The Pope's Suicide Read online

  SUMMARY

  The Pope is dead. It isn’t old age or a disease. He is found hanging in a bathroom while on an official visit to New York City.

  All signs point to a suicide and NYPD detective Donnie Beecher is put in charge of the investigation. It’s the last assignment he wants. Because of his tragic past, he has no love for the Catholic Church. His marriage is falling apart, his teenage daughter is getting mixed up with the bad crowd.

  But soon clues start piling up. What if the Pope was assassinated?

  In Vatican City, young and idealistic Father O’Dwyer is beginning to wonder the same thing. Why are the cardinals around him so secretive? Why do they keep whispering about the mysterious San Marino letter?

  With his superiors breathing down his neck for a swift resolution, Beecher teams up with Officer Emma Aldridge, a former nun. Failure means not just an end to his career but a shift of power in international relations which could lead to war. Together, they will need to find out what really happened to the Pope.

  ...and try not to get killed in the process.

  ~ ~ ~ ~

  The Pope’s Suicide

  By Steve Richer

  Copyright © 2017 Steve Richer

  The cover art for this book makes use of licensed stock photography. All photography is for illustrative purposes only and all persons depicted are models.

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Also by Steve Richer

  The President Killed His Wife (Rogan Bricks 1)

  Counterblow (Rogan Bricks 2)

  Terror Bounty

  I'll Kill Her for You

  The Kennedy Secret

  The Gilded Treachery

  Never Bloodless

  The Atomic Eagle

  Sigma Division

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  Chapter 1

  Had he known that the Pope would be found dead this morning, Amadeo Besozzi would have begun his day quite differently.

  Instead he went through his early morning routine. Well, it was hardly routine. Whenever the Pope was traveling, everything was accelerated. There was a strict schedule when they were in Vatican City, but things became positively hectic when traveling abroad like today.

  It wasn’t Amadeo’s first time in New York City. He had been here before during his student days. He had done the typical tourist stuff like visiting the Statue of Liberty and going up the Empire State Building. He had also done the typical twenty-year-old stuff like getting drunk and sleeping with local girls. Being an Italian young man had somehow been like catnip for women, he’d found.

  Back then, he’d never thought that he would one day become the Papal Butler.

  He hurried down the stairs as he tightened the knot of his tie. He glanced at his watch. It was just after six and already he felt like he was running behind schedule. Was he even going in the right direction? He wasn’t sure. He wasn’t used to this house since they had arrived only yesterday afternoon.

  He finally found his way to the kitchen and a chubby man with a white apron was there, surprised by his appearance.

  “Everything okay?” the cook asked, chewing on a piece of bacon.

  “I have been told you have been given a list of the dietary needs for Pope Callixtus?”

  “Yeah, I got it right here. Grapefruit, bran cereal, egg whites.”

  Amedeo nodded and came closer, wincing as if what he had to say next was painful. “This is a big day for our pontiff. He never makes special requests, he doesn’t like to impose or go against Dr. Ungari’s wishes, but I know he would appreciate a special treat today.”

  “What is it? If I got it, I can make it.”

  “Pope Callixtus has a special fondness for eggs benedict. Do you think you can make that this morning?”

  “Sure, I can whip something up. The nuncio had me make it a couple of times. Walk in the park.”

  “Wonderful, grazi!”

  With a quick glance at his watch, Amedeo left the kitchen and returned upstairs. He nodded to one of the Swiss Guards on the way, a young man in a fine suit. He looked more like an attorney than an armed bodyguard, which he was.

  Attorney, he snorted. He hadn’t thought about that word in a long time. It seemed like an eternity since he had himself practiced law. His father had thought he’d gone mad when he’d announced he was giving up his position at one of Rome’s most prestigious law firms to become a valet.

  But he was so much more than that. Being the Papal Butler meant being the Pope’s assistant. He was essentially helping to run the Holy See and he couldn’t think of a more noble calling. He was great at his job, too. And the most important aspect was respecting the schedule.

  He cursed under his breath as he looked at the time. They would be late and you simply couldn’t be late during a state visit. They had so many things to do today.

  Amedeo had forgotten to check the weather before going to bed last night. Would it be warm today? Cool? He produced his phone and pulled up an app to make sure. He needed to know this so he would select the right robes for Pope Callixtus.

  He was about to enter the small apartment which had been set up as the dressing room for His Holiness when two men wearing Roman collars accosted him.

  “Amedeo, what is this?” the taller of the two asked in Italian, glancing at his iPad.

  “Good morning, Father Emilio.” He turned to the other man. “Father Ruggero.”

  “Good morning, Amedeo.”

  “Did you change the schedule?” Father Emilio asked although it sounded more like an accusation. “What is this visit to a boys group home?”

  “His Holiness insisted that I put it in.”

  “We don’t have time for this, Amedeo!”

  “We don’t have time,” the other private secretary repeated.

  “There’s the mass at St. Patrick’s Cathedral, the ceremony with the mayor and governor at City Hall, lunch with the Archbishop.”

