The Prodigal Nun (18 page)

“This was carefully planned, Tom. There can be no doubt about that. I think Deputy Bennett may have figured out, either from your questions or from my visit to the station, that Sister Jo was the nun on the Harley that day on Calle de Elena. Or maybe he’s heard the stories from St. Charles students. We’ve recently discovered that some of the soccer team kids think that Sister Jo saw the killer on the bicycle.”

“There’s still a question about who was assigned unit 73 that day, but I can guarantee you one thing. If I’ve got a dirty cop hiding behind his badge—a killer—I’ll get him,” he said in a low, determined voice. “Count on it.”

“I’ll pray that you’re able to find him quickly, Tom, before it leaves a stain on the other officers who serve with honor,” Sister Agatha said.

T
HE BELLS RANG AS USUAL AT FOUR THIRTY THE FOLLOWING
morning. Sister Agatha got up with a groan, trying to find it in her heart to bless the bell ringer. She hadn’t managed to get much sleep last night with so many questions still running through her mind.

As she got to her feet she saw the pills, courtesy of Sister Eugenia, on the chest of drawers by her bed. There were two slices of bread there, too, since her medication couldn’t be taken on an empty stomach.

Well past Morning Prayers she finally caught up to Sister Jo in the refectory. She was hard at work, cleaning.

“Can you use some help finishing up here?” Sister Agatha asked.

Sister Jo looked up from where she was kneeling, wiping the baseboards, and gave her a hesitant smile. “The baseboards are
done, but I haven’t wiped the chairs, the dining table, or the sideboard.”

Looking over at their sideboard, Sister Agatha noted the human skull kept in plain view. It was there, in a central location, to remind the sisters of their own mortality. She always avoided looking at it when eating. After all these years, it still gave her the creeps.

“Hand me a cloth. I’ll take the table and chairs,” Sister Agatha said.

They worked quickly, Sister Jo softly humming stanzas from the Magnificat, her soprano voice, melodious and soft, proclaiming the greatness of God.

Sister Agatha was walking around to the other side of the communal dining table when she heard a thump and Sister Jo’s gasp. She turned just in time to see the skull rolling toward the edge of the sideboard.

Like a shortstop spearing a line drive, Sister Jo dove to catch it, but missed. The skull struck her fingertips and bounced onto the brick floor. Sister Jo lunged again, groping for the skull with her outstretched hand, but the skull bounced away, spinning like a top. A second later, it hit the corner, bumping the wall so hard its jaw fell off.

“Now
what have I done?” Sister Jo scrambled to her feet. The skull was upright in the corner, more toothless than before, but still staring. “I broke his jaw! All I was trying to do was get a spider off his forehead. I went to squish it with my dustcloth, but then both took off on me!”

“Accidents happen,” Sister Agatha managed, trying not to burst out laughing. The truth of it was she couldn’t remember the last time anything like that had happened.

“I feel terrible about this! What am I going to do?”

“I think it’s just an artificial skull—a model intended for anatomy classes. See if you can reattach the jaw.”

Sister Jo picked it up and, after a moment, snapped the jaw back on with a click. “There! It’s fixed!”

“While you return the skull to its place, I’ll put away the cleaning rags,” Sister Agatha said. “Then we have to get going. We’re scheduled to meet with Sheriff Green. He wanted to talk to both of us in the parlor this morning.”

Tom was already there with Sister Bernarda when they walked in. Sister Jo sat down and looked at him with a pained expression.

Sensing her tension, Tom walked to the parlor window, then glanced back at her and Sister Agatha. “It’s an almost perfect day outside. Let’s talk while we walk.”

Sister Jo smiled brightly. “That sounds like a wonderful idea, Sheriff!”

Sister Agatha gave Tom an almost imperceptible nod. He’d played it right. She, too, had a feeling that Sister Jo knew more about her assailant than she realized, but recent events had undermined her self-confidence, as evidenced by her reaction to knocking over the skull.

Leaving Sister Bernarda to act as portress, they walked outside. Tom allowed the silence to stretch for a few minutes, then finally spoke. “So tell me, Sister Jo. The man forced your head under the water, but from Deputy Sims’s report, and your own words, I’m assuming he didn’t actually try to drown you. You were able to get your head back out of the water in time to take breaths. Is that correct?”

