by Lisa Jackson
Inez Santiago, long red hair wound onto her head, moved closer to the corpse and snapped a photo.
“Don’t mess with my scene, Detectives. We’re still processing,” Washington warned them.
Montoya hadn’t shaken his bad mood. “We know the drill. We just want to see what’s going on here.” He shot her a glare, and Bentz noted that his jaw was tight, his lips thin. He had personal ties to this order of nuns who still wore traditional habits long after Vatican II had loosened the dress code.
“Don’t we all?” she said, then motioned to two of her technicians. “Santiago, Tennet, how’re we doing?”
Santiago snapped another photo. “I need a few more minutes.” A. J. Tennet, who often worked with the medical examiner, held up his collection case. “Got the blood samples.”
“Hold onto them.…We don’t want anyone accusing us of losingor compromising evidence,” Washington said, reminding everyone of the situation with Royal Kajak’s murder.
Tennet flashed a smile. “No way.”
“Good.”
As the technicians continued their work, Montoya and Bentz carefully studied the cloister garden where Sister Rebecca Renault had lost her life. Crickets chirped, a frog croaked, and the fountain gurgled as night slowly gave way to day. Aside from the dead body and blood staining the flagstones, this would be an idyllic place, a peaceful spot, an area of repose and contemplation.
Desecrated forever.
“Sometimes this job is a real bitch,” Montoya muttered.
Bentz squinted as sunlight began to pour over the garden walls. “Not just sometimes,” he said. “Always.”
He spent another couple of minutes eyeing the area, envisioning how the killer got in, how he surprised the little nun, how the killing went down.
She never had a chance, he decided as he headed inside. The dark hallways were quiet, just a few hushed whispers as the nuns sat in a row, waiting their turn to be called into the small room they were using for interrogation. Sister Rebecca’s own sparse room and more opulent office were being processed, considered part of the crime scene, as was the area where she was found, in the cloister not far from the chapel door.
Helluva place for a homicide, Bentz thought, refilling his pocket recorder with the batteries and taking a seat across from Sister Odine. She was a frail-looking woman, somewhere in her late sixties or early seventies he guessed, and as sharp as a tack.
She and the other nuns told him essentially the same thing. Sister Rebecca had been at Vespers and then, as was her usual routine, worked later in her office. Several of the sisters had looked through their windows and seen the lights glowing in the Reverend Mother’s place of business.
It wasn’t all that odd for her to go alone to the cloister gardens or chapel. She’d been a spry woman who existed on few hours of sleep each night. Sister Odine had discovered her body on the way to the chapel early in the morning.
Montoya asked for records of anyone who had visited or called Sister Rebecca over the past two months, and Bentz requested the same of everyone who lived in, or was employed by, Our Lady of Virtues. Some of their questions were deferred to the local parish, others to the Archdiocese, and when they asked for records of employment or admittance to the hospital, Sister Odine opened her mouth, closed it again, then shook her head, her wimple rustling.
“I’m sorry,” she said, “but I have no idea where those might be. You could check with the Archdiocese, of course, and go through whatever we have here, but the hospital has been closed for so many years, I’m not certain those records still exist.” She blinked several times then anxiously touched the crucifix dangling from her neck. “They must, of course. I’ll search for them.”
“An officer will be assigned to help you,” Bentz said, and the little nun’s eyebrows raised over her rimless glasses. Though it was un-stated, she knew that Bentz was doggedly pursuing evidence, that he trusted no one, not even a woman who had pledged her life to the Lord forty years earlier.
They questioned everyone and found out little while the crime-scene techs vacuumed, photographed, videographed, and dusted the scene. As Bentz and Montoya left, the techs were still searching the grounds for trace evidence. So far no one had discovered how the killer had breached the walls of the institution. The gates had been locked, as they had been for the past few years, and the perimeter appeared undisturbed.
Bentz glanced up at the walls. They were certainly not impossible to scale, especially with the use of a ladder, but they’d found no impressions in the mud to indicate that a ladder had been used, nor had they yet discovered any boot-or shoe print. But it was still early.
The killer couldn’t be so lucky.
Not all the time.
Sooner or later, he’d slip up.
Bentz only hoped it happened before another person was butchered.
“For Christ’s sake, Eve! What the hell is he doing here?” Kyle demanded, eyeing Cole as if he were Satan incarnate.
“I was invited,” Cole said, though Eve knew that was a bit of a stretch. “What about you?” He’d made it clear to her more than once that he’d never much cared for either of her brothers. Obviously, he didn’t see any reason to be polite now.
“We’re here because of our father,” Van said as he tossed his cigarette over the railing to sizzle in the dewy grass. He was shorter and fairer than Kyle, his hair straight and dirty blond while Kyle’s was thick and the color of dark coffee. Both of them had inherited the same icy blue eyes of their father, or so Melody Renner had claimed, though Eve had never so much as seen a photograph of the man.
“But this is the guy you accused of murdering Kajak, and now you’re what—?” Kyle ranted. “Sleeping with him? Are you out of your fuckin’ mind?”
