The Pope's Suicide

by Steve Richer

  “I’m so sorry to be barging in like this. Believe me, it’s not my style. I hate when people show up before calling first so it definitely pains me to do this to you. But it was necessary.”

  “Get out of my house or I’m calling the police.”

  “Shut your hole, bitch!” Boomer said, making a show of cracking his knuckles.

  Zhirov pulled himself a chair at the other end of the table and sat down, crossing his legs.

  “We’re here because of the police, incidentally. I was very disappointed to learn that your precious little girl here is cooperating with the NYPD. That’s not nice. It is not nice at all.”

  “I… I didn’t say anything!” Sierra stammered.

  “Please, don’t insult my intelligence. I understand you were put in a difficult situation. Your boyfriend is a weasel who made you deliver my product instead of doing it himself. And what happened? You got caught. It’s a clusterfuck all around, I agree.”

  Nicole raised her head, standing up taller. “When my husband gets here…”

  “Yes, your husband! The great Detective Beecher! I really can’t wait for him to get here, to be completely honest. That’s part of my plan. You see, what you did, it cost me a lot of money.”

  “I’m so sorry,” Sierra said. “I’ll make it up to you. I’ll do anything you want, just don’t hurt my mom.”

  “You’ll do anything I want? I like the sound of that. What about you, Boomer?”

  “I most definitely like the sound of that,” he said lecherously, licking his lips.

  Zhirov laughed at the women’s discomfort and inhaled some of the powder from the locket around his neck. His eyes darkened as the drug entered his bloodstream.

  “For now, we’ll start with the basics. I will lock young Sierra inside a room with my friend Boomer – a very small room. I will have the only key. The only way for me to give you this key, mom, is for Detective Beecher to retrieve my product from the evidence room.”

  “That’s it?” Nicole asked.

  “Geez, woman… I would’ve asked for more if I’d thought you’d take it so nicely.” Boomer burst into laughter and Ridge joined in. “This will be the first step in our new relationship. Once dad accepts that I’m now his boss, we can move on to other endeavors together. But if any of you put up a fight, well…”

  Boomer licked his lips again and rubbed his crotch. At the same time, he pulled a small pistol from the small of his back.

  “I hate violence, ladies. It’s bad for business. It’s messy and complicates things. But it’s also necessary. In all businesses there are things that are tedious but necessary, right? Like filing your taxes. I’m pretty sure that’s tedious, I wouldn’t know, but I get the idea. Violence is the same way. There’s just no getting around it.”

  “Please put the gun down,” Nicole said. “We can talk about this.”

  Sierra felt her mother trembling next to her. Everything was so evident now. It wasn’t like months ago when the world had been divided into teenagers and adults, fun and boredom. Now it was right and wrong.

  For a long time, she had seen her father as the worst person ever, like it was his mission in life to keep her chained down. At the moment, she understood that he had been trying to protect her all along. He had seen a part of the world that she hadn’t known existed. She hadn’t taken it seriously.

  It was her turn to puff up her chest in defiance. “No.”

  “No what, little girl?”

  “No, I won’t help you and my dad won’t help you.”

  Zhirov leaned back in his chair. “Are you aware of the consequences?”

  “We won’t ever do what you tell us to do,” Sierra spat.

  “Okay.” The Russian turned to his lapdog. “Do your thing.”

  With a grin, Boomer turned to Ridge and raised his weapon. Without missing a beat, he shot him twice in the face.

  Nicole screamed, covering her mouth as her eyes widened. It was all happening in slow motion. Blood gushed out Ridge’s head, his body tipping back, falling and falling until it collapsed onto the floor.

  Instead of freezing, Sierra felt as if everything was becoming crystal clear. She had never felt so focused before. She took her mother’s hand, clasping it strongly, and she reached for the steaming mug of tea before her.

  Without hesitation, she hurled it at Boomer. The scorching liquid splashed squarely against his face.

  “Aaaaahh!” he screamed with pain.