  “And then the address at the United Nations! There is no time, Amedeo!”

  “Very well. Might I tell His Holiness that you are going against his wishes or would you rather do it personally?”

  The two older men looked at each other but didn’t say a word. They found pleasure in throwing their weight around, Amedeo knew, but when it came time to confront the Pope in person they always balked.

  “I will make sure the visit to the boys’ home is brief,” Amedeo said softly, as if making a great concession. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to wake His Holiness and help him get ready. We have a busy day, don’t we?”

  The two private secretaries retreated and Amedeo went into the dressing room. He selected the robes and made sure the orthopedic inserts were placed inside the red shoes. It had taken Amedeo months to convince Pope Callixtus to use these.

  He hadn’t wanted to at first, insisting that one should never be ashamed to suffer, that it reminded him of what the Church stood for. But Amedeo had argued that it wouldn’t do any good to the Church if the Pope was too unhealthy to serve his role. Ever the lawyer, he thought with a chuckle.

  He gave another glance to his watch. It was time. His Holiness would be awake by now and breakfast was probably almost ready. He couldn’t wait to see his face light up at the unexpected appearance of eggs benedict.

  Amedeo knocked on the door before opening it. The room w
as small and not especially luxurious. The house belonged to the Apostolic Nuncio to the United Nations and it was in a prestigious area of Manhattan. However, the inside was quite plain and this particular room was even more so.

  The bed was empty, the covers turned down. Instinctively, Amedeo looked toward the private bathroom. The Pope had to be in there although he couldn’t hear anything. What was strange was that the door was ajar.

  “Your Holiness? Breakfast will be ready in a moment. Would you like me to brief you on your schedule first?”

  There was no response.

  What was going on? The water wasn’t running so he wasn’t brushing his teeth or taking a shower. And the door being ajar, he couldn’t be doing anything intimate.

  “Your Holiness?” he called again.

  Without thinking, Amedeo headed to the bathroom, curiosity getting the best of him. He pushed the door and poked his head inside.

  “Your Holiness?”

  What he saw chilled him to the bone.

  Pope Callixtus IV was completely naked and hanging from the curtain rod. There was a trash bag over his head. He was limp, lifeless.

  “No!” Amedeo screamed. “Help! Somebody help!”

  He repeated this shout multiple times until he heard footsteps. People were running to the rescue.

  “Dio mio…”

  It was the young Swiss Guard from before. He rushed past Amedeo, weapon drawn, and then stopped short. He visibly didn’t know what to do.

  Ten seconds later, the room filled, not only with people, but with prayers and confusion. The Pope’s physician, Dr. Ungari, hurried into the bathroom, himself half-dressed. He ripped the bag from the pontiff’s head, without removing it completely, and checked for a pulse.

  “He’s dead,” he announced softly. “The Pope is dead.”

  “No, we must call an ambulance.” Amedeo saw that the words came from Archbishop Ludwig Brambach. He was the Papal Household Prefect and in charge of absolutely everything. “We call an ambulance and we pray.”

  Amedeo mumbled the fastest Lord’s Prayer of his life and caught himself thinking that this would disrupt his schedule. What would happen next?

  Chapter 2

  Donnie Beecher hated preparing breakfast.

  He would skip it altogether if it wasn’t for the fact that he got terrible headaches if he didn’t eat something. Plus there was coffee. Too much coffee without eating gave him heartburn and he wasn’t about to give up coffee. There was a rumor that the NYPD could kick you out if you ever gave up coffee. At least one cadet fell for that joke every year at the Academy.

  He put two slices of bread into the toaster and got peanut butter from the cupboard. Then he grabbed a box of Froot Loops and a bowl. The coffee machine gurgled and it started to smell good.

  There were footsteps behind him and unable to stop himself he glanced over his shoulder. Sierra entered the kitchen, shuffling her feet.

  “Good morning.”

  The teenager didn’t make eye contact. She had headphones on, but he wondered if she was actually listening to music or using the tactic just to avoid speaking to him. Neither would surprise him.

  “It’s customary in some countries to say hello to their fathers,” he said.

  Again, no response. She went to the fridge to get orange juice.

  “No? Not even a friendly wave?”

  This time she glanced at him for a nanosecond. At least she’d heard him, that was something. Had he been like that at sixteen? He’d have to ask his dad one day.

  “You want some toast or cereal?”

  “Not hungry,” she said.

  “Oh good, you speak. I was thinking I’d have to make an appointment for you with a speech therapist or something. What are your classes today?”

  He poured two bowls of cereal and fetched some milk while Sierra drank her juice standing by the refrigerator.

  “Usual,” she replied with a shrug.

  “What’s the usual?”

  “English, math, American history.”

  “Ugh, I always hated history. They still make you remember dates?” She shrugged. “What does that mean? Yes? No? You don’t know? Come here, have some cereal.”

  He placed the bowls on the table and went to the counter as the toast popped up.

