by Steve Richer
They had taught at a school together in India for almost a year. They had become quite good friends and he had been bowled over upon learning that she had defrocked.
Colm decided that this was God’s way of telling him that he was watching over all of them.
Chapter 35
Donnie was severely hung over. Too much scotch, not enough sleep, it was a recipe for disaster. This went double today, his last on the case. Driving out to Long Island, he wondered what would happen after.
It was inconceivable that he would solve the assassination in just one day. Then what? Would he just be sent back to his precinct, free to return to his caseload? He doubted it. Deputy Inspector Galfy and US Attorney Reggie Chauvin would need to pin this lack of progress on somebody. Donnie would be the scapegoat.
This meant that he would be diplomatically invited to consider early retirement. He’d get a party, a letter of gratitude from the Commissioner, and from now on please stay the fuck away from us.
In twelve hours he would be out of a job.
What would he do then? He had no idea. His best bet would be to go into the private sector somewhere. There had to be a company on Wall Street looking for someone in corporate security. Finding one that wouldn’t have heard about him being responsible for not finding the Pope’s killer was another matter altogether.
“One thing at a time,” he whispered to himself in the car, yawning as he sped down the Cross Island Parkway.
It had been a while since he’d been here, but it was smooth sailing all the way to the retirement home. It was a modern place and if he hadn’t known better he would have guessed it was a condominium complex. It was nicely landscaped and had mature oaks along the circular driveway.
He was early, but apparently, not early enough. Walking away from the home was a tall man on the edge of ninety, wearing sensible khakis and a windbreaker from the eighties. Nevertheless, he was standing up straight, proud. He wasn’t walking fast, but it wasn’t because he was frail. Donnie knew that he wasn’t. He was simply taking his time.
Donnie pulled alongside of him and rolled down his window. The man didn’t stop walking and he didn’t stop driving.
“Going to hitchhike your way to California?”
“You bet,” the man said, his eyes still pointed ahead. “Running away from this place. Nurses want me to eat prunes. Cruel and unusual, is what it is.”
Donnie laughed and forgot his headache. “It’s nice to see, Uncle Donovan. Still walk a mile for your morning coffee?”
“Every day.”
“Mind if I join you?”
“It’s a free country, boy,” the old man replied with his Southern drawl.
“Get in, I’ll drive you.”
“This is my morning exercise. Used to jog to the restaurant, but now I’m down to walking.”
“I tell you what, Uncle Donovan. I drive us over, I buy you breakfast, and you can walk back. When do you say? Is that something you can live with? I think it’s fair, right?”
“Ain’t nothing in life fair, Donnie. But what the hell.”
He got into the car and they drove to a diner that was actually more than a mile away. Donnie was impressed. He certainly wouldn’t walk that distance every day just for coffee, and especially not at the age of eighty-nine.
On the other hand, there wasn’t anything normal about Donovan Flood. Following World War II, a judge had made him enlist in the Army to avoid jail after a brawl had gone too far. Much to his surprise, he had taken to it like a duck to water.
Donovan had been decorated in Korea and then became one of the founding members of Special Forces. He was one of the first US soldiers in Southeast Asia and later helped develop the infamous Phoenix Program. This had led to him getting involved with the CIA.
It was in 1968 that he had met his father. They had both been involved in some mysterious affair related to the Kennedy family, but Donnie’s father never talked about it. All he really knew was they had stayed good friends. That was why Donnie called him Uncle Donovan even though they weren’t technically related. He had even been named after him.
He tried to drop by every second weekend or so, but it had been at least a month since he’d been able to visit. What’s more, Donnie always insisted that he didn’t have to come. He said it gave him more time with the ladies at the retirement home.
They walked into the restaurant and a cherubic waitress brightened up instantly.
“Good morning, honey! You’re early this morning.”
“Not my fault,” Donovan said. “This bozo here made me drive over instead of walk.”
She laughed. “Take a seat and I’ll be right with you.”
They found a booth by the window and Donnie suspected it was his regular table. The waitress came back with two mugs and a pot of coffee.
“Just fruit and cereal as always, handsome?”
“No, this kid is buying me breakfast. So I want pancakes, two eggs over easy, whole-wheat toast, and extra bacon.”
“Oh my! I like the sound of that. What about you, sir?”
The thought of runny eggs and bacon made Donnie queasy. “Just coffee and white toast.”
The waitress took off and Donovan stared at his visitor, squinting.
“What’s going on?”
“What? Nothing’s going on? Can’t I come visit you without getting the third degree? Geez…”
“For a detective, you sure don’t lie too good. I met bone-thin fifteen-year-olds in Laos who were better at it than you. And tougher.”
“That’s supposed to be a put down?” Donnie asked innocently before drinking some coffee.
The old man drank coffee as well, his eyes never leaving Donnie, gauging him.
“Been watching the news. I see that you’re in charge of this whole mess.”
“Investigating the mess, I didn’t create it.”
Donovan groaned. “When you handle some shit, it rubs up on you, and before you know it everything’s shitty.”
