Mark the Auspicious. He even testified during the trial. He received a settlement of $150,000.”

  “That’s our scumbag, Emma. It has to be.”

  “I’ll take ten to one odds, if you don’t mind.”

  The voice belonged to Detective Kwon who entered the bedroom, a smirk on his face.

  “What’s with your goofy expression? You look like you just found out Deputy Inspector McDiarmid is a cross-dresser.”

  “It’s better than that, Donnie.”

  “Better than cross-dressing? This I gotta hear. What do you have?”

  Kwon came closer, his notepad open. “In 1996, Butterfield was serving one of his numerous stints in prison. While doing three to five for possession with intent, he was a guest of Bayside State Prison, in Leesburg.”

  “So? That was in the file.”

  “Sure. But what wasn’t in the file was that for no apparent reason, he was transferred to the maximum security wing. He was in the farm-minimum wing before that.”

  Donnie nodded, getting interested. “Okay, we’re getting somewhere. I suspect that if you’re talking to me now it’s because you found something, right? Tell me you found something.”

  “I found something.”

  “Well, are you gonna share or are you waiting for a subpoena?”

  “I managed to track down one of the former correctional officers. Butterfield was suspected of killing another inmate, but they couldn’t prove it. The warden had him transferred to maximum as a punitive measure. Soon after, the DEA got him out because they needed him again.”

  “Holy balls.”

  Emma blinked, not getting why Donnie and Kwon were getting excited. “How is that significant?”

  “It proves Butterfield has the temperament to kill someone. Now we have motive, opportunity, and the guy fits the profile. It has to be him, Emma. We have our killer.”

  “Detectives?” a young female officer said, joining them timidly.

  “Yes?”

  “We found some property tax records. It was crumpled, thrown into the trash. I don’t know if it’s important or not.”