by Steve Richer
“What? The Pope?”
“Looks like suicide and the jurisdiction on this is a clusterfuck,” McDiarmid said. “So we run this like any other investigation. I want you on this.”
Donnie was flabbergasted by the news and it took him a few seconds to get his bearings. Then he shook his head.
“I don’t want it.”
“Excuse me?”
“Give it to somebody else. Give it to Munson, she’s the best.”
“She’s on vacation.”
“I got my caseload,” Donnie said, definitely stretching the imagination in terms of excuses. “This Russian koala murder is still open. I just don’t have the time.”
“No can do, Beecher. Your murder is a dead end. You know how it is with drug related cases, you’ll never solve it. Anyway, you’re senior, you’re free, it’s your case.”
Galfy put his hand on his shoulder. “Let’s go, we’re wasting time.”
Chapter 3
The crime scene was half a mile away from the precinct and Galfy was riding shotgun as they headed to 72nd Street.
“This whole thing is a jurisdiction a nightmare,” the older man said.
“I’ll say. How did we catch this anyway? Shouldn’t there be like seven layers of federal agencies above us? That’s the Pope we’re talking about, right? Like the real Catholic Pope, not the sausage pope of Flatbush or something?”
“No, the real-deal Pope.”
Donnie shook his head and exhaled, trying to wrap his head around this. “Jesus…”
“So far it looks like he was confirmed dead at the scene by his own private doctor, but they called in an ambulance anyway, just to make sure this was on the up and up.”
“What, praying didn’t work?”
Galfy ignored him. “Paramedics called it in and it was decided to have us investigate.”
“That’s what I don’t get, Inspector. The Pope is a head of state, right? This is federal all the way. I mean, don’t they have one of those National Special Security Events going on? There are thousands of people providing security for the guy’s visit this week. We’re talking Secret Service, all those fancy boys with earpieces. Why am I here?”
“It’s still getting worked out. But what I’m hearing is that a special task force is being set up. It’s going to be made up of us, the Secret Service, the FBI, Diplomatic Security, State Department, the Vatican City Police, and the Swiss Guards.”
“The Swiss Guards? The guys in the clown suits? Really?”
“They’re actually elite bodyguards, I’m told.”
“Apparently not elite enough,” Donnie mumbled.
“In any case, the compromise is that we keep politics out of it by assigning the case to local authorities. That’s us, the NYPD. You’re taking point under my supervision. You’ll work out of my Major Case unit at OPP.”
“One Police Plaza, really? I don’t think I’ve ever even walked into that place before. I feel all fancy now.”
Donnie turned off Park Avenue.
“For what it’s worth, this whole thing is supposed to be a suicide. Open and shut case. You run this thing by the book, dot all the I’s and cross all the T’s. No one’s thinking of foul play. After the ME’s office release their report, we can file this away. It won’t be a problem anymore.”
“Sure.”
Except that Donnie wasn’t certain he agreed with this. The sheer fact that the Pope had killed himself would never be forgotten and he was on the front lines.
It wasn’t long until they parked on the narrow street which was crowded with police cars and other government sedans. The townhouse was a fancy place and Donnie couldn’t remember the last time he’d investigated anything in such a swanky neighborhood.
The area in front of the house was cordoned off and a young woman in uniform tried to wave them along aggressively. Galfy had to flash his badge and frown sternly.
As morbid as it sounded, Donnie was in his element.
He hadn’t wanted this case – and he still didn’t – but the thrill of standing on a crime scene was strong. It was rejuvenating, making him feel like he had been made for this. He had to admit that a part of it was that it made him feel powerful, but it was also about the challenge of solving puzzles.
“I’m genuinely in charge?” he asked Galfy.
“It’s your show. I’ll stay down here to coordinate.”
By coordinate, he meant talk with the other suits, gawkers, and reporters which had started to assemble on the sidewalk, having been alerted that something was wrong by the massive police presence and ambulances.
Donnie walked toward the address scribbled on his notepad. It wasn’t difficult to locate anyway. The door was open wide and people were coming and going. He spotted a man in a gray suit standing idly. He was in his late forties and there was a badge at his belt. He went to him.
“Hey, how’s it going? Detective Beecher, NYPD.”
“Special Agent Wallenberg, Secret Service,” the man replied as they shook hands.
“You were part of the protection detail?”
“Yeah, I was actually sitting in my car, on the street.”
“Talk to me, what’s happening?”
The federal agent shrugged. “The Pope killed himself, that’s what’s happening. Can you believe it?”
“No, I can’t. Take me through what you know.”
“Got on duty at midnight. My detail did a courtesy walk-through last night. The Vatican people – their police and Swiss guys – they’re all pros, top-notch. Everything was normal.”
“Did you see the Pope?”
“No,” Wallenberg said. “He’d already turned in when I showed up, so they tell me. And then this morning I heard what was happening on the radio. Everybody freaking out, calling the paramedics and such. I rushed inside to lend assistance, we had other guys secure the alley in the back, off Madison. But there was no doubt, the Pope was dead. He still had the rope or whatever around his neck.”
