“Things left behind? But we found nothing—”
He stopped himself too late. Had she just tricked him into revealing that they had already snooped around the murder site?
The policewoman slowly shook her head. “Your secret is safe with me, Father. A lot of moradas lie empty around these parts, all the way up into Colorado. When the old Penitente brothers stopped using one, they liked to believe that they were just leaving it for the next generation. You may have noticed large crosses in a backroom, perhaps some whips and rattles.”
“I did see some white planks stacked together, white ones. I guess they could have been crosses,” he said. “So you think some of the brothers may have been secretly coming back there?”
Sera shook her head. “I told you what the old Penitentes hoped for, Father. Their faith is strong, but not very realistic. The young don’t think much of the old ways. No, I don’t think it’s all that damning that the murder site was once a morada.” She paused. “Is there something else?”
He pulled on his beard. “Is it that clear from my face? Yes, well, then, here it is. My anonymous source told me that the marks on Sister Anna’s body, the stab wounds, were all in this area,” he said, pointing to his heart.
“That’s right.”
“Well, yesterday, my dear, I was shown a favorite santo of the Penitentes. The Blessed Virgin Mary bears stab wounds exactly in the same place.”
The policewoman exhaled slowly. “That’s a bit different, isn’t it? I don’t think they know that.”
Father Fortis noticed she said they instead of we.
“Father, you’ve trusted me, and now I have to trust you. First of all, I’d like you to promise that you won’t tell Chris what I’m about to say.”
Father Fortis looked up. “May I ask why?”
“I’m not sure how much he would trust me if he knew that my father and grandfather were both Penitente brothers.”
“Oh, I see. But certainly if the Penitentes are involved in the case in any way, you can’t simply cover that up.”
“Of course not, Father, but Worthy isn’t working that case, is he? Don’t bother answering that. I’m not that stupid. But I see no reason to force him to deal with something so far outside his reality.”
“Yes, I can see that,” he said, remembering his friend stalking out of Father Linus’s room. “May I ask what you’re going to do with what I’ve just told you?”
Sera paused. “People come for confessions in the Orthodox church, am I right?”
“Same as in yours, Lieutenant.”
“Consider what you’ve told me your confession, Father. Now it’s in my hands. Will you trust me?”
“Yes, yes I will. If you’re going to wait to tell your superiors, rest assured I will as well.”
Sera shook her head. “No, Father, you don’t understand. Very soon, maybe by tomorrow or the next day, they’re going to stumble onto this. You simply have to trust me, no matter what happens.”
Chapter Nine
Despite his flight into Detroit being delayed, Worthy was at the college by ten o’clock the next morning. Entering the social science building, he followed the sign up to the anthropology department on the third floor. On his way down the hallway, a display in a glass case caught his eye. Pottery, much like he’d seen at Acoma, and striped blankets were arranged neatly beneath printed cards. On one card were the words, “Purchased with Allgemein Funds on the Spring Break North American Anthropology Trip, led by Assistant Professor Samuel Wormley.”
“Assistant Professor” meant Wormley was new. New and unlucky, Worthy thought. The professor’s statements in Santa Fe as well as Detroit were completely consistent. Ellie VanBruskman had given no warning before running off. She’d been, in fact, a model student without “typical college issues,” the file reported, which Worthy took to mean she hadn’t gone out drinking every night of the trip. A slight man in a wrinkled shirt answered Worthy’s knock on the door. Much as Sheriff Cortini had said, the professor looked more like a student than faculty. Worthy introduced himself and was ushered into the office, the door closing quickly behind him. He sat and watched as Wormley strode indecisively between the window and the cluttered desk. In the end, the professor slumped into the chair behind his desk, his hands on his temples, as if he understood perfectly what private colleges like Allgemein did to new faculty who lost daughters of the rich and powerful.
While Worthy explained that he’d just returned from New Mexico, the professor sat back and stared at the ceiling.
