False Witness

by Aimée; David Thurlo

  While Jimmy Garza and Ralph Simpson were being questioned, Sister Agatha sat alone with Pax in Tom’s office. On his desk was an open file folder with Terri Montoya’s name on the tab.

  Sister Agatha debated the ethics of actually sneaking a peek, but then yielded to temptation. A stack of photos taken at the monastery was inside, along with a note explaining that they’d been downloaded from a disk found at Terri’s home.

  Spreading all of them out on the desk, she stared at the impressive array of photos taken of the monastery’s garden, specifically the area adjacent to their cemetery. Although taken from many angles, they all had one thing in common—the statue of St. Francis.

  Sister Agatha examined the photos for several long moments. She’d been under the impression that Terri had taken a few snapshots, but this selection looked more like a detailed survey of one portion of their grounds. Obviously there’d been a lot of photos Father Mahoney hadn’t known about.

  When Tom walked in thirty minutes later, he found her at his desk, still staring at the photos. He brushed off her apology and added, “I meant to tell you about those,” he said. “We found the disk taped beneath a drawer. Interesting, don’t you think?”

  “Yeah,” she said pensively, “and that just builds on a theory I’ve been developing. But first, did you get anything from Garza or Simpson?”

  “Nothing that moves the investigation any further ahead. Garza claims to have had a small stash—his idea of small is $250,000—that he used to get his businesses going under the name of John Gutierrez—but still says that Rio had the rest of their cash. He admitted trying to force Terri to confess she’d killed Rio and reveal where she’d hidden the money.”

  “Come look at these,” Sister Agatha said.

  Sister Agatha left Tom’s chair and he sat down, taking a closer look at the photos. “He may actually be telling the truth and has no idea where the money is,” he said at last. “I think your theory is right on the money, Sister, if you’ll excuse the wording.”

  “So the cash is probably hidden on our land, near or around the statue of St. Francis,” Sister Agatha said. “It makes sense if you think about it, with the body being found just a few hundred yards west of the monastery. I remember that back then, we were still in the process of putting up the high wall around the monastery grounds. The chain-link fence had already been removed, and our grounds were totally unprotected. We all felt really vulnerable after hearing that there’d been a murder so close by. We didn’t have Pax to watch over us during those days, either.”

  “So you’re thinking that Angie buried the body down by the levee, then went to the monastery to hide the cash,” he said.

  “Exactly. It was the perfect place. The distance from the crime scene insured it wouldn’t be uncovered by deputies searching the perimeter. But when Angie came back, she discovered that getting the money was going to be a lot tougher than she’d expected. We were locking up at night now, and we also had a very big dog. He’d set off an alarm for sure. But her stash was definitely safe, so she could bide her time.”

  Tom nodded pensively. “Then Garza, who didn’t really know where Angie was, bought the winery, guessing the location of the stash was probably within walking distance of where the body was found. He may have had people keeping a watch out for her. That’s what I would have done in his shoes. That would explain those people you all kept seeing in the area.” Tom crossed his arms across his chest.

  “Garza is the one who arranged the destruction of our gate, I’m sure of that now,” Sister Agatha said. “He was hoping that our lack of funds would give me an incentive to take the job of locating Angie. And just to sweeten the deal, he even offered us a buffer zone.”

  He nodded. “It all fits, but if the money is on monastery property, that gives us a lot of ground to cover, even if we focus our search to the area around the statue. These photos don’t narrow it down much.”

  “The statue was moved, too, when the wall went up, so it’s not in the exact location it used to be. But a metal detector may help, providing she hid the cash in a metal box.”

  “I’ll get a detector for you. If you do the preliminary search, it’ll save me time and paperwork. But let me know immediately if you find anything. The murder weapon is still missing, too, so it may be with the cash. If you find anything, don’t touch it. While you’re off taking care of that, we’ll work on Simpson.”

  “You’ve got it.”

  A half hour later, Sister Agatha was back at the monastery, sweeping the grounds around the statue of Saint Francis with the detector. She’d left Pax inside, knowing that he’d be tempted to dig in the wet earth, and his muddy paw prints would drive the sisters wild.

