Bad Samaritan

by Aimée Thurlo

  “Come in,” she invited Sister Agatha as the nun removed her helmet. “I brewed fresh coffee, and I’ve even got some leftover meat loaf Pax might like.”

  Hearing the words “Pax” and “meat loaf” immediately got the dog’s attention. He barked twice and jumped out of the sidecar.

  “Now you’re stuck. He’ll hound you until he gets what you promised, no pun intended,” Sister Agatha said, laughing as she placed the helmet on the saddle.

  As they stepped onto the brick floor of the Territorial-style home, Sister Agatha glanced around. The living room was impeccable, a rare sight. With two boys—one a teenager and the other in middle school—she’d expected to find the usual clutter of sports equipment and shoes lying around, but today everything looked in perfect order. From what she could see and smell, Gloria had been cleaning the leather sofa and chairs with a spray dressing. The surfaces gleamed, even in the subdued light.

  “The boys took a flight out last night to my mother’s in Phoenix. They protested like crazy, but I didn’t give them a choice. There’s no way I wanted my boys in the middle of all that’s happening.” She looked around the room and shook her head. “When I got up this morning I found that I couldn’t stand the silence, so I started looking for something to clean.” She met Sister Agatha’s gaze. “The quiet at the monastery—does it ever get to you?”

  “It’s a different type of quiet,” Sister Agatha answered after a moment. “It doesn’t mark the absence of something. To us, it’s a reminder that He is ever present, and we commune with God in that peace. If anything, I’d call it . . . soothing.”

  Gloria sighed softly, walking toward the marble-topped island on the kitchen side of the room. “This kind of quiet—the absence of my children—is driving me nuts. The really frustrating part is knowing that with the Internet, my guys can contact their friends and find out what’s going on instantly. There’s no way I can stop that. Even if I said no, they’d find a way. Well, at least the distance will give them some protection from the constant back-and-forth of allegations and the overall nastiness that’s bound to surface.”

  She waited for her hand to steady, then picked up a carafe from the counter and poured Sister Agatha a mug of coffee.

  Pax, who’d been very patient up to now, sat right in front of Gloria.

  “Oh, sorry, boy, I nearly forgot.” Gloria opened the refrigerator, brought out a chunk of meat loaf wrapped in clingy plastic, then opened the cupboard. A few seconds later, Pax was busy gobbling up cold meat loaf from an aluminum pie pan while the women were seated at the breakfast bar.

  “I know you’re scared and worried, Gloria, but you’ve already come a long way from last night. Keep your spirits up. Tom needs you to believe in him.”

  “He didn’t tell you about us, did he?” Seeing Sister Agatha’s puzzled look, she continued. “Tom and I are having major problems, and I was getting ready to move out. The only reason I’m still here is because of Tom’s attorney. Doug said that it would make things even worse for Tom if I left now. People would think I moved out because I thought he was guilty.”

  “You were going to leave Tom?” Sister Agatha repeated, stunned. “Gloria, why? He loves you, and you have such a lovely family.”

  “Tom loves his job, Sister. The boys and I finish a distant second.”

  For a moment, words wouldn’t come. Sister Agatha understood better than most what drove Tom, but she wasn’t sure there was a way to explain it. “He does love you and the boys, Gloria,” she answered at last. “You’re at the very center of his soul. It’s true that his job takes much of his time, but he sees his work as his mission in life. It’s what he was put here to do.”

  “Is that the way you feel about being a nun?”

  She nodded. “It gives me purpose. Tom’s work is very different from mine, though. It’s not all-encompassing. Tom needs you—as much as you do him. The job keeps his blood pumping, but you and the boys are his heart.”

  “Tom and I will have to settle a lot of things after this is over,” Gloria said, wiping a tear from the corner of her eye. She drank her coffee in silence for several long moments, then, in a stronger voice, continued. “In the meantime, we’re both counting on you to help him prove his innocence.”

  Realizing that Gloria didn’t want to discuss her marital problems any longer, Sister Agatha didn’t press. “The first thing I want to do is find out more about Robert’s campaign manager, Al Russo. He’s the one who found Tom and Robert.”