“I don’t know what’s going to go first, Lieutenant, my job, my health, or my m-marriage,” he stammered, forcing a laugh. “It’s not as if I had the fifteen pounds to lose. And as my students will tell you, I can’t lecture for shit. Perhaps I never could.” He paused, rubbing his hands together. “Can I tell you something that’s driving me crazy?”
“Of course.”
“I keep thinking that there’s some simple answer to the whole mess.” He took off his glasses and stared with bloodshot eyes at Worthy. “But I’m wrong, aren’t I?”
“To be honest, her disappearance isn’t looking all that simple. That’s why I’m here.”
“Of course,” Wormley replied dejectedly. “How can I help?”
“You said in your statements that Ellie came to see you in December about the trip. Was there anything unusual about that?”
“Do you mean her applying so late? Maybe a little, but she said she’d just spotted the posters around campus. She claimed she’d been interested in the Southwest for a long time.”
“She said, ‘a long time’?”
“Yes, I’m sure she did, although I can’t vouch for my memory any longer.”
It was going to be hard, Worthy realized, to keep the professor from falling into his private pool of despair with every question.
“What did you think of Ellie—at first, I mean?” he asked.
“She dressed a bit funny, old-fashioned in a way. I mean, how many college students wear barrettes anymore, much less one with a pink unicorn on it? I remember thinking that she seemed the kind of student I wouldn’t have to worry about. Ha!” He slumped farther down in his chair and continued rubbing his temples.
“How much did you know about her medical condition?”
Wormley’s face brightened. “I followed all the rules on that. Every student filled out the standard medical permission slip. And the mother called me—twice if I’m not mistaken—to tell me that Ellie needed to take her medication daily. Ellie wasn’t the only one in that situation. I reminded her the first couple days, but then it didn’t seem necessary.” A cloud returned to his face. “I suppose I was wrong about that, too.” He sat forward in his chair, his eyes pooling with tears. “Nothing, Lieutenant, you’ve found nothing?”
“We think she ran away in search of someone, a boy she knew from her first semester here,” Worthy replied. “Did you know a Victor Martinez?”
Wormley jumped to his feet. “Really? That’s good, isn’t it? That means she could be okay.”
“If we can find Victor Martinez, we’ll have a better idea. Did you know him, Professor?” Worthy repeated.
“Native American, wasn’t he? He wasn’t in any of my classes, but I met him at the reception in September for new faculty and students.” Wormley paused, as if stuck in the memory. “That seems a long time ago. Victor seemed bright, very eager, as I remember.”
“Did he ever say he wanted to go on the trip?”
“No, I’m sure he didn’t. He’d have made a good assistant, I guess. I wonder why I didn’t ask him.”
Worthy tried to pull Wormley back to the case. “After this reception, did you see him?”
“Maybe once or twice in the halls, but not with Ellie, if that’s what you mean.”
The professor picked up a fountain pen from his desk and began to twirl it in his hands. “Wait a minute. I saw him a couple of time in Stott’s office, but when was that?”
“Who’s Stott?�
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“He’s God around here,” Wormley replied, his face serious. “He’s my department chair, one of Allgemein’s big names. Central American anthropology, especially Mayan. I thought everyone in Detroit knew Stott.”
“And Victor was one of his students?”
Wormley shrugged. “He must have been. No one goes to Stott’s office for sympathy.”
Worthy jotted the name down. “Let’s talk about Chimayó. Did Ellie act differently in any way when you were there?”
“At Chimayó? No. Like I told them in Santa Fe, Ellie went off by herself, but that wasn’t unusual.” The professor paused for a moment. “I talked to a policewoman, very kind. She was the only one who didn’t make me feel that I should be jailed right then and there.” He paused. “I don’t suppose you’ve met her.”
“Yes, I have.”
“Tell her … I don’t know. Forget it.”
“I’ll tell her that you remember her. Now, Professor, you said Ellie had a tendency to go off by herself. What did she do? I mean, did she just sit and stare off in space, watch the other kids, sneak a smoke?”
