The Devil's Own Crayons

by Theresa Monsour

  “They may not open the gate to them.”

  “I hope they do. It’s a perfect place to contain the mess.”

  “I don’t want any innocents hurt,” said Khoury.

  “Neither do I, Father.”

  Dead air for about a minute.

  “That might be the first time you called me Father.”

  “Well...I slipped,” she said with a crooked grin. “Don’t get used to it.”

  “Not from me, neither,” piped up MacLeod.

  “You have never called me Father.”

  She stared out the passenger window. “I’m not a churchgoer, Ryan. I have an issue with all those titles. Father. Eminence. As far as I’m concerned, we’re all people. Plain people. Equal and on the same playing field.”

  “With three wee exceptions,” MacLeod added grimly.

  “They’re people, too,” she said to the glass.

  “Little people being used,” added Khoury.

  Her cell vibrated with a message and she checked the screen. “Camp sent me a map of the place, and the nuns’ daily schedule.”

  “A cloistered convent,” said Khoury. “How does the FBI do it?”

  “I could tell you, but then I’d have to kill you.” She grinned. “Actually, the nuns have a website.”

  “That’s surprising,” said the priest.

  “Whatever for?” asked MacLeod.

  “Recruitment?” she offered with a shrug, and began reading. “Damn. Who’d want to sign on with this outfit?”

  “The monastic life isn’t for everyone,” said Khoury.

  “No kidding,” said Rossi. “Listen to this: They’re permitted visits from family and friends twice a year, but see them through grilled windows. The only males allowed through the gates are visitors who can prove they are immediate family, and priests who come to say mass or administer sacraments.”

  “What about pizza delivery men?” asked MacLeod. “Any exceptions for them?”

  Rossi continued: “They have television, but it’s limited to an hour a week...”

  “Barbaric,” said MacLeod.

  “And then it must be religious programs.”

  “So they may not know about Xavier,” said MacLeod.

  Rossi kept scrolling down the screen. “They tape a radio news broadcast every day and listen to it as a community.”

  “They must know then,” said Khoury.

  “The nuns speak when necessary to do their work,” she continued.

  “What’s their work?” asked MacLeod.

  Rossi: “They bake communion wafers, and pray. And pray and pray and pray. Pray from the moment they rise at four...”

  “Not four in the morning, surely?”

  “Yes, Patrick. Four in the morning.”

  “What time do they retire?” he asked.

  “Eight, after evening prayers.” She checked her watch. “We could be pulling in after everyone’s in bed.”

  “If the abbess follows the rules,” said MacLeod.

  “She will,” said Khoury. “And she’ll require the same of the handyman and the girls.”

  “No telly, few visitors, and a rigorous schedule – all of it behind bars,” said MacLeod. “Might as well be in prison.”

  Rossi: “Like I said, not a terrible place for a showdown.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  The abbess no longer trusted him around the girls, but she couldn’t set him free, either. She was certain he’d immediately go to the police. He’d probably negotiate with them and agree to back up their outrageous child trafficking charges. For the time being, they were saddled with Trey Petit.

  Since leaving Pittsburgh she’d been behind the wheel, and they’d made decent time. Unlike Petit, she’d stuck to the major interstates. She had faith that the power that had shielded them up to that point would continue doing so. Navigating the traffic of the Capital Beltway was unnerving. Crossing into the District of Columbia, they were about two miles from their destination – from her refuge - and she was relieved.

  During the four-hour drive, the tug and pull between her and Petit had been difficult. Whenever he shot nervous looks at her right side, she feared he was about to wrestle the scissors from her. He repeatedly shook out his left hand, complaining it was giving him trouble. A ploy, she thought. Any minute he’d go for her pocket.

  At the same time, he kept pleading to turn on the radio and she kept refusing. She didn’t want to hear the AMBER Alert lies being spread by her government; it made her angry. She didn’t want to know about the national television blackout because it terrified her. Petit’s words echoed inside her mind.