  At the very same time, Sierra took off running, bringing her mother with her. She couldn’t think about her ex-boyfriend being murdered in front of her. She couldn’t think of these two criminals in her house. She had one goal only: to get as far away as possible.

  “Come on,” she told her mother as they ran.

  Before Zhirov had even stood up they were already out of the house. She could hear movement inside. Boomer was swearing and shouting with pain. The two men were bound to come after them.

  Her mother’s Honda was blocked by the rusty Cadillac. Running down the street would be useless. It was only a matter of seconds before they were shot in the back.

  Yet Sierra remembered something vital. Ridge prided himself in being so important in his neighborhood that he didn’t have to take the keys out. Nobody would ever be stupid enough to steal it.

  “This way, mom!”

  They ran down the driveway and got into the car, Sierra instinctively getting behind the wheel. Sure enough, the key was in the ignition.

  “Come back here, you bitch!” Zhirov shrieked.

  Through the window, Sierra made out Boomer stepping out of the house. His face was bright red, burnt. He snarled like a wounded tiger and shot at her.

  “No!” Nicole yelped, ducking and tugging on her daughter to do the same.

  Sierra turned the key and the engine came alive. She shifted into drive, punched the pedal, and the car lurched ahead just as two bullets made the rear window explode.

  Chapter 42

  Vatican City was crowded in a way that Colm had never seen before. Sure, it was a popular tourist destination with over five million people a year coming to visit the churches and museums, but judging by tonight that number would inflate tenfold.

  The Irishman was walking through St. Peter’s Square and he felt like he was in a department store on Christmas Eve, or at a rock music festival. There were people everywhere. There were talking, walking, or just looking around and taking pictures.

  More than that, there was excitement in the air. As sad an affair it had been to lose the beloved Pope Callixtus, there was the promise of a new day. Not only were cardinals from all over the world flying in for the upcoming funeral and conclave – with their entourage – tourists were doing the same.

  Shortly, they would be spending night and day wandering across the public space, staring at the Apostolic Palace and looking out for the white smoke which would signal that the College of Cardinals had elected a new pontiff inside the Sistine Chapel. It was still too early for that, but they wanted to be part of this historic event.

  A part of Colm was disappointed because he knew the numbers. Most people here – most people around him tonight – weren’t even Catholics. They were interested in the pageantry and not necessarily in the faith. He wondered if they had tossed a coin, if it had been a choice between Vatican City or Disney World.

  He pushed that thought out of his head. Let them find their own reasons for being here, he decided. If it miraculously brought them closer to God, then it wouldn’t be in vain. Most of all, he wished the same for himself.

  He was more lost than he’d ever been. He was essentially being blackmailed into helping Cardinal Blanchet. No, he was being bribed which made it worse because he was seriously considering going along with it.

  He prayed and prayed again, hoping that God would reveal himself to him, that He would tell him how he should behave. Was it okay to do one small dodgy thing if it was for the greater good?

  Abraham had been ready to sacri
fice his own son for the Lord to prove his devotion. Wasn’t it like his situation? Wasn’t it righteous to show humility and submission by following orders he didn’t fully agree with?

  But then he thought about Proverbs 21:3. To do what is right and just is more acceptable to the Lord than sacrifice.

  Why did it have to be so complicated? On the other hand, this being complicated was what made the ultimate reward satisfying. While at the seminary, he had asked one of the professors why the Bible was filled with so many contradictions. For each statement you were liable to find another one that said the opposite.

  The professor, an old Jesuit, had told him that this was the very beauty of it. You had to listen to how God instructed you to interpret his words. With a true heart, you will always choose wisely.

  “Doing the tourist thing, are we, mate?”

  Startled, Colm turned to his left and found his friend Nigel sitting on the steps at the bottom of the Vatican Obelisk. Unlike him, he wasn’t wearing a dark suit and clerical collar. Instead he sported a Manchester United jersey and jeans.