“Chimayó, Chimayó ….” Wormley looked out the window for a few seconds before turning to face Worthy. “She sketched. Yes, she had a sketch pad.”
“Really,” Worthy said. “We didn’t know that. Did she ever show you her drawings?”
“Not exactly, but I did catch a glimpse of one she did on Acoma. That’s a Pueblo community.”
Worthy nodded. “I’ve been there.”
Wormley winced. “I suppose you’re revisiting every place we went.”
“Why don’t you just tell me what happened at Acoma.”
“I remember walking over and watching her work. She was drawing the railing on the Spanish commander’s headquarters.”
“How would you describe her work? Childish, perhaps?”
“Childish? No, not at all. She had real talent, real feeling,” the professor said dreamily. “I’d say polished. I just assumed that she’d had art lessons.”
“The two of you didn’t talk much, then,” Worthy commented.
Wormley gripped the arm rails of his chair and looked down again. “Why did I ever think I could handle fifteen kids on my own? They’ll say it was bad judgment, and they’ll be right. Three partiers kept me pretty sleepless.”
Wormley wanted to be helpful, but Worthy could tell that the professor’s self-loathing had worn a groove in his memory.
“Just one more question, Professor. After Ellie ran off, what did the other students say?”
Wormley sighed heavily as he leaned back in his chair. “Oh God, the plane ride back, after the police questioned them all, was sheer hell. My guess is that they were too scared to talk seriously about it, so they made it into a big joke. Some turned it into an abduction story—Ellie being taken by aliens to Roswell! Others said she’d split for Vegas on her daddy’s money. She’s rich, you know.”
“Yes, I know.”
As Worthy rose to go, the professor remained seated, looking up sheepishly at him. “Can I tell my wife what you said?”
“About what?”
“About Ellie running off to find the Martinez boy. It would be more help to her—to both of us—than you know, Lieutenant.”
As he headed for Dr. Stott’s office, Worthy wondered if the interview with Wormley had been little more than a charity call. Ellie VanBruskman had made herself the kind of student easy to overlook. With other more typical spring break problems to deal with, the hapless professor had clearly done just that. Would this Stott know more about Victor?
Dr. Stott was trim and middle-aged, his long gray hair gathered into a ponytail like an old hippie. Standing in the doorway to introduce himself, Worthy smelled the faint scent of furniture polish.
“You can have ten minutes, Lieutenant,” Stott said, motioning Worthy in. “Unless, that is, you’ve come to arrest me. Come to think of it, please arrest me. Jail would be better than the faculty senate. At the lowest rung of hell they’re doing curricular reform. Trying to get that done before summer school.”
“Can’t help you today, Professor. I’m here inquiring about Victor Martinez.”
Stott leaned back in his chair and balanced effortlessly, his sandals dangling off the ground. He looked over his half glasses and pursed his lips slightly.
“What’s Victor got himself into now?”
“Maybe nothing. We’re looking into the possibility that Ellie VanBruskman, the missing girl from Allgemein, ran off to find him.”
“Ay yai yai,” Stott replied as he stared at something on his computer screen. “Mr. Martinez was what we academics call a colossal disappointment, Lieutenant. That means he really screwed up. Victor came to Allgemein on a free ride, which is nothing to sneeze at, by the way. That’s roughly one hundred sixty grand over four years. And the first decision he makes as an adult is to throw that all away. Not just my class, but all of them. As I remember, he didn’t even bother to finish the semester.”
Stott stopped speaking, his eyes squinting at his computer.
“Could you speculate as to why he did that?” Worthy asked.
“Oh, it’s quite common, Lieutenant,” the professor replied without looking up. “It’s very politically incorrect for me to say it, but he lacked two key background traits. One, no one in his family had been to college. So Victor was probably a big deal back home, a prima donna. Second reason. Kids such as Victor lack the stamina. College is hard. You have to work, meaning you have to do more than just live off cheap small-town laurels. Victor came from some podunk town in Arizona and tubed out, comprende?”