  “Who are they? What are they?”

  She didn’t know anymore. Once they stopped moving, she would take time to pray over the questions. God would illuminate her way.

  When they turned into the neighborhood leading to the monastery, the abbess felt the knot in her stomach loosen. She braked at a stop sign. Through the open windows of the car, they heard a thumping noise. She and Petit tipped and turned their heads to eye the sky through the windshield.

  “Copter,” said Petit.

  “Washington gets a lot of air traffic,” the abbess said authoritatively.

  Petit continued angling his head for a view. “It’s kind of low.”

  From the backseat, rustling paper.

  Adjusting the rearview mirror, the nun saw Babette with a sheet on her lap and a crayon in her hand. She’d made certain all the girls’ things were packed in the trunk – especially the crayons. “Where did you get that from?”

  “I snuck it in my shirt.”

  Petit sneered, “You must be so proud.”

  The abbess put the car in park and turned around in her seat to check what the girl had drawn: A round circle with an X of blades at the top and a straight line for the landing skids at the bottom. “Why, child?”

  “He’s watching us.”

  “Who?” asked Petit, swiveling his head to the right and left, scanning the neighborhood.

  The girl pointed up. “He is.”

  “Of course, He is,” said the abbess. “God has been keeping us safe this entire...”

  “No. The man in the plane. He’s watching us - for her.”

  “For whom?” asked the abbess.

  “That man is watching us for the lady.”

  Petit poked his head out the window and squinted into the blue. “No, Missy. That’s some kind of hospital copter. It’s got one of those big crosses painted on the...”

  “No,” the girl said. “He’s spying on us for her.”

  Through the rear window of the car, the abbess saw a woman pushing a stroller down the sidewalk while a little boy skipped after her. She put them out of her mind. They didn’t matter. The girls and this mission mattered. “Babette, are you sure?”

  The girl clutched the paper to her chest. “If I stop him, it will stop the lady.”

  “What lady?” asked Petit.

  “One of those investigators,” said Mother Magdalen, turning back around and locking her hands over the steering wheel.

  “She can’t,” said Petit. “Don’t let her.”

  The mother superior put the Buick in drive and rolled through the intersection. “Quickly, Babette.”

  “Hell no!” Petit turned around and got on his knees to reach over the seat. “Give it here, Missy!”

  “No. The lady...”

  The abbess took a left down the next street. “Leave her alone, Trey.”

  “Don’t!” Petit hollered to the back of the car.

  Paper tearing.

  Petit stuck his head out the window and dropped back into his seat. “Drive!”

  The nun pressed the gas pedal to the floor.

  The helicopter banked hard to the right and started falling. Fifty feet off the ground, the rotor blades slashed the treetops and then broke off, the pieces flying in every direction. As the craft spiraled down into the greenery, a loud clanking – metal being ripped from metal – filled the air. Five
seconds later, an explosion rocked the neighborhood, and a plume of smoke and flames shot up through the trees.

  The souls of the dead rising to the heavens.

  They pulled up to the fence, stopping with a screech. Petit turned in his seat to look behind them. Sirens wailed in the distance. “She took down a helicopter! A goddamn medical chopper!”

  The abbess stared straight ahead through the windshield. “She did what she had to do.”

  “God almighty! A helicopter!”

  “Stop yelling!” shouted Cecelia, covering her ears.

  Adeline started to cry, her hiccupped questions directed at Babette: “Why do you have to make trouble? Why are you always making trouble?”

  Babette stayed silent, the torn picture resting on her lap.

  Petit reached into the back seat and grabbed the papers, one in each fist. He sat back down and put one jagged edge up against the other, as if he could undue what had been done. Reassemble the chopper. “Why?” he asked the torn picture.

  “Shut up! Everyone...be quiet!” The abbess jumped out of the Buick, taking the car keys with her. She went up to a box mounted on one side of the gate and blew out a breath of air. Smoothed the front of her habit as if the person on the other end of the intercom could see her. She pushed a button and said something into the speaker.