“Okay. Can you take me inside?” Donnie asked.
“Sure.”
They went up the stoop and entered the townhouse.
“What’s this house anyway? Shouldn’t the Pope stay at the Waldorf or something?”
“No, apparently he always stays at church properties. This is the home of the Apostolic Nuncio to the United Nations.”
“The what? What the hell’s a nuncio?”
“It’s like an ambassador. It’s the Vatican’s ambassador to the UN.”
Donnie nodded, impressed. “You learn something new every day.”
They went up the stairs, rubbing shoulders with crime scene personnel. Another NYPD detective Donnie knew pointed them in the right direction.
They entered the chambers and already he saw that it was a catastrophe. He had a good vantage point into the bathroom and although two technicians were dusting for prints, there was no corpse.
“Jesus Christ! Who authorized this? Why has the body been taken away already?”
Donnie looked around, searching for somebody to answer him. A young detective turned toward him, looking from his notes. It was Kwon.
“I released the body.”
“Why’d you do something stupid like that? I wasn’t even here yet.”
“You’re lead, Beecher?”
“Unfortunately. What gives?”
“Stop freaking out, it just happened five minutes ago. The Chief of Ds told McDiarmid who told me to do it. The order came from the Commissioner. Besides, he was dead as a doornail. Looked like definite suicide to me.”
“Shit…” Donnie whispered to himself, angry that he couldn’t himself confirm.
He peeked into the bathroom again, watching the CSU people work. That’s what happened with those VIPs. The procedures were changed and it was people like him who got left fixing everything.
“Detective?” Wallenberg began. “I snapped some pictures before the paramedics got here, if you want to check them out.”
“Show me.”
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The federal agent pulled his phone out and brought up photographs. The bathroom was crowded. There was a man in a suit, a couple of priests, someone half dressed with a stethoscope around his neck, and a couple more people he guessed were Swiss Guards.
But the focus of the images was the dead body. It had to be the Pope. He was naked, hanging from the curtain rod. The thing around his neck looked like the belt from a terrycloth bathrobe and indeed the robe was bunched on the floor in the corner.
There was a translucent trash bag over his head. After twenty years on the force, Donnie knew that some people who were serious about suicide put a bag over their heads to make sure they wouldn’t come out alive.
“Goddamn it…” he whispered, continuing to inspect the pictures.
“Yo, Beecher.” Donnie looked at Kwon. “Someone wants to talk to you.”
He pointed at a man standing outside of the room. He was dressed in black and red. Donnie knew from his Catholic upbringing that this was a cardinal. He went to him.
“Yes?”
“Detective, I am Archbishop Ludwig Brambach,” he said with a slight German accent. “Is this truly a suicide?”
“It looks like it is, yes.”
“This is not acceptable.”
“Excuse me?”
“I can’t allow this to happen. It must be a murder. You have to say this is a murder!”
Chapter 4
Without knowing what was happening, Donnie was being led away from the Pope’s chambers, down the stairs, and into a modest library. The walls were dark and the shelves were lined with ancient tomes which at first glance reminded him of his mother’s collection of Reader’s Digest condensed books.
“Look,” he began. “I gotta go back upstairs.”
Cardinal Brambach didn’t immediately reply. Instead, his eyes were speaking for him. Evidently, he was the sort of guy used to running things. There was intensity in his gaze he would have guessed was only ever truly mastered by senior military officers.
In fact, the last time he had met someone like that had been years ago, his former captain back when he’d been assigned to Staten Island. Sure enough, the captain had spent twenty years in the Marine Corps.
Was that what was happening? Was Brambach a former Marine?
“Sir, an officer is gonna take your statement. If you don’t mind…”
A second later, the door opened and two more people came in. They were both dressed in black and red. The first was short and fat, his skin blacker than most people he’d ever met. Probably from Africa, Donnie decided. The other one was tall and broad and had that same air of authority the German guy had.
For the first time in a long time, Donnie felt outgunned.
“Detective, this is His Eminence Cardinal Madungu, the Apostolic Nuncio to the United Nations.”
“Hey,” Donnie said lamely as he shook the black man’s hand.
“And this is Cardinal Quigley, the Archbishop of New York.”
“Thank you for handling this, Detective.”
Donnie simply nodded as he shook his hand. His grip was firm and his voice seemed to come from a bullhorn. This was a guy who didn’t need a microphone in church.
“What’s this about? With all due respect, I’ll talk to you all after I’m done upstairs.” Donnie squinted, something occurred to him. “Unless there’s something you need to tell me that you can’t tell me in front of everybody else.”
The three members of the clergy glanced at each other as if deciding whether or not they wanted to go through with this. Cardinal Brambach took a step forward.
“As I have told you a minute ago, Detective, it is imperative that you do not rule this a suicide. You have to say that this was a murder.”
“Okay, let’s get something straight. My job is not to choose the cause of death, okay? I don’t pick a number out of a hat or conveniently get the results that people want. If you need to bribe anybody, you bribe the medical examiner. He’s the guy with the fancy degrees and the final say on the autopsy report.”