“That’s really encouraging, Uncle Donovan. Thanks, I appreciate it.”
“I talked to Mike last night. Weather is getting hot down in Miami. Of course he’s not complaining, them bikinis are showing up everywhere.”
“That’s my dad all right,” Donnie said.
Ever since his mother had passed a few years ago, his father had been back to his womanizing ways which he had put on hold for over forty years.
“He’s proud of you, you know. It’s a shame your private life is so screwed up.”
“Can we talk about something else, please?”
“Hey, you came to see me so you listen to what I have to say.”
“I’m buying breakfast. Shouldn’t that entitle me to choose the conversation subjects?”
Donovan shook his head. “No.”
“Great, awesome. I should have read the rulebook first before coming here. Totally slipped my mind.”
“It’s not getting any better with the missus, I gather?”
“Nicole finished her radiotherapy this week,” Donnie said with a shrug. “We’re still waiting to see if the cancer is in remission or not.”
“That’s good, kid, but it’s not what I asked.”
“Christ, Uncle Donovan. She admitted to sleeping around, okay? Is that what you wanna hear?”
“I’m sorry. You still don’t think you have anything to do with this?”
“I didn’t take a man’s dick and shove it into my wife!” Donnie realized he’d spoken loudly and promptly looked around to see if anyone was staring. Nobody was. “You’re gonna say it’s my fault?”
“I don’t judge what I don’t know. What I do know is that you’re not happy with yourself. You haven’t been for twenty years. Ever since what happened to your brother, it’s been eating you up.”
“Uncle Donovan…”
“It broke your mother’s heart and, even though you don’t wanna say anything, I know it’s the same for you.”
“What’s this? You’re psych
oanalyzing me now? Do you have your medical degree on you? I’d like to see it.”
“Kid, if there’s one thing I know it’s that you can’t let something that happened in the past ruin your future. Trust me on this, all right? I’m twice your age and I’ve seen some shit.”
“But…” Donnie began, wanting to come out on top in this conversation, but being unable to find anything smart to say.
The waitress saved him by showing up with three plates. “Here you go! You let me know if you need extra syrup or anything else.”
“Thanks, darling.”
“Anything for you, handsome.”
She winked at Donovan and left.
“So why don’t you tell me the real reason you came to see me this morning, Donnie.”
“I’m gonna ask you something and I want an honest answer.”
“That doesn’t bode well.”
Donnie took a deep breath. “You used to be an assassin, didn’t you?”
Donovan perked up and stared at him. His skin was wrinkled and leathery, his body not as formidable as it used to be, but his blue eyes were alert like never before.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Dad never said anything, he never even implied it, but I can put two and two together. Cold War, CIA contracts, it doesn’t take a genius.”
“Apparently so.”
Donnie showed him his middle finger and a thin smile spread across the old man’s lips.
“Look, I don’t care what you used to do. I know the world was different back then. But I need your help to figure out what happened to the Pope. You saw it on the news, it was a homicide. Bag over the head, hanging in the shower. Nobody saw anything. Even the surveillance tapes are useless.”
“I see…” Donovan said, starting on a piece of bacon.
“We had one drop of saliva, but the killer removed the evidence from the Crime Lab, killing my friend in the process. We have nothing to go on so I need your help.”
“I’m just an old man on an Army pension, kid.”
That was a lie, Donnie knew. Donovan had made good money in real estate over the years.
“Cut the crap, I don’t care what you used to do – or didn’t do. I just need help figuring this shit out.”
“Well,” the man began, busying himself by putting salt and pepper on his eggs. “If I had to kill the Pope under these conditions, theoretically speaking, I would have inserted myself in the security detail.”
“Yeah?”
“If you want this to be perfect and not look like a hit, then yeah. It needs to be an inside job. This is all theory anyway, I never did anything like this before.”
Another lie, yet it made Donnie feel closer to him than he ever had. This wasn’t the sort of secret one shared lightly.
More importantly, it was confirming his suspicions. Wallenberg had to be involved.
Chapter 36
It was after nine o’clock when Donnie entered One Police Plaza. He bypassed the conference room and instead went to the smaller office he’d been granted yesterday.
Emma was already there, sitting down and bent over the desk as she read a document. She didn’t even have a cup of coffee. He wondered how she managed to function this way.
She looked up sharply when she noticed him. “Good, you’re here!”
“Are you somehow implying that I’m late?”
“No, no, of course not.”
“Had to go out to Long Island and see an old friend to confirm a hypothesis,” he said.
He was about to sit down, but decided against it. Between the car and the diner and the car again, he needed to be on his feet. Maybe it would finally get rid of his hangover which was still lingering.
“We have some news,” she said.
“What’s that on your face?”
“What’s what?”
“That,” he pointed out. “Are you smiling? You seem excited. It feels weird on you.”
“Weird?”
Donnie shrugged. “A different kind of weird. Usually, you go from this serene expression, like all is right in the world, to a confused look like you’re tasting lima beans for the first time. Now you look excited.”
