by Steve Richer
“What? Come on, I need this.”
“Are you kidding me? This is the farthest we’ve got in years. I can’t jeopardize my investigation. With the Irish coming back up, this Russian koala shit hitting the streets, no way I’m risking my case.”
Donnie perked up. “Russian koala? It just so happens I was investigating a murder a few days ago over some Rush-K.”
“Yeah, that shit is everywhere now.”
“Tell me who your player is, Cox.”
“No offense, but I came here as a courtesy. I can’t give you my research.”
“This is about solving the Pope’s assassination, man! You gotta give me something.”
Cox shrugged. “I’m sorry, but I can’t. I can’t compromise my investigation. Good luck.”
He waved lamely and left.
“Fuck.”
“I’m sorry,” Emma said.
“You see? That’s an object lesson in how not to tell a story. A buildup and no payoff.”
If Donnie had had a coffee, he would have thrown it against the wall.
Chapter 37
The headache wasn’t gone, but it was forgotten as Donnie stormed out of the office and hurried to the conference room. He had to suppress just how comical he found what he saw.
The federal agents were bent over their computers and talking to their phones as if they were coordinating bombings over Baghdad when in fact these guys had less than nothing. They were chasing their tails around while pretending to be useful.
His presence made people look up though, especially Inspector Galfy and FBI Special Agent Garza.
“What is it, Detective?” the commanding officer of the Major Case Squad asked, looking up from his notes.
“OC won’t let me see their files,” Donnie said without preamble. “Who do I have to jack off around here to get something done?”
“Now, calm down, Beecher…”
Donnie turned to Garza. “The minute you have actionable intel, you can tell me to calm down.”
“That’s enough, Detective!”
“I want you to get Crim from the State Department on the phone. Get the US Attorney on the phone too. No offense, sir, but I can’t do my job if everybody’s putting hurdles in front of me.”
“What’s going on?”
Galfy’s peaceful demeanor managed to mollify Donnie, much to his chagrin. He kind of liked being angry and pumped up.
“What’s going on is that the blood recovered from the Crime Lab perp is known to Organized Crime, but they refuse to let me access their files. We need to get the big guns now. We need all the pressure we can get, okay?”
“Easy, Beecher…”
Garza’s tone was definitely patronizing and it was the last straw.
“How about I tell you to blow me, okay? How’s that? Sounds like something you can do with at least an ounce of competence?”
“You watch your mouth!”
“Enough, both of you.” Galfy sounded surprisingly tough in spite of the librarian appearance. “Agent Garza, I will handle this. You, Detective Beecher, take a breath. There’s no sense making the situation worse than it is. What do you need?”
“I need Detective Cox from OC to let me see his files. I was assured I’d have everybody’s full cooperation to lead this investigation.”
“You’ll have it. Let me make some calls.”
“Good.”
“But you know how the Organized Crime Bureau is, how protective they are of their files. It may take some time to change their minds.”
“We don’t have time, Inspector.”
As he trudged out of the conference room, Donnie was trying not to think of the early retirement which was waiting for him if he didn’t come up with something before tonight. He reached the small office and Emma looked up.
“And?” she asked.
“I don’t know. These OC bastards can be stubborn, you have no idea. But that doesn’t mean we’re not doing anything. Follow me, we’re going for a drive.”
“Uh, Donnie? I’m not sure I should go.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Look, you don’t need me anymore.”
“What? Where is this coming from?”
She sighed and came closer. “At first, I understood why you needed me. Our Holy Father was killed, I’m a former nun, I know a bit about the Church. But now the investigation leans in a way where you don’t need my skills anymore. I’m not a detective, I’m useless.”
“You’re not useless. You uh… buy somewhat decent snacks. Let’s go, I need a wingman to play good cop with me.”
~ ~ ~ ~
Their destination was the New York field office of the United States Secret Service, in Brooklyn. They took their time because Donnie wanted to think about his approach before they got to the high-rise on Adams Street. In short order, they were ushered to a cubicle on the thirty-second floor.