  Petit tried to imagine the conversation.

  “Buzz us in, please. We blew up a convent, killed a cop and downed a hospital helicopter – but God will forgive us. What’s for dinner tonight?”

  As he shifted in the passenger seat, he felt his weapon tucked into the waist of his jeans. He wished he had the nerve to use it right now. Take out the abbess and then do himself. Let the Fort Knox nuns deal with the girls.

  He couldn’t believe it when the gates swung open. Didn’t they know who they were welcoming into their house?

  The mother superior got back behind the wheel and drove through.

  “You didn’t tell them, did you?” he asked.

  Her jaw tensed and twitched. “They know I’ve been accused, but they don’t believe it. We lived together for years. They know I wouldn’t do such...things.”

  “But they don’t know everything, do they? They don’t know what just happened. Do you think they heard anything? I heard...”

  “You didn’t hear anything,” she said icily.

  “What’s wrong with you?”

  In lieu of an answer, the tall gates close behind them with a metallic clank.

  As they continued down the long, curving drive, Petit tried to calm himself by taking in the their surroundings. The campus had to have a dozen stone buildings scattered around several acres. A little church with a steeple. He saw the glass walls of a greenhouse. Storage sheds. A building marked LIBRARY. Religious statues everywhere. The most modern building – a long, low one covered in white siding – had smoke coming out of the chimney. He got a whiff of baking bread mixed with something noxious. His belly churned. Was that the helicopter he smelled?

  The abbess pulled up to a dormitory or apartment building. After taking the keys out of the ignition, she dug around in her tote and pulled out her veil. Tipped down her visor and checked in the cosmetic mirror while she put it on. Her face was blank and her hands were steady. Cold bitch, thought Petit.

  She hurried them and their bags inside. The narrow foyer had marble floors and wooden benches along the two long sides. Petit dropped onto one. It felt like a church pew - hard and uncomfortable – and that was exactly what he needed. Something solid. He was wobbly and off balance, with everything around him rocking and tilting and shifting. A man in a falling helicopter.

  “I don’t like it here,” groused Cecelia.

  “I’m hungry,” whined Adeline, rubbing her red eyes.

  “What is this place?” asked Babette.

  “Quiet.” The nun lowered her voice. “There are rules here. You can’t run around or talk.”

  “Can’t talk?” Adeline chirped.

  “Who can go the longest without talking?” asked the mother superior.

  All three raised their small hands.

  “Pretend it’s a game,” the abbess said. “Let’s see who can win, who can go the longest without a word.”

  Adeline and Cecelia grinned and bobbed their heads.

  Babette whispered to her two sisters, “I’m going to win and you know it.”

  “Excellent.” The nun made the zipper sign across her mouth.

  Climbing onto the bench across from Petit, Cecelia and Adeline snuggled into a corner while holding hands. Babette tried to sit next to them, but Adeline pushed her away. “Troublemaker.”

  Babette stuck her tongue out at them and took the opposite corner. Leaned into it and closed her eyes. Petit examined Babette’s face, so soft and round and pink. Brown curls fell across her forehead. Eyes still closed, she reached up and scratched her nose. Could a cute little kid really take down a chopper? Of course not. That was crazy.

  She wasn’t a cute little kid; she was something else. It was as if a hundred years had passed since she and her sisters had turned six. Since he’d snuck a piece of pink cake up to her room. What happened to that little girl? That cold, manipulative bitch had happened.

  The nun went up to a door planted in the middle of the wall opposite the front entrance, and opened a hinged shutter planted at eye level. Through the shutter, he saw a screen. She spoke to it in a low voice and then turned around. “Let’s go.”

  The girls climbed down from the bench. The door with the screened window creaked open. Petit couldn’t see who’d opened it; he, she or it was hiding behind it. The triplets followed the abbess inside while he brought up the rear, his arms loaded with luggage. They’d stepped into a long, narrow hallway.