  It was humid and the setting sun had gone behind the clouds again, but Sister Agatha ignored the penetrating cold and the ache in her hands—a constant reminder that she’d forgotten to take her pills. As the minutes ticked by, she started to shiver. The light was fading fast.

  Concentrating on her duty, she never saw Sister Bernarda approach. “Your Charity, go inside and get warm,” Sister Bernarda said, handing her a jacket and setting down the lantern she’d brought along. “I’ve used minesweepers and metal detectors before in a previous life. I’ve even probed the ground with a knife searching for booby traps. Just tell me what you’re looking for.”

  Sister Agatha turned to explain, the long metal wand moving with her, when suddenly the beeping intensified. Sister Agatha froze, then moved the wand slowly toward the wooden bench, then beneath and behind it, until she pinpointed the source. It was somewhere beneath the flagstone that was now part of the walkway leading to the cemetery.

  Though she tried to tell herself that it could be anything, even a lost gardening tool, Sister Agatha’s heart began to hammer. “We need to remove a few flagstones and dig here.”

  “Okay, but let me do the digging. That’s something else I learned to do well in the Corps,” Sister Bernarda said.

  Unwilling to call Tom prematurely, Sister Agatha worked with Sister Bernarda, first setting the stepping stones aside, then waiting as Sister Bernarda dug up the section below. Originally, the path to the cemetery had been nothing more than a dirt track with bricks lining the walk. Maybe one of those had been Terri’s original marker, but the path had been altered after the wall had gone up.

  Sister Bernarda worked energetically. After removing almost two feet of earth, she discovered the shredded remnants of a black plastic trash bag wrapped around a metal briefcase.

  “I’ve got to call the sheriff, Sister Bernarda. Don’t touch anything.” She was now glad Sister Bernarda had brought a kerosene lantern for light. She had a feeling they’d be outside for quite a while, and the lantern would provide a little heat along with the illumination.

  Sister Agatha reached the sheriff on the second ring. “Tom, we found what looks to be a metal briefcase. Should I pull it out to make sure? I could get the monastery’s camera and shoot some photos first.”

  “Photos are okay, but don’t touch anything. I’m on my way.”

  Sister Bernarda found their camera in the parlor, then took several shots, using a pair of gardening gloves to provide some scale in the photo. They’d also turned on the outside lights, which would help them get a better exposure than with a flash alone.

  By the time they’d finished, Tom drove up. Using leather gloves, he pulled the box out gently and set it on the ground. It was larger than they’d believed—more the size of a small suitcase. “It’s locked,” he said, “but I think I can force it open.”

  As they watched, Tom brought out an oversized pocketknife that had a screwdriver blade. He inserted the blade between the top and bottom halves and, with a twist of the handle, popped open the box. As the lid sprang back, exposing the contents, Sister Agatha gasped.

  “I’ve never seen that much money in my life,” Sister Bernarda said.

  Sister Agatha stood beside Tom, leaning forward. “There’s something else sandwiched in there. I can s
ee it from this angle.”

  Tom followed her gaze then, using his pen, lifted a layer of cash. “It’s a revolver—the missing murder weapon, no doubt.”

  “Not bad for a day’s work,” Sister Agatha said softly. “Not bad at all.”

  Thirty minutes later, in a dry habit, Sister Agatha sat in front of Tom’s desk at the sheriff’s office.

  “Good news and bad,” he said. “There are no prints on the briefcase or the gun. Terri’s prints are on some of the bills, but that isn’t damning of itself since she could have handled money at anytime in the office. Garza’s are there as well, along with Mark Rio’s and others that we haven’t identified yet. The trash bag used to wrap the briefcase held together for quite a while, and the case was sealed tight, so the pistol is in pretty good shape—hardly any rust. One of our lab people is taking it apart to try and lift prints from the harder-to-reach areas. Afterward, they’ll do a comparison between bullets fired from this weapon and the round that killed Rio.”