“Hey!” Special Agent Wallenberg said as he stood up to greet the visitors.
“How are you doing?”
Donnie shook his hand and introduced Emma as his partner.
“I hope we’re not interrupting.”
“Absolutely not,” Wallenberg said, wincing. “I’ve been put on administrative duty until the dust settles. You know, while the case is pending since I was on the scene and all that.”
Donnie nodded. “Sure, sure. That always sucks. A guy from my precinct – a guy I used to bowl with – he got pinched getting blow jobs from Filipino hookers in 2010. I swear, for an entire month my entire detective squad was basically sidelined. Damn procedures, I tell you…”
“Yep, same thing here. Reports have to be written and all that.”
“Say, you wanna head downstairs and grab some coffee? We were in the neighborhood and I just thought I’d drop by to say hi, maybe see if I could pick your brain about a few things.”
“Yeah, coffee sounds nice. I’m glad to help.”
As they headed to the elevators and went down, Emma caught Donnie’s eye. She was visibly impressed by his technique. He winked at her when Wallenberg wasn’t watching.
“Do you bowl?” he asked the Secret Service agent.
They launched into mindless chitchat as they strolled to a hot dog cart down the street where they got some coffee. Emma became bold enough to join the conversation, talking about her own nonexistent passion for bowling. It didn’t matter, Wallenberg had said that he didn’t particularly care for the sport. They started wandering down the sidewalk while sipping coffee.
“Okay, I have to ask,” Donnie said.
“What?”
“Are you the Skip Wallenberg who used to play baseball with my brother in the church league up in the Bronx?”
“Yes! That’s me. I was wondering if you were related to that Beecher. Man, small world. Whatever happened to him anyway? One day he just disappeared.”
Donnie shrugged. “Yeah, my brother has had his share of problems and just withdrew from the world. What about you? How does a kid from the Bronx join the Secret Service?”
“Oh you know, nothing to write home about. After high school I went into the Army, then got out, and now I’m here. Jesus, your brother and me we used to be thick as thieves. One time we got a hold of some Mace and managed to spray it all over the other team’s jockstraps.”
They laughed, even Emma pictured what it must have looked like and they spent a few minutes reminiscing about the old neighborhood.
“So Wallenberg, do you have any idea who could have been behind the homicide? I tell you, we’re screwed. I’m sure you saw on the news the little fiasco from yesterday.”
“Yeah, your suspect was shot down. Man…”
“And it turns out he was innocent,” Donnie replied. “Innocent of this anyway, he had a rap sheet a mile long. So I’m wondering if you could help? The going theory right now is that this had to be an inside job.”
“No shit!”
“Can you think of anyone inside the townhouse who could have sneaked up to
kill the Pope?”
“That’s real James Bond stuff, uh? But no, I haven’t the faintest idea, sorry.”
Donnie finished his coffee and tossed it in a trashcan.
“It’s okay, it was worth a shot, you know? We’re really stuck at the moment, don’t have any more clues. Thanks for shooting the breeze with us for a while, Skip.”
They shook hands.
“No problem, it was my pleasure. Anything I can do to help.”
Donnie was about to say a final goodbye, but lifted a finger to keep Wallenberg around a minute longer.
“Before you leave, I wonder if I could ask you something. It’s pretty sensitive so I hope you won’t take offense.”
“Uh, okay…”
“When I talked about my brother having had some problems, I wasn’t clear. He was abused when he was a kid. It was bad.”
Wallenberg’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh shit, I’m so sorry.”
“Yeah, really tore us up when we found out. Turns out the priests took advantage of him after baseball practice. It’s why he ended up killing himself. So I was wondering if you ever suspected anything?”
“Christ, no! I wish I did, I would’ve said something, even as a kid.”
“And what about you? Were you ever molested? By priests or other people involved with the church?”