  Adeline tried to ask a question and the abbess turned around and shushed her. “Remember the game?”

  After the nun’s back was turned, Babette put her face in Adeline’s and whispered, “Loser.”

  Petit wondered: What would happen when Babette got bored with the game? Would they all end up like those people in the helicopter?

  Another call from Camp. Rossi put the phone to her ear. As she listened, her shoulders slumped and her torso bent forward. She pressed a palm to her forehead and seemed to plead with the phone. “No.”

  “What?” asked Khoury.

  She held up a hand to silence him while she asked questions into the cell. “All of them? Tell me it wasn’t all of them.”

  “That doesn’t sound the slightest bit promising,” said MacLeod.

  As the men continued listening to Rossi’s questions, they pieced together what had taken place, but waited until she was off to hear the whole thing.

  She closed her cell. “A bureau helicopter went down.”

  “The one that was monitoring the girls?” asked Khoury.

  She nodded. “Crashed on the edge of a soccer field not even a mile from monastery.”

  “Dear Lord,” said MacLeod.

  “No one was hurt on the ground, but all three of our guys...” Her voice trailed off.

  “What happened?” asked Khoury.

  “Dropped like a rock. Slammed into some trees. When they got to it, it was on fire – in two pieces.”

  “The heart drawing,” said MacLeod.

  “Did you know any of them?”

  For the first time, they heard her voice crack. “All of them.”

  Khoury asked in a low voice: “Was one of them your former husband?”

  With watery eyes, she answered. “Yes.”

  “Oh, no,” MacLeod groaned in the backseat.

  “Tom heard I was on the case and asked for the assignment. He’s the one who called. He was hoping to see me...I was giving him all kinds of crap for it and...” She bent in half and buried her face in her arms.

  “I’m so sorry,” said Khoury.

  “Get us off the road,” MacLeod told the priest.

  Khoury pointed the car at the nearest ramp, hung a right off of the exit a
nd turned into a gas station. Drove to a distant corner of the lot and put it in park. Face still buried, Rossi’s shoulders shuddered with sobs.

  “I’ll fetch a cold water,” said MacLeod, getting out of the car.

  After he was gone, she unfolded her body and turned to Khoury. He held out his arms and she fell into them. Holding her tight, he rubbed her back.

  MacLeod came back with a bottle of water and a box of tissues. After he slid into the back seat, he passed the items to the front. Rossi clawed a layer of Kleenex out of the box and blew her nose. Wiped her eyes. “I’m...I’m sorry...for...for the big scene.”

  “You were married to the man,” said MacLeod.

  “Is there someone we should call for you?” asked Khoury.

  “No,” she said. “We gotta get there. This thing has gotta end.”

  “But lass...”

  “Hit the flashers,” she said.

  Khoury did as he was told, and the Crown Vic was filled with blue and red lights. He got back on the interstate, the cars ahead of them clearing a path.

  “Can you handle the speed?” she asked.

  “I can handle it.”

  She dragged a tissue across her face and took a long drink of water. Opened her cell, punched in a number and put the phone to her ear. “Sir, this probably goes without saying, but...” She dabbed at her eyes and sat up straight. “Thank you. I...I appreciate that. We hadn’t seen each other in a while, but...yeah. Thank you.” She cleared her throat. “We should keep our men on the ground. This helicopter thing...Right. My thoughts exactly. Wish I knew how they knew it was a bureau chopper...Right.”

  Then she made an admission that filled the interior of the car with sadness.

  “I blame myself.”

  Khoury’s brows went together, but he kept his eyes on the road.

  “Not that it’s going to bring them back, but I take full responsibility.” She tossed a balled tissue on the floor. “When this is all over, if you want to reassess my place on this team...”

  “No way,” MacLeod whispered.

  “I’m not saying that,” she continued into the cell. “I’m fine. I can do the work...Good...Okay...Keep me posted. Again, if we could keep our guys on the ground, and out of sight...Agreed.”

  As soon as she closed her phone, both men jumped in.