The Pope's Suicide

by Steve Richer

  Starting to fidget, Colm popped a breath mint into his mouth and wiped his hands on his pants. He still wasn’t comfortable with any of this, wishing for a moment that he was still doing missionary work where life was humbler.

  After a few minutes, two priests dressed like himself – dark suit and clerical collar – walked down the stairs. They were carrying four suitcases. Man, would this even fit in the trunk?

  Finally, the guest of honor exited. Here was the man Blanchet had sent Colm to pick up, Cardinal Zupan.

  He had looked him up before leaving and he looked only a little like his official photograph. In reality, he was taller and his skin was darker, as if he routinely used a tanning bed. It was an odd look for someone who was seventy-three. It made him seem like a retired salesman.

  Colm took a step closer and at once addressed the priests and the Archbishop. “Good evening. I’m Father Colm O’Dwyer. Cardinal Blanchet asked me to pick you up.”

  “Of course. It is the least he can do, isn’t it?”

  As he said that, the old man tilted his head up as if all of this was boring and beneath him. For the first time, Colm noticed that there was something in his hand: a small dog. It looked like a West Highland white terrier and the cardinal held it like one would cradle a baby.

  Colm didn’t quite know what to reply so instead he focused on the two priests. They were about his age, mid-thirties, and evidently they were valets. He went to the trunk and opened it so they could put the luggage inside.

  “Are you judging me, my boy?” Cardinal Zupan asked.

  “I beg your pardon, Your Eminence?”

  “You are clearly wondering what a man of God such as myself is doing flying around on a luxury jet.”

  “Judge not lest ye be judged, Your Eminence,” Colm quoted, avoiding the man’s eyes. “It’s not my place.”

  Zupan grinned and scratched the dog’s ears. “Curiosity is not a sin. Then again, you will certainly agree with me that during its long and tortuous history, the Church has categorized most of human behavior as sinful at one time or another.”

  “A position our Holy Father has been moving away from.”

  “You are right, Father. Today’s events are tragic and that is why I am here tonight, having used this aircraft. My archdiocese is fortunate enough to have a devoted patron, a man who unfortunately made his fortune on the backs of poor workers around the globe.”

  “Your Eminence?”

  “He is trying to purchase his soul back and, I am sorry to say, I let him. He wanted me to join the College of Cardinals as soon as possible after I heard about our beloved Pope. There are matters to attend to.”

  “Of course,” Colm said, getting to hint.

  He opened the rear door and Cardinal Zupan slid inside, followed by one of his priests. The other one sat up front. As Colm got behind the wheel, he hoped the dog wouldn’t stink up the car. He could only imagine the tantrum Blanchet would throw.

  Remarkably, it didn’t smell bad in the enclosed space. The dog had been perfumed. This fit with Zupan’s reputation. He was known to live like a prince, just like in medieval times.

  This wealthy benefactor he had spoken of was real and Colm had heard about him. He had supposedly made a fortune after the fall of the Soviet Union, pilfering public property such as military hardware and utility companies. Now that he was getting old, he was giving to the Church and Zupan was reaping the benefits.

  As much as it made Colm uncomfortable, he still had a mission tonight. There was a reason his superior had sent him personally to pick him up from the airport.

  “Your Eminence?”

  “Yes?” the old man asked, barely looking up from his terrier.

  “I wonder if I can probe your mind about an issue.”

  “Perhaps.”

  “Uh, Cardinal Blanchet would like to know what your position is on the San Marino letter. You were at that meeting and in these dire times, it would be best if the San Marino letter could be placed on the back burner at this moment. What are your thoughts on the subject?”

  Cardinal Zupan looked up and his eyes met Colm’s in the rearview mirror as they drove off the tarmac. There was a long pause as if the old man wasn’t sure how much of his hand he wanted to show.

  “It is possible that my position can become flexible as it regards the San Marino letter. As you said, dire times.”

  “Thank you, Your Eminence.”