“No! What’s going on here, Beecher? I feel like I’m being interrogated.”
“I said it was a sensitive subject,” Donnie said. “I’m sorry if this is direct.”
“You’re talking to me like I’m a suspect or something.”
“No, absolutely not. I’m still trying to wrap my head around what happened to my brother, you know? This thing with the Pope is opening old wounds.”
“I’m sorry again. Your brother was a good guy. Listen, can you give me a minute? This coffee isn’t good for my bladder.”
Wallenberg pointed at the Marriott Hotel, essentially asking permission to go to the bathroom.
“Sure. We’ll wait out here.”
The Secret Service agent went inside and Donnie saw him cross the lobby and go to the men’s room.
“So,” Emma began. “Have we come here for nothing?”
“Absolutely not. We just had our first interview with our suspect.”
“You really think this is who killed the Pope?” she asked, unable to hide how stunned she was.
“I’m positive. He was on the security detail, like Donovan said. He has Army training. He sure as shit knew about my brother having been abused. It’s in his eyes, the way he didn’t blink when he said he was shocked. This is the assassin and now we need to prove it.”
Emma finished her own coffee and they waited in silence for several minutes. Where was Wallenberg already? Even if it hadn’t been his bladder that was the problem, he should have been out by now.
Donnie was starting to get a bad feeling about this.
“Come with me,” he said.
They went into the hotel, sped through the lobby, and went to the men’s room. Emma remained outside and Donnie didn’t have time to tell her that it was okay for her to follow him in on such an urgent matter, that she was a police officer and was only doing her job.
He went inside alone and found no one at the urinals. An elderly Asian man was washing his hands.
Donnie put his hand on his pistol and approached slowly. All the stalls were open and unoccupied.
Wallenberg had escaped.
Chapter 38
Before Colm could let himself in, the door was opened by one of the nuns employed as a servant for Cardinal Blanchet. She had a dour expression, as she always did, but she brightened up when she saw the young priest.
“Father Colm, good evening!”
“Good evening, Sister. Is His Eminence in?”
She hesitated, looking over her shoulder inside the penthouse although there was nothing to see. “Well…”
“If he’s busy, I can always come back. However, this is quite important.”
She opened the door and moved aside. “In that case, I am certain it is all right.”
“Thank you, Sister.”
As Colm walked in further, he heard what could only be described as merrymaking. There was a party going on and it was coming from the dining room. He didn’t wait for the nun to lead the way and went there at once. There were loud voices and hearty laughs as well as the sounds of silverware against porcelain plates. He heard crystal glasses clanging.
There was no surprise when he reached the dining area, aside perhaps from its majestic appearance. The vaulted ceiling was said to have been painted by one of Michelangelo’s devoted students. The pastoral frescoes on the walls were so detailed that one could spend an entire day admiring them.
At the long and massive mahogany table were the usual suspects: Cardinals Blanchet and Stagnaro as well as Bishop Lewandowski. However, there was a fourth man Colm hadn’t expected to see. It’s was Cardinal Masé, the Camerlengo.
They were in the midst of a copious meal. On the table was a carved out suckling pig, herb roasted potatoes, green beans, a quartered duck, as well as a platter of lobsters. The aroma made Colm’s mouth water. All of this belonged in a culinary magazine. There were several empty bottles of wine on the table and everyone had a full glass.
Cardinal Masé burst into laughter at something Blanchet said. His face was as red as an apple, intoxicated beyond what was deemed acceptable. Yet no one seemed to care.
“Colm, my boy!”
“Your Eminence. Perhaps this is a bad time. I should have called before dropping by.”
“But you never do, do you?” Blanchet spat. “It doesn’t matter, you’re here now. Wine?”
“No, thank you.”
“Nonsense. Sister Maria! Bring another glass!”
Colm shook his head. “Really, sir. I’m fine.”