  He went to him and they shook hands. “Good evening, Nigel. Finally found something to take you out of that gym of yours?”

  “Tell me about it. The gym is just as busy as St. Peter’s Square. Can you believe there was an actual waiting line for the treadmill today?”

  “God’s way of telling you to get back to work,” Colm said with a wink.

  Nigel climbed to his feet and silently they began strolling.

  “I like to come here to walk around sometimes. It helps me think.”

  “Same.”

  “And are you thinking of the same thing I am?”

  Colm shrugged. “Probably.”

  “We live in a grim era, mate. I hate to admit it out loud, but the Church is facing terrible choices.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “Come on, you can’t tell me that you agree that the best we have to offer for the next Pope are Cardinals Blanchet and Zupan. No offense to your superior.”

  “None taken, believe me. It’s one of the things I have been praying about, Nigel.”

  “It’s simply not what the Church needs, you know? We had made such headway with Pope Callixtus. People adored him.”

  “Not everyone in the Holy See.”

  “Right, but does that truly matter? Isn’t the Pope supposed to be the Holy Father to all Catholics and not just the Vatican apparatus? I’m genuinely afraid of the direction we’re heading in. I’m afraid that the next pontiff will undo all the goodwill Callixtus had managed to forge.”

  “True.”

  Nigel clenched his jaw. “It would be a shame to go back to dogmatic schemers like the Vatican used to be known for. I was certain we were past that.”

  “I hate to say it, my friend, but neither of us is a cardinal and we have no say in what happens.”

  “I know, I know… This whole homicide business has me positively knackered. And to think that it probably all goes back to the San Marino letter.”

  Colm’s head snapped up. “What do you mean?”

  “Please, don’t be naive. You know what that entails.”

  “I actually don’t, Nigel.”

  “Really? I thought that since you worked at the Secretariat for the Economy…”

  “No, I don’t know anything. I’ve heard the letter being mentioned. Blanchet has a particular interest in this and how other prelates feel about it, but I’ve never been privy to its content.”

  They stopped walking and Nigel faced him. He looked left and right, trying to make up his mind about something. After a long time, he spoke.

  “I’ll tell you what it’s about and after I’m sure you’ll agree with me that this has to be the reason why the Pope was assassinated.”

  He told him and Colm was left breathless. He was right. This had to be at the center of a vast murderous conspiracy.

  ~ ~ ~ ~

  Right behind the Palace of the Governorate, on the luxuriant grounds of the Vatican Gardens, a seating area had been temporarily arranged by the Camerlengo. Cardinal Blanchet had wanted somewhere new where to hang out. With the absence of a Holy Father, there was no one to object.

  The Frenchman had painted this as an informal gathering for his most esteemed colleagues, cardinals from the Americas and Asia, Africa and Europe, who had come to pray and prepare for the conclave. He had eased up on the drinking, but others had not.

  Now the first group was gone. It was simply Blanchet and Stagnaro. They were enjoying cognac and the pleasant spring air. Cardinal Stagnaro hung up his phone and joined his friend who was trying to choose a pastry among the dozens aligned before him.

  “And?” Blanchet asked.

  “I’m afraid you were right.”

  “Aren’t I always?”

  “Your man, Father O’Dwyer, his crisis of faith is stronger than we thought. He’s asking questions.”

  Cardinal Blanchet nodded, took a chocolate éclair, and started to pace. “I see.”

  “We have to entertain the possibility that this supposed crisis of faith is in fact a subterfuge. He might…”

  “What?”

  “He might be spying on us on the behalf of Zupan. If the content of the San Marino letter is ever revealed at large, it could lead to a dreadful disaster.”

  “Indeed,” Blanchet said. “As it turns out, my faith in him cannot be renewed. Colm has to be kept on a very tight leash.”

  “Absolutely, Jean.”

  “You hear me? Whatever it takes, the boy cannot say a word.”