  “His ex-wife, Jayne, and I were friends for a while before she left town. Jayne told me once that Al and she divorced because they didn’t have enough in common to stay together. They never really talked. They also never went anywhere together except to dinner, and then it was always to a sports bar. All he ever wanted to do was watch games on TV, play golf, or work. She wanted . . . well, a husband and a friend she could do things with. He was neither.”

  “Who’s Al dating these days?”

  “Nobody, according to the gossip. He hits the sports bars, but mostly for the guy talk and the big-screen TV. From what I hear, Al likes keeping his life simple. I assume he still dates occasionally, but it hasn’t been often enough to catch anyone’s attention.”

  “Thanks for the information, and the coffee,” Sister Agatha said, standing up. “Come on, Pax, we’ve got a long day ahead of us.”

  “You sounded like Tom just then.” Gloria walked with Sister Agatha and Pax across the room. “If you hadn’t become a nun, Tom would have married you in a heartbeat.”

  The statement, under the circumstances, surprised Sister Agatha, and she stopped to meet Gloria’s gaze directly. “Tom and I were together a lifetime ago, Gloria—our last year in high school and for a few semesters in college. Since that time neither one of us has ever looked back.”

  “You sure?” Gloria asked, an edge to her voice now as she reached for the door handle.

  “Completely. My heart belongs to my Lord, and Tom’s love is yours and the boys. It’s the way things were meant to be.”

  Gloria nodded, opening the door.

  “I have one last question for you before I go,” Sister Agatha said, turning in the entrance to face her. She repeated the description of the man who’d handed Tom the drink. “Does that remind you of anyone in particular?”

  Gloria thought about it for a moment. “Yes, as a matter of fact, it does—Mayor Garcia’s new son-in-law. His name’s Matt, Mike, or something like that.

  “The guy’s trouble, Sister Agatha. I’ve heard that JD nearly had a coronary when Cindy married him. According to Tom, the kid’s been arrested for possession of dangerous drugs—I think he was dealing—about a year or two back,” she said, her eyebrows knitting together, “but I’m not one hundred percent sure about that timing. Tom will know more.”

  “I’ll check on that. Thanks.” Sister Agatha stepped out onto the porch, Pax at her side.

  “Just so you know, nobody in the Garcia clan is a fan of Tom’s. It wasn’t simply a personal thing between him and Robert. Every single one of them would be happy to see Tom go down. He’s been a thorn in the side of their political-crony network for years now.”

  “Tom has enemies—it goes with his job, Gloria. But he’s also got some very good friends,” she added with a confident smile. “I’ll tell you another thing I’ve learned over the years. The truth always comes out if you’re willing to keep digging, and that’s exactly what I intend to do.”

  Her confident words had their intended effect. Sister Agatha could see Gloria’s spirits lift. Yet experience assured her that things would get a lot worse before they got better.

  3

  BEFORE SHE PUT HER HELMET ON AGAIN, SISTER AGATHA called the station and asked to speak to Millie. After her late night, Millie would probably have the day off, but she wanted to make sure.

  Having verified that Millie was at home, Sister Agatha turned to Pax, and smiled. “We’re on our way to make pests of ourselves. We’ll probably wake Millie up
, but under the circumstances, I don’t think she’ll mind.”

  They were soon driving down a badly maintained graveled road. Sister Agatha went slowly, not only because of the rocks that covered the roadway but in an effort not to spook the horses and llamas in an adjacent pasture. Pax barked happily at them, but then, seeing Sister Agatha signal him, quieted down almost instantly.

  A minute later, they pulled up at the end of a dead-end street and turned right. The small, unpaved driveway was covered with adobe-colored rocks and lined by big chucks of black volcanic lava—a popular landscaping material found locally in abundance.

  As Sister Agatha climbed off the motorcycle, she saw Millie coming though a gate that adjoined a horse stall at the rear of the property. In her hand was a green plastic feed bucket.