  “Now I have a question for you, my boy.”

  “Sir?” Colm said without thinking.

  “Does Cardinal Blanchet wish to become our next pontiff?”

  “What? No. Absolutely not.”

  “Don’t be naive, Father. You are young, but you seem smart. Has Cardinal Blanchet begun moving his pieces on the chess board to ensure that he is elected?”

  “I swear, Your Eminence. That’s not the case. He simply wishes that Our Mother the Church continues to head toward openness and righteousness.”

  “Very well, my boy. Now, before we get to our destination, could you stop at a butcher shop? My little precious needs a fresh bone to chew on. And make it quick.”

  Colm agreed and couldn’t even bring himself to be mad at the detour. No, instead his mind was on what Cardinal Zupan had said. Could it be true that Cardinal Blanchet himself wanted to be the next Pope?

  He had denied it but, to be honest, he wasn’t so sure anymore.

  Chapter 12

  “Would you like coffee, Detective?” Father Emilio Segre offered with an open smile.

  “Or tea?” Father Ruggero Missiroli added.

  Donnie shook his head. “No, no, I’m good.”

  “And you, Officer?” Segre asked Emma.

  “No, thank you.”

  The two priests smiled again like good hosts and sat side by side on the sofa. Donnie sat on the edge of a straight-backed chair, leaning forward on his knees to make them think all of this was informal.

  Meanwhile, Emma was in the lone recliner in this austere den, right next to him. In her uniform, with the bulky duty rig not leaving much room around her, she was visibly uncomfortable and it made Donnie’s smirk.

  With the federal agents following up on their own leads, Donnie had felt helpless at One Police Plaza. He had never been someone to solve a case by looking at files at his desk. He needed to be in the field, to interview witnesses, to gauge suspects.

  And so he’d come here to the nuncio’s townhouse on 72nd Street. Everyone was wary of his presence after the place had been invaded by the NYPD since early this morning. The civilians – cooks, maids – showed it the most. The men of the cloth smiled and feigned that they weren’t tired.

  “I’m sorry we have to go through this again,” Donnie began, pretending that he was indeed sorry. “You know how it is, right? It’s my job and I think we can all agree this is the biggest mystery in my career. And for you guys, geez, I can’t even begin…”

  “It is a terrible day,” Father Missiroli.

  Father Segre nodded emphatically. “Very terrible.”

  “But it wasn’t all that unexpected, was it?”

  “Excuse me, Detective?”

  Both priests were taken aback by the question. There was no sign that his hypothesis was true but he pressed on.

  “Come on, padre. The Pope was popular but not totally hardcore, right? I’m not a big reader, but I keep up with the news. They say that he didn’t condemn homosexuality. He didn’t come down hard against abortion or divorce. So for Catholicism, it’s not a huge loss. Technically.”

  By now even Emma was agape.

  “Pope Callixtus was a holy man!” Father Segre, failing to keep the outrage out of his voice.

  “A truly holy man!”

  Segre said, “Detective, I have been assigned to the Vatican for over twenty years. I was ordained almost forty years ago and have come to work with thousands of priests, bishops, and cardinals. I can say beyond a shadow of a doubt that no one has been as nice as our Holy Father.”

  �
��Is that so?”

  “And he was not just a great pontiff, he was a great man. A great person.”

  “Very great person,” Missiroli repeated.

  “He took time to ask about us, our families. He genuinely cared about each and every one of us. We were privileged to serve under him and his loss is a catastrophe for mankind.”

  Donnie couldn’t detect any signs of deception. There wasn’t any unexpected nervousness or stress, no shared glances. Shit. He had spent the last hour doing this, from the nuncio on down, and he still didn’t have a single clue.

  The next person to be ushered into the room was Amadeo Besozzi, the Papal Butler. The man was a mess, disheveled, his tie loosened.

  “Rough day, uh?”

  “I will never forget it, Detective. I will have nightmares forever.”

  “So tell me what happened? You just found the Pope dead?”