Sister Jo looked up at him and nodded. “Each time I thought I was about to drown, he’d yank my head back up. Then, as soon as I’d caught a breath, he’d push me back down.”
She paused, then looked at him with new understanding. “So he was just trying to scare me, right?”

Tom started to answer, but his phone rang. He stepped away from them for a few moments, finished his conversation, then signaled Sister Agatha.

She joined him. If she’d read his expression accurately, something had just taken an unexpected turn.

“Good news,” he said. “Or bad news, depending on who you are. I’ve been following up on unit 73. Gerry
was
on patrol during the time Sister Jo drove down Calle de Elena but, according to Dispatch, gave his location as southern Bernalillo during the critical time interval. That’s across town.”

“But less than ten minutes away, Tom. Gerry could have lied about his location, too,” she concluded.

“It’s possible, and our units don’t have GPS systems yet, so we can’t verify his alibi. The thing is that last night, when Sister Jo was attacked, Bennett was home with his wife. Evelyn vouches for him.”

“So what do you think? Is Gerry in the middle of this somehow, or not? It wouldn’t be that unusual for a wife to cover for her husband.”

“The first alibi isn’t solid. That’s why I’m following up on this, trying to find a citizen or two who can confirm his location during Sister Jo’s ride.” He shook his head. “Even if I can’t, my gut’s telling me that Gerry’s not our man.”

“What we need to do is figure out how it’s possible for unit 73 to show up beside Calle de Elena at the same time the officer was driving it across town. Saints are supposed to be capable of bilocation, but I doubt cars are similarly blessed.” Sister Agatha turned around and suddenly realized that Sister Jo had disappeared.

Noting it too, Tom immediately jogged to the squad car across the street from the monastery. Sister Agatha followed
him. Once they cleared the open gate, they saw Deputy Sims standing beside the monastery wall, talking to Sister Jo.

As Sister Agatha and the sheriff joined them, Deputy Sims quickly wiped away the white powder that covered her lips.

“Deputy,” Tom said coldly. With only that word, he managed to convey extreme displeasure.

“I’m sorry, sir,” Laura said, swallowing quickly. “Powdered sugar.” She looked down and brushed more white powder from her uniform.

Sheriff Green didn’t say a word.

“Please don’t be angry with her,” Sister Jo said quickly. “I knew she got into trouble because of what happened to me last night, but she
was
doing her job. If it’s anyone’s fault, it’s mine.”

Sister Agatha knew Sister Jo couldn’t have slipped her a doughnut. They didn’t have any at the monastery except on rare occasions. “Cookies?” she asked, seeing the small napkin-covered treat in Deputy Sims’s hand.

“Better than ordinary cookies,” Sister Jo answered. “It’s Sister Clothilde’s new recipe. She calls them Miraculous Munchies.”

“She has a winner with these,” Laura Sims said with a sheepish smile.

Sheriff Green glowered at her. “I’d like to see you in my office after your relief arrives.”

“Yes, sir,” she said, instantly serious.

Sister Jo looked completely mortified. “Please don’t let her get into trouble on my account. I was only trying to thank her for last night.”

Sheriff Green gave Sister Jo a puzzled look, then relaxed. “I’ll forget the whole thing if you’ll talk to me about the day you saw unit 73 on Calle de Elena. Are you up to it?”

Sister Jo took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. “You bet, Sheriff.”

“Good. Think back to the sheriff’s deputy you saw that day,” Tom said. “I need you to visualize the things that caught your eye, like his cap and uniform.”

Sister Jo said nothing for several moments as they crossed the parking area, walking around the circular garden in the center. Twice, she glanced back at Deputy Sims as if studying her. At long last she spoke. “Deputy Sims’s uniform is different—a bit, anyway.”

“Different how?” he asked.

“Not the color. That’s the same. The belt he wore,
that
was different,” she said firmly.

Sister Agatha and Tom exchanged a quick look as Sister Jo’s eyes narrowed and she struggled to remember specifics. “The color was the same, black, and there was that weave pattern, but the officer I saw by car 73 had a lot of extra things attached to his belt.”

“What kind of extra things?” Tom asked her.

“Deputy Sims carries a pistol, and so did the deputy I saw, but there were several extra black pouches on that officer’s belt. It caught my eye because I was having a problem with the rosary fastened around my cincture. Then I saw how many things were attached to
his
belt, and promptly apologized to Our Lord for complaining.”