  After closing the gate behind her, Millie looked up and, seeing them, waved. “I thought I heard a motorcycle. What are you two doing here this early?” she asked pleasantly, joining them. “I guess you don’t sleep late much either, huh?”

  “The Maria bell at the monastery is always on time,” Sister Agatha answered. “But what are you doing dressed and working already? You were at the station until well after midnight.”

  “I can’t sleep in, ever. No matter how late I go to bed, I always wake up at six thirty in the morning,” she said, wiping the sweat off her brow with a tissue. “It’s starting to warm up already, so we’ll probably reach close to three digits today. Let’s go inside. We can relax and have something to drink.” She added, “You’re welcome, too, Pax. I’ve got some leftover chicken you might like.”

  Pax whined in eagerness, and Sister Agatha laughed. “Pax, you’re really a pig.” Glancing back at Millie, she added, “I want you to know that he eats a whole huge bowl of kibble every night on top of all the treats he gets in town. He’s a bottom-less pit.”

  Several moments later, they sat in Millie’s homey kitchen. A collection of decorative ceramic cows lined the countertops, and collectible kitchen gadgets from bygone eras covered the walls. As Millie poured the coffee, Sister Agatha waited, looking at a shelf containing sets of salt and pepper shakers all in the form of pigs and hogs.

  “Crime scene work has been completed. I got the list of all the evidence they found and gave the sheriff a copy before I left last night—well, earlier this morning,” she said at last.

  “After looking at the list, did he remember anything new?” Sister Agatha asked.

  “Not to my knowledge, but I didn’t stick around long after that. You might want to go back and talk to him again. No telling how things look to him this morning now that he’s had a chance to recover from what happened and been given time to think.”

  Sister Agatha sipped Millie’s blend of coffee. It was smooth and better than any she’d ever tasted. “This tastes wonderful.”

  “Thanks,” she answered. “It’s one of my favorites.” She took a sip, then met Sister Agatha’s gaze. “The sheriff asked me—off the record—about the crew who worked the refreshment stands yesterday. In particular, he wanted to know about the mayor’s son-in-law, Mike Herrera.”

  “Is it true that Herrera was arrested for possession and for dealing drugs?”

  “Yeah, but except for that one offense, his record’s clear. From what I’ve seen and heard, the guy’s really cleaned up his act since that bust,” Millie said. “Supposedly, Robert went to bat for him with JD before the wedding as a favor to his niece, who needed someone in her corner. JD didn’t want Cindy to marry him, for obvious reasons, but they sorted it all out.”

  “You know, it’s funny. Mayor John David Garcia goes by JD, and his daughter goes by Cindy, not Cynthia. Yet Robert’s never been called Bob.”

  “You never met him, did you?” Millie observed. “If you’d known him, you wouldn’t have asked me that question. Nobody took shortcuts around Robert. He was particularly that way around the station. Once he made lieutenant, Robert began demanding accountability to an impossible degree. He wanted to control everyone and everything around him. That attitude extended to his personal life, too. I’ve heard that he had his wife completely cowed. All throughout his campaign she stood in the background, smiling but never saying a word. I have a feeling that nothing she ever said was quite good enough for Robert, so she figured it was easier to stay out of the way.”

  “Robert sounds like a tyrant, but he obviously had people who were loyal to him. From what I’ve already heard, Al Russo was working quite hard to get him elected.”

  “That’s true enough,” Millie conceded. “Then again, that was Al’s job.”

  “Has Robert’s body been released to the family yet?” Sister Agatha asked.

  “No. Maybe in another two days or so, depending on how long OMI—the Office of the Medical Investigator—takes with the autopsy,” Millie said. “That’s my guess, anyway.”

  Sister Agatha finished her coffee, then stood. “I’m going to go over to the park and take a look around. It’ll help me put things into perspective. Thanks for your help, Millie.”

  “The area around the crime scene’s still taped off,” Millie warned.

  “I figured that, but maybe just being in the vicinity will spark an idea or two for me. I’m hoping to spot something the others have overlooked.”