  Amedeo nodded. “I came to help him get dressed like every morning and he didn’t respond to my calls. The bathroom door was open so I took a chance and went inside.”

  “And that’s when you found him?”

  “Yes, he was naked, hanging and with a bag over his head. I called for help and immediately security came, followed by Dr. Ungari.”

  “Tell me, Mr. Besozzi, do you have diplomatic immunity?”

  “What?”

  “Just a question like that,” Donnie replied innocently. “Some people think that if they have diplomatic immunity that they can kill people without consequences.”

  “But I didn’t do anything! It was a suicide. It was, yes?”

  Donnie caught Emma looking at him, wondering what he would say. They still hadn’t told anyone here that it was being treated as a homicide, although the US Attorney and State Department would probably hold a press conference shortly.

  “Sure,” Donnie said dismissively. “Can you think of anything that could lead the Pope to commit suicide?”

  “No, no, I can’t. Of course, I was aware that the San Marino letter was a burden for him. But suicide? The Holy Father was a strong man. He could face anything.”

  “The San Marino what?”

  “The San Marino letter.”

  “What’s that?”

  Amedeo shrugged. “It was a project Pope Callixtus was working on. I don’t know what it was about, not many people were aware of it. But I knew the Holy Father and it kept him up at nights. I should have been more alert. Maybe I could have helped him. I will never forgive myself.”

  “What happens to you next, Mr. Besozzi?”

  “I’m not sure. That next Pope will probably want his own valet. Perhaps I will return to the practice of law.”

  Donnie was about to ask another pointless question when the door opened and Archbishop Ludwig Brambach interrupted them.

  “What is going on here?”

  “Just doing my job, Archbishop.”

  “You were here this morning, Detective. We have spent the entire day answering police questions. Now that’s enough.”

  He turned to the butler and spoke to him in Italian. He stood up, nodded, and left. Donnie didn’t stop him. Just like the priests before, he didn’t believe he was involved.

  “I think it is time for you to leave now as well, Detective.”

  “I have a few questions for you,” Donnie said.

  He stood up when he realized the cardinal wouldn’t sit down, and Emma followed suit.

  “I have answered all the questions which needed to be asked.”

  “Humor me. We’ll skip the where-when-why questions. How do you feel about the Pope being dead? I wanted to see you this afternoon and ask you this specifically.”

  “How do I feel?” the Archbishop said, astounded by the question. “I’m extremely sad. Pope Callixtus was a wonderful man and a wonderful leader for the Church.”

  “So you shared his views about where the Church was heading?”

  “Yes, I did. His doctrine was goodhearted and pious.”

  Donnie nodded and reached inside his jacket for a folded piece of paper.

  “It’s good that you say that, really good, because I found this thing. I’m not really good with computers but, you know, I’m getting better. Google makes it easier, right? You have Google at the Vatican? Anyway, I found this article from…” Donnie unfolded the print out and searched for a date. “It’s from July six years ago, in the official Vatican newspaper.”

  “Detective…” the Archbishop said, shifting on his feet.

  “You wrote it, Cardinal Brambach. It’s an opinion piece about how you fear that Cardinal Matthijs Vermote is being too liberal with his proposals for the future of the Catholic Church. Cardinal Matthijs Vermote became Pope Callixtus, right?”

  “Detective…”

  “Or maybe something got lost in the translation, I don’t know. I don’t speak Italian beyond ordering fettuccine Alfredo. I had to use a translation software. But you can see my concern, right? I have proof here that you didn’t like the Pope’s views and now you’re the Papal Household Prefect. And, oh, what do you know, the guy turns up dead. As a police officer, that makes a few bells go off.”

  Archbishop Brambach bristled for a second before composing himself again, taking deep breaths.

  “Our approaches might’ve been different but we wanted the same thing. We wanted the Catholic Church to be celebrated once more for the good of everyone. Haven’t you ever disagreed with anyone?”

  “Sure,” Donnie said, playing along.