  “What if the pistol is no longer operable?”

  “We can attach the barrel to the frame of another weapon of the same model and caliber. While the firing-pin mark will be different, it’s really the barrel rifling that we’re anxious to compare. We’ll get what we need one way or another.”

  “Good. Has Terri been released from the hospital?”

  “No, but I hear she’s planning to sign herself out. I’ve managed to get her hospital paperwork put on the slow track, and I’ve also offered to have a deputy drive her home. I’ll be notified when they leave the hospital.”

  “We can’t let her slip away.”

  He nodded. “Simpson has backed up Garza’s story one hundred percent. He admits to kidnapping Terri, but insists that it was the only hope they had of getting answers and evidence. He believes Garza’s story that Terri’s a killer.”

  “Could Simpson have been mixed up in Rio’s murder, too?”

  “No way. He was serving with the Army in South Korea when Rio got killed,” Tom answered.

  “You don’t have anything you can use to hold Angie, so we’d better move fast. Fortunately,” Sister Agatha said with a slow smile, “I’ve got an idea.”

  “Every time you say that, I get the urge to yell ‘incoming,’ and dive under my desk,” he said with a grin.

  “Praying offers better protection. But don’t worry, my plan’s really good. Call your deputy, and make sure Terri doesn’t leave the hospital until I get there.”

  Sister Agatha drove to the hospital and, when she reached the nursing station, saw Terri signing some papers. The deputy standing nearby nodded to Sister Agatha in greeting.

  “Hello, Terri,” Sister Agatha said cheerfully, focusing her complete attention on the woman. “I’m so relieved that you’re okay.”

  “Sister Agatha, I’m glad you’re here. I was hoping I’d get the chance to thank you once more. If it hadn’t been for you I might not have made it out alive.”

  “God was watching over you,” she answered. “Are you going to spend a few days at home, recovering, before you go back to work?”

  “I’m going home to spend the night, but after that, I’ll be packing up my belongings and moving out of town. I’ll sell the house. I’m never going to feel safe around here again.”

  “I understand completely. But, after what you’ve been through, you’re going to need some downtime and a quiet, safe place to stay. If you don’t mind a suggestion, we’ve set aside a room inside St. Francis’ Pantry for overnight guests. Remember me telling you about that? Why don’t you come and be our first guest?” Sister Agatha asked. “You’d be perfectly safe there.”

  “I’m not sure I want to be around anyone right now, Sister,” Terri said slowly. “I need to sort things out in my own head.”

  Sister Agatha tried not to show surprise at her response. Maybe her theory about Terri had been wrong from the start—and Garza had lied once again. If Terri showed no interest in coming to the monastery—where she’d have access to the grounds—then they’d have to come up with a new theory to explain the presence of the money and the gun.

  “Come to think of it, Sister, the pantry is well away from everyone, and your monastery is so peaceful! I’ve enjoyed visiting, even when it was just helping with deliveries. I can’t think of a better place to go. I’ll see you there in about an hour? I need to take my discharge papers by the front desk first, and then rent a car. Sheriff Green said my Toyota has to stay locked up in their impound yard for a few more days.” She looked over at the deputy. “Can you take me to a car-rental place instead of my home, officer?”

  As the deputy nodded, Sister Agatha smiled. “See you soon, Terri.”

  23

  A HALF HOUR LATER EVERYTHING WAS SET UP AT THE monastery. With Sister Bernarda’s and Sister de Lourdes’ help, markers borrowed from the work site by the front gate had been hammered into the ground near the statue of Saint Francis as if construction work were pending there as well.

  Sister Agatha wrapped a coat around herself. The clouds had dissipated, giving way to a bright full moon—and a really penetrating cold.

  “What do you think of the markers. Too much?” she asked Tom, her hand resting on Pax’s head.

  “No, I don’t think so,” he answered, then checked his watch. “I better duck out of sight. I don’t want her to see me hanging around. Just remember, if she’s killed once, the second time will come a lot easier to her. Keep Pax with you whenever you’re around Angie. I won’t be far, but he’ll be your first line of defense.” He paused, then held her gaze. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

  “Absolutely. And don’t worry. I’ll be careful.”

