by Aimée Thurlo
“The way Pax bit down on his forearm, there should have been plenty of blood,” Sister Agatha said. “He crunched down hard and shook his head.”
Sister Jo nodded. “Pax’s teeth should have torn right into the guy’s muscles.”
“If he brought something to take out the dog, maybe he also knew enough to pad his arm,” Sims concluded.
“Either that or it was a prosthetic,” Sister Agatha answered.
“I called this in, and Sheriff Green’s on his way over. He wants to check out the incident firsthand,” Deputy Sims said.
Sister Agatha glanced at Eric. “Did you see or hear a vehicle?”
“No. I was outside checking the irrigation systems when I heard the scream.”
Sister Agatha studied the ground and saw a half-smoked cigarette, the burned end crushed. Before she could give it more thought, Sister Bernarda came rushing up holding a flashlight and a cell phone.
“I thought there was something going on out here! I heard a scream, then saw Deputy Sims go racing past the front gate.” Sister Bernarda looked at the young nun and exclaimed, “Sister Jo! Did you go for a swim?”
“No, I was bobbing for crawdads,” Sister Jo mumbled, then managed a weak grin.
Sister Agatha quickly filled Sister Bernarda in on what she knew, then looked back at Sister Jo. “You have some explaining to do, Your Charity. You can start by telling us what you were doing out here at this time of night.”
Sister Jo cringed, then sneezed.
Seeing Sister Jo shivering, Sister Agatha relented. “Let’s go back to your room first. We can talk there after you dry off. Is that okay, Deputy?”
“That’s fine,” Sims replied, still searching the ground with her flashlight.
“Better give me something to tell Reverend Mother,” Sister Bernarda added. “She saw the lights, too.”
Sister Agatha looked back at Sister Jo. “In one sentence or less, what were you doing off monastery grounds at this hour?”
“I…needed a cigarette. That’s mine, Deputy,” she said, pointing to the ground. “He smashed it when he grabbed me from behind.”
“I didn’t even know you smoked.” Sister Agatha closed her eyes and opened them in a gesture of impatience. “I hope that cigarette was worth it.”
“I’d just lit it,” she answered in a thin voice. “The man came from nowhere, and the next thing I knew he was pushing my face into the water.”
“If you’ll let this be a lesson you’ll never forget, then maybe some good can come from this terrible incident,” Sister Bernarda said.
Sister Jo nodded miserably, then hugged Pax. “You’re a brave boy, Pax. Thanks!”
Sister Agatha took Sister Bernarda aside and softly added, “Let Reverend Mother know what happened, but emphasize the bottom line—a major tragedy was averted tonight.”
Almost thirty minutes later, Sheriff Green, Sister Agatha, and a now warm and dry Sister Jo sat together on metal folding chairs in St. Francis’s Pantry. Sister Agatha had brewed them all a cup of hot tea. Nights in the desert, even in spring, could be cold, especially when the sky was clear.
“Start from the beginning, Sister Jo,” Tom said, “and don’t leave any details out, even if you think they’re unimportant.”
Sister Jo nodded, now humbly contrite. “I used to be a smoker and still get cravings from time to time. When I found out that Deputy Sims smoked, I decided to beg a cigarette off her. Well, more than one. I shouldn’t have…but it was never more than one at a time,” she added in a thin whisper. “When we become nuns we give up a lot, but there are two things I don’t think I’ll ever stop missing. Cigarettes are one,” she said with a sheepish smile.
Sister Agatha nearly choked on her tea, but Tom smiled.
“He said not to leave anything out,” Sister Jo added quickly, seeing the annoyed expression on Sister Agatha’s face.
“Stick to the events,” Sister Agatha said.
Sister Jo nodded. “I’ve been walking off the grounds each night after Compline. We all know the combination to the lock at the gate, so I’d open it up, go out for my smoke, then come back and lock it back up again. I wasn’t smoking on our grounds, and with a deputy keeping watch around the outside, I figured I wasn’t hurting anyone.”
“Your actions endangered me, Pax, and you,” Sister Agatha said firmly.
Tom shot her a hard look, and Sister Agatha swallowed her anger and fell silent.
“I know, Sister Agatha. I messed up big-time,” Sister Jo said. “The thing is, I’d always wait until after the deputy had circled the wall. That way, since the area had just been checked out, I figured I’d be perfectly safe.”
“My guess is that he was waiting for you. He knew your routine—and the deputy’s,” Tom said. “Deputy Sims should have never made her rounds at predictable times.”
“She doesn’t,” Sister Jo said quickly. “But it’s always within a half hour or so,” she added in a barely audible voice.
“Did your assailant say anything to you?” Tom pressed.
“All I heard was one word, ‘finally.’ But I may be wrong about that. By then, my head was below water and I was trying hard to hold my breath.”
As a tear rolled down her face, Sister Agatha’s heart went out to her. Sister Jo had been through a lot in the past few hours. “From now on, you’ll sleep inside the monastery. I’m sure Mother will agree and find a place for you. If nothing else, the laundry room can double as your cell—or maybe even the parlor.”
Sister Jo nodded. “And I’ll never touch a cigarette again. Not ever. But that other craving of mine…”
Sister Agatha glared at her.
“Cokes, the ones from Mexico,” she added quickly. “They’re made with real sugar, not corn syrup. When I was up in Santa Fe, there was a Mexican restaurant within walking distance that had them, so they were easy to get. I haven’t had much luck since I moved here. But I’ll give those up, too.”
Tom started to laugh, then covered quickly, clearing his throat instead.
Leaving Sister Bernarda to help Sister Jo pack up her belongings, Sister Agatha stepped outside onto the grounds with the sheriff.
“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.
17
THE 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, eac
h 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.”