  Chapter 43

  The cramped Chinatown diner was full. There wasn’t a single unoccupied table since lunch hour could stretch all day here. The air was thick with a mix of aromas: pastrami, gyros, pizza, and dim sum. Donnie’s mouth watered, but his mind was on something else.

  “Do you see him?” he asked Emma.

  She hesitated before replying, her head swiveling left and right. “There, I see him.”

  Donnie followed her finger and took off in that direction while she followed. Sure enough, at a table by the front window was Detective Cox from the Organized Crime Control Bureau. At his feet was a briefcase. He was reading documents lying flat on the surface while he shoveled souvlaki and rice into his mouth.

  With no preface, Donnie and Emma slid into his booth and sat down.

  “What are you doing here?” Cox asked in surprise, dropping his fork and forgetting about his reading material.

  “A nice lady at your office told me that you eat here quite often. I think she was nice to tell me that, right? Very helpful, I might write a letter of recommendation.”

  “Jesus! Word on the street is that you’re off the case. Why are you here?”

  “I never wanted off the case,” Donnie said, leaning across the table and turning serious. “The whole thing is way too political now.”

  Cox rolled his eyes. “Welcome to New York!”

  “But it’s not what I signed up for, man. I mean, we’re cops, right? I joined the NYPD because I wanted to solve cases, not because I wanted to become a politician. Is that why you joined the department?”

  “Of course not,” Cox said. “But…”

  “But what? There are three kinds of cops in the NYPD: those who want to make a difference, those who want power, and those crooked assholes who want to line their own pockets. I know which kind I am. You?”

  “I’m the first kind, okay? I climbed through the ranks just like everybody. I requested OC because when I was nine I saw one of my dad’s brothers get knee-capped because he’d been a day late on a payment to a bookie. I learned two things that day. One, I wanted to get rid of the mob.”

  “And the second thing?” Emma asked.

  “Don’t ever put money on the Cleveland Browns.”

  Donnie smirked. “So we’re on the same team. We both want the same thing and right now for me it’s to solve the mystery of who assassinated the Pope. Sure as shit it’s not those Park Avenue politicians over ther
e who are gonna get to the bottom of this, okay?”

  “I respect that, Beecher. I really do. But I still can’t tell you what you want to know.”

  “Come on! At least point me in the right direction.”

  “Beecher…”

  “Our cases are connected, right? What if we solved both our cases together? My guy, Wallenberg, we think he’s the doer and he’s in the wind. He’s probably the hitman you’re looking for.”

  Cox pushed his plate away, his appetite gone. “What you don’t understand is that we don’t work the same way. You solve one murder and you move on. My job is to build cases against hundreds of individuals, from deadbeat junkies all the way to the top of the goddamn mob. It takes years. If I give you a name and you move against him, that could mean my entire house of cards caves in.”

  “I promise I won’t move against him without your say-so. Mostly I want to find Wallenberg and bring him in. Please just tell me what you know, who this middleman is.”

  Cox didn’t reply. He stared at his two visitors and then at his unfinished meal. Finally, he looked up at Emma.

  “You’re the former nun, aren’t you?”

  “Yes, Detective. It’s Officer Aldridge now. Emma.”

  “So can I have your word as a person of faith that you won’t do anything against this guy without my approval?”

  “Yes, you have my word. I promise.”

  Although he nodded, Cox didn’t say anything else. Once more, he stared at the two others for long seconds. Then he reached for his briefcase and rummaged through it, pulling out a folder.

  “As you can see, I’m obsessed with this. I don’t leave my paperwork out of my sight.”

  “It’s fine,” Donnie said. “I knew a guy just like you back in the day. Brought his work home with him, even to bed. Of course, this was a bit of a problem for him. He was an undertaker.”

  Cox smiled, but Emma was appalled.

  “What? It’s a joke. You don’t get jokes now? Come on! So tell me what you got, Cox.”

  The balding detective opened his file, but Donnie was convinced he already knew it by heart.