  “With your journalist background, you don’t look at the scene with the same eyes as a police officer, so I guess that’s possible.”

  Millie’s tone said far more than her words did. The sergeant doubted that Sister Agatha’s efforts would be fruitful.

  After saying good-bye, Sister Agatha drove to downtown Bernalillo, stopping in one of the parking spaces beside the multiacre park and community center. There was plenty of shade, with all the old trees and shrubbery, and the lawn was lush and green despite the previous day’s heavy foot traffic.

  City employees were taking down some of the tents that had sheltered vendors. Volunteers in red safety vests were scouring the grounds, picking up discarded food containers and napkins. As she strode across the grass with Pax in the direction of the swings, she saw a mobile camera unit from an Albuquerque TV station driving up the road leading to the southwest corner of the park. The vehicle parked at the curb, and two people got out. By the time she was halfway there, they’d disappeared behind a hedge of reddish orange trumpet vines.

  Soon, she came around the end of the vines to a large area cordoned off with yellow crime scene tape tied and wrapped around several trees. Keeping Pax at heel and leashed, she stood and watched a TV camerawoman and well-dressed male reporter film a segment just outside the tape. Two other individuals with still cameras stalked the permimeter, angling for the best shots and taking several each. Curious townspeople who’d walked up the road or hiked across the park, as she had done, stared at the area with morbid fascination.

  “Hey, Sister Agatha, Pax!” Chuck Moody called out, then came jogging up to them from behind.

  Chuck, one of the two employees at the Bernalillo newspaper, the Chronicle, had more energy and bounce than anyone else she’d ever met. Chuck stood five foot four and had recently adopted a new haircut that made him look a bit like a Chia Pet. His head was completely shaved except for a thin line of reddish hair that grew out of the very center of his skull.

  “I had a feeling I’d be catching up with you here today,” he said, then continued with barely a pause to catch his breath. “The Garcia political machine is putting serious pressure on local law enforcement to close this case. They’re after Sheriff Green’s blood.”

  “Tom didn’t murder anyone,” she said calmly.

  “Yeah, that’s what most people I’ve talked to believe, too. The fact that Robert was holding a bloody club in his hand when he died makes no sense. Robert wouldn’t have taken on an armed man with a club. Too great a chance of failure, if nothing else. Robert Garcia always had a plan. If he’d really wanted Tom dead, he would have contracted it out, being careful not to set up a trail that could lead back to him and making sure he had a perfect alibi. T
he sheriff would have been taken out of the picture for good, and Robert would have been in the clear. But grabbing a piece of broken branch off the ground and duking it out with a pistol-packing officer? No way. Garcia was a planner and manipulator, not some hothead.”

  “Yeah, the entire scenario has a definite smell to it,” she said. Her eyes narrowed as she noticed the absence of his equipment bag. “What, no camera? So what really brought you here today?”

  “You know me too well,” he said with a quick little smile. Glancing around to make sure no one could overhear, he continued. “I have an idea. It’s possible that there might have been a witness to the murder, someone the deputies wouldn’t know about. I bet you anything that Scout was here yesterday.”

  “Who?”

  “Scout’s a homeless guy who has been hanging around town for months. He apparently avoids the shelters, but he’s getting by, stealing food and raiding garbage cans.”

  Sister Agatha nodded, remembering the stories she’d heard. “They call him Scout because he wears a Boy Scout neckerchief beneath his gray cap. He protects his neck from the sun that way, like some French Foreign Legion soldier.” Smitty, the town’s grocer, often left day-old sandwiches on a window ledge at the back of his store for Scout. They’d always be gone by morning. Others in the community also left out food for him.

  “That’s the guy. With all the chow at hand yesterday, he’d have been here,” Chuck said. “No way he’d pass up the chance to scrounge for food. Mike Herrera, who was working at one of the refreshment stands, told me that he saw him filling a grocery bag with hot dogs and buns snagged from paper plates.”

  “People tend to ignore the homeless, or just look away, not wanting to make eye contact. There’s no telling what Scout might have seen,” Sister Agatha said.