  “Does this mean you killed them? Look, this position was the height of my career, Detective. What would I have to gain by causing harm to the Holy Father? I have lost my job now. Everyone loses their post after the Pope’s death. This is the worst thing that could happen to me.”

  “Worst thing that could happen to the Pope too, if you think about it.”

  The quip went over the Archbishop’s head. Instead he said, “Wait… Does that mean this isn’t a suicide? You’re looking for suspects?”

  “I’m looking for the truth.”

  Chapter 13

  Nicole pressed her forehead against the window on the passenger side. It was cool but not cool enough. After her radiotherapy treatments, she always felt hot. She didn’t know if that was the norm or not – to this day she had refused to meet other cancer patients or go to support groups.

  “Are you okay?” Simon asked, looking sideways at her and still keeping an eye on the road. “Want me to turn up the air conditioning?”

  She shook her head. “No, it’s fine. We’re almost home anyway.”

  “You want me to lower the window?”

  She turned to him and smiled wanly. “Really, I’m fine.”

  “Just say so, anytime.”

  “Thank you for picking me up at the hospital, Simon. I know I’m asking a lot of you.”

  Simon nodded, but didn’t reply right away. He was such a handsome man. He wasn’t rugged like Donnie, didn’t have that street-smart alertness in his eyes. That’s what had drawn her to him in the first place.

  “This was your last treatment, Nicole? What’s the prognosis now?”

  She shrugged. “Not sure. I’m going for other tests next week and meeting my doctor after that. They say the tumor should be gone but…”

  “But what? You think you’re still sick?”

  “I don’t know,” she said with a tired sigh. “I’m not being optimistic. Optimism leads to disappointment.”

  “Jesus, Nikki. Don’t say that. Trust the doctors, all right? There’s a reason they have big cars and big houses. They’re getting the big bucks because they know what they’re doing.”

  She grunted noncommittally and turned back toward the window, watching Queens flash by her. What was the upside of beating cancer anyway? Aside from the health matter, of course. Was her life really worth saving? She honestly wasn’t sure about that anymore.

  Her marriage was a sham. It was over. It had been over years ago. She supposed she should be grateful for Donnie not divorcing he
r earlier, to allow her to piggyback on his insurance. She hadn’t even needed to ask him, it had been his idea.

  She had no job. She’d been a stay-at-home mom for longer than she had planned to. And when she tried to get back on the work market she discovered that no one really wanted anything to do with her.

  They called it an employment gap, as if taking time off to raise her daughter was a black mark against you. As if it had made her forget everything she knew about bookkeeping and now was no longer employable.

  Life had passed her by.

  The one thing that made her want to get better after all was her daughter. Even though she was sixteen now, sometimes acting like she was twenty-five, Sierra still needed her. Probably more than ever, too. She had to stay healthy to support her. Being a teenager was tough for everyone.

  Had it become more difficult since she’d been diagnosed with cancer? She wasn’t sure. She didn’t think that she could see a precise moment when Sierra had stopped being her nice, quiet little girl and had become a rambunctious teenager. Did every parent go through this?

  The school had called a few times to report her absence. Her grades were slipping. Everything Sierra did seemed designed to alienate her from her parents. She was losing control of her child and she hated it. It not only meant that Sierra was growing up but that Nicole was getting older.

  There it was again, that feeling of life passing her by. What had she done to deserve this? Maybe it was hitting her harder because she was sick. In any case, she hated that feeling.

  Nicole looked at her watch. She still hadn’t heard from Sierra. Where was she?

  She rummaged through her purse and produced her phone. There were no messages. She called Sierra and like the five times before she landed on voicemail.

  “It’s mom again,” she said in an exasperated tone. “I’m almost home now so you can forget about the ride. Text me at least to say that you’re okay. I’m worried. Bye.”

  “Still voicemail?” Simon asked.

  “I swear, that girl is going to give me a heart attack.”

  “Teenagers, what can you do?”