Sheriff Green led the way back to the main gate where Deputy Sims stood. “Do you have extra clips you can attach to your belt to show her what they look like?”

Deputy Sims walked over to the trunk of her squad car, opened a metal box, then brought out two ammo magazines, each in a black pouch. She attached them to her belt by metal clips.

“Like that?” Tom asked Sister Jo.

She nodded. “A bit, but he had more of them, four, I think. He also had a flashlight in some kind of loop, and something
with an antenna…a hand radio, maybe? And chrome handcuffs. I remember that because they shined, even in the shade where he was standing.”

“How many of your officers carry that much equipment?” Sister Agatha asked.

“There are a few I can think of offhand,” Tom answered. “Most of them are on the SWAT team, or are ones who’ve been forced to fire their weapons on duty.”

“The
Chronicle,”
Sister Agatha said suddenly, thinking out loud. “They’ll have photos of crime scenes ranging from family disputes to auto accidents. Anytime an interesting call goes out over the radio, they check it out. Sister Jo can look for similar equipment configurations in photos there. That wouldn’t embarrass any officers, or tip off the one she actually saw.”

“Good idea,” Tom said. “I’ll meet you there.”

Sister Agatha looked at Sister Jo. “Looks like you and I will be making a trip to town.”

They set out shortly thereafter, leaving Pax behind. Once at the
Chronicle
, unfortunately, the search proved to be more time-consuming than they’d expected. Two hours passed as Chuck Moody systematically pulled up every single photo they had on file, showing each one to Sister Jo. In return for his cooperation, Sheriff Green had agreed to give him an exclusive on the developing story.

By noon, based upon height and equipment, they’d narrowed the field to three tall, slender officers: Sergeant Michael McKay, a deputy named Craig Goodwin, and Gerry Bennett. Deputy Sims had been ruled out because Sister Jo had been convinced that the officer was male, not female, and Deputy Sims’s belt configuration hadn’t matched.

They went outside, and Sister Agatha motioned Sheriff Green aside while Sister Jo got into the Antichyrsler.

“Tom, Gerry Bennett’s name pops up every time we look into a new aspect of this investigation.”

“It seems that way, but he might have been set up. Or maybe Sister Jo’s memory isn’t as flawless as we think. Let’s see what I get when I check out the other two officers. Then I’ll decide what the next step should be.”

“What about Pax’s attack the other night? He mauled that man’s forearm. Have you seen signs of that type of injury on the arm of any of your men?”

“No, I haven’t. With our uniforms being long-sleeved, I’ve had to look extra hard at the way the deputies handle themselves, but nobody appears to be injured.”

“What I still don’t get is why witnessing the exchange of an envelope would be enough to warrant an attempt on Sister Jo’s life—that is, unless it was Bennett paying off whoever killed Jane,” Sister Agatha said.

“That’s a real stretch. Keep in mind that we have no real evidence that Bennett was behind the murder. All we know for sure is that the two didn’t get along. There’s also the possibility that the attack on Sister Jo is unrelated. Maybe it was a transient who felt threatened, or a voyeur who was afraid he’d been discovered.”

“Then why attack her instead of running away? I’m sure the threats all tie in to what she saw, Tom. We’re dealing with a suspect who has some serious know-how, too. Look at the evidence—a small-caliber weapon with an effective silencer, someone playing psychological warfare with e-mails, now a night stalker with a stun weapon and knowledge of how to deal with police dogs. The very fact that there was no blood on the scene of Pax’s attack proves that the man knew how to keep himself from being
torn to shreds. Doesn’t all that sound like the same highly trained individual?”

“Those are good points. I’m guessing you’ve got a theory that pulls all those events together?”

She nodded. “Consider last night. The man who attacked Sister Jo brought along a self-defense weapon meant to immobilize an opponent. If he’d really wanted to drown Sister Jo, instead of just trying to scare her, he would have shot her full of electricity. Then, while she was stunned and unable to defend herself, or scream for help, he could have easily held her head underwater. Or he could have just brought his silenced pistol.”

“Makes sense, and I’ll give you this much—it’s looking more and more like the perp is one of
my
people,” Tom said, his voice hard. “But all I can do right now is continue my investigation and try to weed out the innocent.”