But the nun was already back with a fresh glass. Blanchet took it from her and himself poured a generous amount of Malbec.
“We’re celebrating so you’re going to celebrate with us.”
This week was most definitely not the time to celebrate, but Colm couldn’t bring himself to say this out loud. The Pope had just died, it was time to pray.
Cardinal Stagnaro noticed his confusion. “It has been a hectic day, as you might understand. This is the first free moment we’ve had to rejoice after learning that our Holy Father was the victim of a homicide.”
“This is great news!” Lewandowski said before draining his glass.
“This is great news because this tragedy won’t shake the very foundations of our Church,” Stagnaro clarified. “A suicide would have destroyed what has taken us centuries to build. A murder, while heartbreaking, gives us the legitimacy to continue our important work.”
Blanchet raised his glass. “Hear, hear! With the upcoming conclave, we now have the ammunition we need to convince the others what has to be done. Now more than ever the Church needs to have a firm hand in world affairs.”
“And you, Cardinal Blanchet, are the right man for this job,” the Camerlengo said.
“A toast to Cardinal Blanchet!”
Everyone followed Bishop Lewandowski’s lead, raising their glasses and drinking with gusto. Colm brought the rim to his lips, but didn’t take more than a small sip, simply to be polite.
“Have you come to dine with us, Colm?”
“No, Your Eminence. I was hoping to have a word in private, but if this is inconvenient I can return in the morning.”
Blanchet was annoyed, but it only showed for a moment. He dipped a lobster claw in melted butter and shoved the whole thing into his mouth. Before he had finished chewing, he drank the rest of his red wine.
“Come,” he said as he stood up and wiped his hands on a napkin.
The Irishman turned to the others, ready to excuse himself formerly, but they had already forgotten about him and were chatting and laughing about something else.
They went into the cardinal’s library and he didn’t waste ti
me heading to the sideboard where decanters were lined up. He poured himself a glass of whiskey and immediately started drinking.
“What do you want?”
Colm wavered. His superior was drunker than he’d thought. What he had come here to say would be more difficult. He was already a hard man to talk to sober. Now there was no telling what would happen.
“Speak, speak! I have guests I need to get back to.”
“Yes, Your Eminence. I wonder…”
“What? Spit it out, boy!”
Cardinal Blanchet went to a chair and instead of sitting he practically fell into it. A drop of alcohol splashed out, landing on his wrist and he started laughing.
“Sir, I believe I am going through somewhat of a crisis of faith.”
“A crisis of faith? So you’re saying that you’re a weak man, Father.”
“If only weak men go through this, then yes, I suppose so. Mostly, Cardinal, I’m questioning whether or not we are doing the right thing.”
“Are you judging me?”
Colm didn’t take the bait. He spent a moment to gather his thoughts and stopped slouching. He might have been a weak man, as Blanchet said, but he needed to stand tall to say what was on his mind.
“Your Eminence, I wonder if perhaps this isn’t God’s will to be maneuvering like we’ve been doing these past couple of days. It doesn’t… It doesn’t seem very Christian-like.”
There was a deafening silence in the library as Cardinal Blanchet’s eyes turned black. Then he started laughing.
“You know what your problem is, Colm? You still think as a missionary. You think as a priest in a local parish whose most important work is raising funds for the new church roof and listening to the confessions of philandering housewives. But you’re not a young priest in a local parish. You’re not a missionary. You work at the Vatican.”
“Cardinal…”
The old man set his glass down and suddenly appeared sober. “Before good things can be done, the Holy See needs to appoint good men. Like it or not, this is done by maneuvering, as you call it. Scheming, plotting, all these words you’re thinking, but are too afraid to use.”
“I’m sorry, Cardinal Blanchet, I…”
“Our Mother the Church has worked this way for the last two thousand years. God’s will is going to prevail, there is no doubt about that. But first we need to put the right people in power. That’s the only chance we have to change the world for the better.”