“Detective…”
“And another thing, don’t ever presume to tell me how to do my job. Upstairs, I’m gonna find out whatever it is I’m gonna find out.”
“This must be some kind of mistake,” the German said. “Pope Callixtus would never have killed himself!”
“We’re gonna find out in due course. Now if you’ll excuse me…”
Donnie had enough of this and started walking forward where he’d have to go through these three.
The African man became excited and put a hand on his arm, stopping him. “No, you do not understand. It is vital that you do not rule this a suicide. Please!”
“You want your Pope to be a murder victim? The hell’s going on here? Pardon my French.”
Cardinal Quigley cleared his throat. “Suicide is a sin for us in the Catholic faith, Detective. We simply can’t have His Holiness’s death be a suicide.”
Donnie didn’t speak. It had occurred to him and he could see how this could be a problem for these guys.
“Right. So what, we say that the Pope slipped, his head fell into a trash bag, and he accidentally dropped his head into a noose?”
“Can you understand what will happen if the police have a press conference and tell the world that Matthijs Vermote, our beloved Pope Callixtus IV – last year’s Time magazine’s Man of the Year – committed suicide? It would shake the very foundation of the Roman Catholic Church.”
“No offense, sir, but he should have thought of that before killing himself.”
Brambach softened his gaze. “Detective, please think of the consequences? There are over one billion Catholics on the planet. Taking away their leader, their guide, is one thing. But to leave them rudderless while questioning their faith in God would be disastrous. It would be chaos.”
“Please think of our flock,” Cardinal Madungu pleaded. “Put yourself in the shoes of Catholics.”
“I am a Catholic,” Donnie blurted out.
“Then you know, my son,” Quigley said.
Instead of replying straightaway, Donnie looked at the gigantic American before him. His mind raced and he knew the right thing to do at the moment was to keep his mouth shut. Only he couldn’t.
“I know who you are,” he said, staring straight at the Archbishop of New York.
“Then you know how important it is to resolve the situation in a most quiet fashion.”
“I remember you from when I was a kid.”
“You do?”
“You were a priest back then. One summer you took over Sunday services at Saint Roch’s.”
“That’s right, I was in the Bronx back then. You have a good memory.”
Donnie nodded but didn’t look at him. “Sure, sure. Some things stick in your mind, you know? Some things you go through and you forget and that’s fine. Other things are harder to clear out of your head. Like when you have a brother who doesn’t want to go to church anymore but won’t talk about it.”
“Detective?”
“Sometimes you have a brother who starts crying because he doesn’t want to go play baseball in the church league and he won’t tell anybody why. And I’m not talking about my little brother either. It was my big brother, the one I was looking up to. Let me tell you, that sends you a whole lot of mixed messages.”
Quigley cleared his throat. “Detective…”
“It took my brother fifteen years to tell anybody what happened. The special visits to the rectory, the… touching. He wasn’t the only kid either.”
“This was a tragedy, Detective. I’m very sorry, so very sorry.”
“Sorry doesn’t make the nightmares go away, Cardinal.”
Donnie was aware that the nuncio and the prefect were awkwardly glancing at each other, wishing they were elsewhere, but he didn’t care. Let them suffer, he decided.
“When I changed position within the archdiocese,” Quigley began, “I did my best to fix things. When I became Archbishop it was my fir
st order of business to settle with the young victims and make sure something like that never happens again. Believe me, this was a tragedy and the Church apologizes – I apologize. From the bottom of my heart, I do.”
“Great, now I’m a bundle of joy.”
“Still, you have to reconsider classifying this as a suicide.”
Taking a deep breath so he wouldn’t say anything he would regret further, Donnie straightened up. “In my experience, when it looks like a suicide, the vast majority of times it’s actually a suicide. There’s nothing I can do.”
Cardinal Brambach put his hand on Donnie’s shoulder. “We have to find another solution.”
“Don’t touch me,” he spat, pushing his hand off him. “And there’s no other solution.”
“If you call this a suicide, the world will be in flames,” Cardinal Madungu said gently. “We live in a world where extremism is on the rise. This is not a time for one fifth of the planet to go through a crisis of faith. This is not about religion, Detective. At this point, it is a matter of national security.”
Quigley piled on. “You’re Catholic, Detective Beecher. Do this for us. Help us, help your people through this.”
“Oh, the whole Catholic guilt thing. Great. Always finish with the classics, right?”
“Detective…”
“Sorry, I’m digging for the truth and not for what you want it to be. Now if you’ll excuse me.”
He marched past the three men and left the library. What was it with Catholic guilt anyway? Worst of all, why did he feel it right now even if he said he didn’t?
Chapter 5
Donnie had of course been to One Police Plaza before, the headquarters of the New York City Police Department. He had been here after graduating from the Academy and he had made a few visits over the years when involved in some high-profile cases.
Still, as he entered the blocky downtown building he felt out of his element. Aside from the lowly officers and technicians, this was where you came if you were ambitious and wanted to climb the ladder. That wasn’t him at all. He was happy being a detective and not being responsible for anyone.