“I guess I am a little bit. As I said, we have some news. We might have a clue.”
“A clue? Nice. Talk to me.”
He leaned against the wall, crossing his arms. Emma smiled, this time not ashamed of her demeanor.
“Right after I got here earlier, CSU called. They were able to identify the blood.”
“What blood?” Donnie asked.
“From the Crime Lab. You know, when Victor Bray’s killer escaped, as he went over the fence.”
At that, the senior detective straightened up. “We have the killer’s ID? Who is it?”
“I don’t know,” Emma replied sheepishly. “All I know is that somebody from the NYPD’s Organized Crime Control Bureau is coming here to tell us about it. They should be here any minute now.”
Donnie was deflated. “That’s harsh, you know that? That’s not how you tell a story, Emma.”
“It’s not?”
“You don’t build it up and then not have a payoff. That’s like going on a high school date. I’m too old for this crap. If you don’t have any actual news then don’t say you have news, okay?”
“Oh, sorry.”
Donnie took pity on her and grinned, letting her know he wasn’t being serious. She rolled her eyes.
“Did you sleep well last night?” she asked.
“Not really, no.”
They’d had another couple of drinks at his desk last night before she had left. She’d once more offered him a chance to sleep at her apartment, but he had declined. Instead he had slept on a futon at the precinct. The place hadn’t been busy, but it had still been noisy with officers coming and going all night.
“Thank you for coming to see me, Emma.”
“It was my pleasure.”
“It’s good to have a friend. I don’t have many.”
“You don’t? I thought you were a pretty popular guy.”
Donnie cocked his head to the side, avoiding her gaze. “I have many acquaintances, work buddies, but I’m short of real friends.”
“I’m always happy to take care of wandering sheep and save souls and…” She stopped talking, starting to fidget. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine.”
“I know you don’t want to talk about faith and I shouldn’t have said anything.”
“Really, Emma. It’s fine, forget about it.”
“Good, thank you. Besides, I like you too. As a friend, I mean.”
“I’m glad that’s settled.”
He stared at her and she was staring right back. He couldn’t help feeling like she was once again sending mixed signals. The more likely explanation was probably that she didn’t know she was doing it. As a nun, she didn’t have frames of reference when it came to seduction.
So Donnie made the decision to stop worrying about it. They were friends and there would never be anything more between them. He thought about telling her that, but she wouldn’t get what he was talking about.
To break the tension – which he was most likely the only one to feel – he told her an abridged version of his breakfast meeting. He left out some details like the fact that Donovan had been a government assassin, though it was still unconfirmed, but he presented him as someone with a background in the intelligence community. He told her about how the connection with Wallenberg was making sense.
“Oh boy,” she said.
“Yeah, I think that’s the technical term.”
A curt knock on the open door next to Donnie startled him. He found a balding man about his age waiting expectantly. He was wearing a frumpy brown suit with no tie.
“Detective Beecher?” he said, looking at Emma.
“No, Officer Aldridge. He’s Detective Beecher.”
“I’m Detective Cox from OC.”
Donnie shook his hand, frow
ning. “Don’t I know you?”
“Oh yeah, I think we worked a case together a few years back. How’s it going?”
“Hey,” Donnie replied, motioning for him to enter the office and sit down. The man declined, staying on his feet. “So what’s going on about this blood sample? I’m being told the Crime Lab identified it, but it’s someone from Organized Crime who comes to visit. I’m a little confused over here.”
Cox winced. “I don’t know who told you that we’d IDed the blood, ‘cause we haven’t.”
“Come again?”
“All right, let me tell you why I’m here. The lab was able to match the blood from your crime scene to blood found on one of my crime scenes.”
Donnie was confused and crossed his arms again. “As they say in Grease: tell me more, tell me more, tell me more.”
“There’s not much to tell, honestly. We have this gang war brewing. We think the Westies are making a comeback over in Hell’s Kitchen.”
“Yeah?” Donnie said, believing that this branch of the Irish mob had been taken down permanently years ago.
“That’s what they’re calling themselves anyway. Real bunch of cocksuckers, if you want my opinion. A few months back they thought one of their own was about to drop a dime on their stolen trucks business. They bashed his face in with a goddamn sledgehammer. Let me tell you, still getting nightmares over here.”
“Jesus…”
“Anyway, a month ago there was another hit. This one a lot more professional. Couple of bullets to the head, no witnesses, no bystanders. But the guy who got got was an old timer, part of the Gambino crew back in the day. He was able to get a shot off and we think he wounded the doer. We got blood at the scene.”
Donnie sat on the edge of the desk, thinking about the implications.
“So you’re thinking my case is OC related?”
“I don’t know anything about your case, but your blood is my blood. We’ve been trying to follow all the threads in our recent OC murders. We don’t know who this hitman is, but all our evidence leads to one central player. There’s one guy connecting everything.”
“Who is it?”
Cox rolled his eyes and laughed nervously. “Oh no! I’m not telling you that.”