  He reached into his unit and retrieved a night-vision scope. “I’ll be using a low-light camera, but you’ll need this. Call me the moment you spot her outside. I’ll do the same for you.” He nodded to Sister Bernarda, then walked off.

  Sister Agatha watched the sheriff drive away. She was determined to do all she could to put away a criminal who’d used their monastery as a shield to conceal stolen money and cover up a murder.

  “Just so you know, I have no intention of leaving you alone with her,” Sister Bernarda said firmly. “You have no idea how to handle yourself in a fight—I do.”

  Sister Agatha thought about the man who’d pulled a knife on her out on the road, and how she’d fought back. Anger had given her the strength then, but that wouldn’t be the case now.

  “I appreciate your offer, but we’ll have to move quietly. Four footsteps are a lot noisier than two,” Sister Agatha said as tactfully as possible. “And remember to act casual when Terri shows up. We don’t want her to suspect what we’re up to. She has to believe she’s getting away with something.”

  “What cover story are you using for the markers?” Sister Bernarda asked.

  Before Sister Agatha could answer, Terri drove through the open entrance and parked her rental car in the space closest to St. Francis’s Pantry. Sister Agatha and Sister Bernarda went to greet her.

  As Terri climbed out of the sedan, struggling against sore muscles, her gaze fell upon the markers ahead with their little orange flags flapping in the breeze. “You going to expand your driveway or something?”

  Sister Agatha smiled blandly. “A friend of the monastery has volunteered to build a mausoleum for all our prioresses. Of course that means that our cemetery’s borders will be expanded. The banco, the statue, and the flagstone walk will all have to be moved. They’ll have to dig footings for the foundation walls. Work is supposed to begin tomorrow.”

  “It sounds like an ambitious plan,” Terri said.

  “It’ll be a permanent memorial for all our abbesses,” Sister Agatha answered, then glanced back at the monastery and noticed the outside lights being turned off. “Do you know about our horarium?”

  “Your what?”

  “I’ll take that as a no,” Sister Agatha answered with a smile. “We observe an old custom called the Great Silence after our la
st liturgical hour of prayer. Unless there’s a real emergency, everyone inside the monastery will be silent until after morning prayers. That’s when we’ll be bringing breakfast out to you, at around eight thirty. Of course, you’re welcome to attend our six-thirty Mass.”

  “I didn’t bring an alarm clock, and I doubt I’ll be up that early. I haven’t slept in days.”

  “I’m sure you’ll hear our bells. The first one rings at four thirty in the morning,” Sister Bernarda said.

  Terri cringed, then forced a smile. “Ooookay.”

  The two externs showed Terri the small guest room in the rear of the storage building. The bed was covered with a thick blue-and-yellow patchwork quilt Sister Maria Victoria had crafted. Curtains made out of yellow fabric covered the one window.

  “It looks … homey and comfortable,” Terri said as she looked around. “I expected it to be more austere, like just a cot and a crucifix.”

  “We wanted it to be more welcoming than that. This room is for our guests, after all,” Sister Agatha said. “The other door leads to a small bathroom and shower. You’ll find fresh towels there. Can you think of anything else you might need?” Sister Agatha asked.

  “No, everything’s perfect. Thanks.”

  “Then we’ll see you tomorrow,” Sister Agatha said.

  Sister Agatha and Sister Bernarda made a show of walking back to the monastery, Pax at their side. Once they’d disappeared around the corner of the building and were out of sight of the pantry, they stopped behind the shelter of the two large cottonwoods.

  Pax lay down at Sister Agatha’s feet, his ears pricked forward as if he understood they were on duty. The only sound that disturbed the silence surrounding them was the nearly imperceptible click of beads as Sister Bernarda said her rosary.

  Two hours passed with no signs of activity, and Sister Agatha began to wonder if they’d somehow given themselves away. She studied the grounds using the special binoculars Tom had given them, and wondered if he was growing impatient, too.