  “I said I’m not hungry.”

  “Eat anyway, okay? Humor your old man.”

  “I’m on a diet,” she mumbled while feeling up a banana and an apple from the fruit bowl.

  “A diet, uh? That why I saw you eating a slice of pizza last night?”

  “You’re so lame, dad.”

  Donnie nodded. “Sure, I’m lame. I’m supposed to be, it’s in the official dad manual. Sit down, have some cereal.”

  She sighed with exasperation and sat at the table. She toyed with the cereal and took a halfhearted bite. Donnie pictured her starving herself to death just so she wouldn’t eat what he told her to. Damn teenage stubbornness, he thought.

  “What did you do after school yesterday?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Listen, I was thinking. What if I pick you up from school today? The guys at the precinct, they say they’re supposed to be a lot of Pokémon at this place in Little Italy. I was thinking we could go together.”

  Sierra grimaced in disgust. “Pokémon? That’s so last year, dad. Nobody does that anymore.”

  “They don’t?”

  “I’m not a kid anymore.”

  “Right, you’re a grown woman now. How about you talk to me like a grown woman then? You know, with verbs and nouns and adjectives, the whole thing.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Whatever.”

  “Eat your cereal, it’s gonna get mushy.”

  She had another bite and her phone buzzed. She sprung up and suddenly she was a chatterbox, talking into her phone about something he couldn’t quite make out. What the hell was a stretch-knit cami dress and why was she so excited about it?

  The coffee ready, he poured two cups and drank one almost completely in one gulp. He had built a tolerance to the heat, but it was mostly impatience.

  Then he grabbed his daughter’s bowl of cereal and the second coffee before going to the living room. His wife was slumped on the couch, a blanket on her legs. She was watching a morning show.

  “I got you coffee and cereal. Sierra barely touched it.”

  “I’m not hungry,” she replied.

  “I’ve never heard that before. Don’t argue with me, you need your strength.”

  He placed the coffee and cereal on the low table. After a few seconds, she took the mug and drank.

  “You look better, Nicole. You got more color.”

  “You can bullshit your suspects, but you can’t do it to me.”

  “What bullshit? You don’t look as white. Can’t I say that you seem better?”

  “Donnie…”

  “What?”

  She shook her head. “Forget it.”

  “Great. I don’t have to wonder where Sierra gets it from. What’s going on? Is it We Hate Donnie Day, is that it?”

  “I don’t wanna fight today,” she said in a tired breath.

  Donnie was about to reply, but thought better of it. He looked at the TV – it was a traffic segment now – but it barely registered with him. Jesus, when had living in this house become so depressing?

  “What time is your appointment at, Nicole?”

  “Why, you want to come with me?”

  The way she said that implied that it was the least likely thing to happen and they both knew it.

  “I could drive you.”

  “Sierra is driving me.”

  “She’s got school.”

  “I’m taking the train to the hospital. She’s only missing a class to drive me back, that’s all. It’s not the end of the world.”

  “Not the end of the world? She needs to go to school. It’s my job to take care of you.”

  She snorted. “Since when?”

  “Look, in your condition…”r />
  “Donnie, stop it. It’s already set up. Go to your precious job. Sierra and I will take care of ourselves like we always do.”

  “You wanna be that way? Fine!”

  He stormed out of the den and returned to the kitchen. He sat down in front of his own Froot Loops and toast, but he had no appetite. Mostly he felt shitty for speaking to her that way.

  Nicole was about to get her last radiotherapy treatment, she was going through cancer hell, and here they were fighting about stupid stuff. What was wrong with him?

  He took a sip of coffee and his phone rang. It was the precinct.

  “Beecher.”

  “Detective, we need you in the squad room ASAP. This is from the top. You need to be here now.”

  ~ ~ ~ ~

  Donnie was out the door a minute later, delaying just enough to rinse the cereal bowls and throw out the uneaten toast. He drove out of Long Island, used his siren, and still it took forever to drive into Manhattan and reach the 19th Precinct.

  He went inside and hurried upstairs. There wasn’t usually a lot of activity this early in the morning, just a couple of detectives walking through the cubicles. Today it was the opposite. It was as if everyone on the roster had been called in.

  Even more impressive was the top brass standing by his desk.

  “Beecher, over here!”

  It was Deputy Inspector McDiarmid, the commanding officer of the precinct. He headed over and shook hands. His lieutenant was there too.

  “You know Chief Cashin and Assistant Chief Fluck?”

  “Sirs,” Donnie said, shaking their hands.

  Fluck was the Chief Detective for the borough of Manhattan and Cashin was the Chief of the Detective Bureau, the Chief of Ds. These guys didn’t make house calls. Whatever was going on was big.

  “What’s going on?”

  A fifth man joined them, a frail middle-aged man who looked like a librarian. He said, “This is terrible.”

  “What’s terrible?”

  “This is Deputy Inspector Galfy, head of the Major Case Squad. Here’s the situation, the Pope has just been found dead.”