Worthy sensed Stott was the type who enjoyed sitting behind his polished desk and glancing over his half glasses at disappointed parents, explaining how their son or daughter had let everyone down.
“New Mexico. Victor is from New Mexico,” Worthy corrected.
Stott glanced up briefly from the computer screen.
“How bright is Victor?” Worthy asked, the question making him sound a bit like a devastated parent himself.
“Very bright. That’s why it’s such a shame. He wasn’t one of those minorities we accept so we can plaster his picture on future admissions brochures.” Stott looked over his glasses at Worthy. “I told him that, by the way.”
“When was that?”
“Sometime in November, before Thanksgiving if I’m not mistaken. He sat right where you’re sitting, and I told him his type pisses me off. I shared some things I know about the scholarship’s donor, trying to make him feel guilty for the waste of it all. He didn’t even have the courtesy to answer me. So when I heard he left a week or so after … well, I guess you could say I saw it coming. And now, I’ve got to go.”
As the men parted in the hallway, Stott called after Worthy, “If you find our young friend, tell him that Stott says to shape up and think about what’s best for his family.”
Worthy walked down the hallway past Wormley’s dark office and stopped again in front of the display case of pottery and blankets. Worthy imagined the man already home telling his wife about Ellie and Victor. How odd, he thought. Wormley couldn’t have been more worried about Ellie VanBruskman. Professor Stott hadn’t even asked about the missing girl.
Chapter Ten
Father Fortis saw the flashing lights of the police cars long before he pulled into the monastery’s parking area. Lord, have mercy, now what? he thought. Sera Lacey had predicted that it wouldn’t take the police much time to put the pieces together, but he’d envisioned several days, not one.
As he walked hurriedly toward the dormitory, an ambulance emerged and roared past him. Its siren echoing off the canyon wall made it seem as if St. Mary’s was under attack.
Father Fortis steadied his pectoral cross as he hurried through the doorway. Immediately, Brother Bartholomew blocked his way.
“Abbot Timothy needs to see you, Father.”
“Of course, of course,” he said, his heart racing as he tried to keep up with
the novice. “What’s happened, my son?”
Brother Bartholomew shook his head. “I’d better not say.”
Father Fortis entered the abbot’s office and found it bursting with monks. On one side of the room sat Father Linus and the old librarian, Brother Elias. Linus sat rigidly in the chair, his knee bouncing, while Brother Elias eyed Father Fortis warily. On the other side of the room, to the left of Abbot Timothy, was a young man, notebook opened in his lap. The badge in his suit’s lapel pocket indicated he was from the police. Behind Abbot Timothy, leaning against the windowsill, was a middle-aged monk with wild, bristling hair. Father Fortis recognized him as St. Mary’s spiritual director, Father Bernard.
Abbot Timothy motioned Father Fortis toward the only empty chair remaining, the one next to the policeman. “Father Nicholas, good, I’m glad it’s you. I was worried when we couldn’t find you.”
“I’m sure I told you this morning, Reverend Father. I was in Albuquerque at the library—”
“This is Lieutenant Choi,” the abbot said, as if he’d heard nothing.
The man next to Father Fortis reached over and shook his hand. “Afternoon,” he said in a soft voice before returning to his notes.
The monk who’d been standing by the window came over and stood behind Father Fortis. In a smooth West Texas drawl, he said, “I don’t think we’ve met yet, Father. I’m Bernard.”
Father Fortis turned to shake the man’s hand. The power of the grip reminded him that Father Bernard had been the monk who’d pushed the photographer to the ground days earlier. Most monks seemed to shrink within their robes, but Father Bernard’s white cassock hung as tightly on his shoulders as a military uniform.
“Father Nicholas, St. Mary’s has had another tragedy,” the abbot said, his eyes gazing wearily at the ceiling. “Perhaps you’ve already heard. No? Oh, dear. Forgive me, everyone, but I’m still in a bit of shock. Bernard, would you kindly explain to Father Nicholas what’s happened?”
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