“Let’s not get into it out here,” Eve said calmly, stepping out of the doorway to allow her brothers inside. “And keep it clean, would you, Kyle? I have neighbors.”
“For the past three months you claimed that this guy murdered Kajak and tried to kill you!”
“I was wrong.” She slammed the door shut and tried counting to calm down.
“Just like that?” Kyle snapped his fingers while Van looked like he wanted to melt into the floor and disappear. “This is fucking unbelievable.”
“She said to clean it up,” Cole said, bristling, the muscles on the back of his neck rigid.
“So the minute you’re out of my sight, you hook up with this…this killer and lay on your back for him. What kind of weird fantasy are you having now?”
“You’d better leave,” Cole bit out, eyes narrowing, the sizzle of a fight in the air.
“Take your own advice,” Kyle said, his face red, his nostrils flared. He jabbed a finger at the floor. “This was our grandmother’s house, man. You have nothin’ going on here!”
“Enough!” Eve stepped between them. “I think we’ve heard and seen way more testosterone this morning than we want to.” She looked from Kyle to Cole. “Both of you, just back off and take it down a notch or two.”
Kyle muttered tersely, “Don’t be an idiot, Eve. He’s playing you.”
Every muscle in Cole’s body flexed, but his voice was cool, the detached counselor, when he said, “If anyone’s playing anyone, Renner, I figure it must be you. Why are you here now? Because of your old man? Don’t forget, I represented him. I know how close you were. You two boys just rolled into town to pick over his corpse.”
“That’s not the way it is!” Van sputtered, but he was nervous, and when Cole focused on him, Van looked away.
“So, let’s start over,” Eve suggested. “And be civil about it.”
No one said a word for a few seconds. Eve’s brothers eyed the foyer, parlor, and staircase as if they’d never been inside Nana’s old house before. As she shepherded them toward the kitchen, Kyle ran a finger along the top of the hallway wainscoting and Van stared at the pictures, light fixtures, rugs, and furniture as if he were doing a mental tabulation of what it was all worth.
> “Nice place,” Van observed, clearly trying to defuse the situation.
Grateful that the fight had abated, Eve realized it had been years since either of them had set a foot on the ancient floorboards. “We just finished breakfast, but there’s coffee and toast,” she offered.
Cole led the way and somehow managed to scoop up Faith Chastain’s file and place it under a stack of three-month-old magazines.
“Don’t bother,” Kyle said as she reached for cups in the cupboard. He wiggled a finger at her arm in its sling, as if he finally noticed she might be hurt. “What happened?”
“I fell.”
Van glanced at Cole. “Yeah?”
“Over my own two feet,” she said tightly. “A real klutz move, but I can still make and pour coffee.”
“I’m okay,” Kyle said.
“Me too. Coffeed out.” Van nodded. “We’re here about Dad. To see if you need any help with the funeral or the estate.”
“To be honest, I haven’t thought of either yet. The police still haven’t released Dad’s body.”
“How long does that take?”
“Depends. On a lot of things.” Cole picked up an apple from the basket, passing it between both hands, a release of tension. “You can request it, but until the police have all the information and tests they need, you’ll have to wait.” He tossed the apple upward and, without watching it, caught it one-handed. “In a hurry?”
“No need to drag it out.” Kyle reached into his pocket for his cigarettes, shook one out, and jabbed it between his lips. He found his lighter in the same pocket and was about to light up when he caught Eve’s discouraging gaze.
“Oh for the love of God, Eve, you won’t let me smoke? After all the time you stayed at my place?”
“Outside.” She tossed him the phone. “And call your wife while you’re at it. She’s half out of her mind with worry about you.”
“Half out of her mind is about right. That woman!” But he took the phone.
“Call her cell. She’s on her way down here.”
“Oh fu—!” Sending her a dark glance, he hauled the phone and his cigarettes outside.
As the door closed behind him, Van said, “Listen, Eve, I’m sorry I didn’t come and see you more often, you know, while you were recuperating, but I was busy and…well, I know that isn’t much of an excuse, but you know I’ve never really caught a break.” His lips compressed. “Not one damned break. I’ve just been trying to make ends meet. Hell, I even moved to Arizona because an old army buddy of mine said things were booming out there.”
“Not so?” she asked while Cole stood near the window, where he could watch Kyle outside.
“More like a bust. I was about to pull up stakes anyway. I’d already called Kyle.”
“He never said anything.”
“I don’t think he wanted to worry you or Anna.”
Bull, Eve thought but held her tongue.
Van ran a hand through his hair. “So the thing of it is, I’m…”
“Broke,” Cole guessed.
Van nodded, glanced through the window, and frowned. “So the faster we could wrap up Dad’s estate, you know, the better it would be for me. For Kyle. Hell, for you too.”
“I’m not the executor, Van. At least I don’t think so.”
“You don’t have a copy of the will?”
She shook her head.
“Then it must be at his house.” Van brightened at the prospect.
“The farm is a crime scene. I’m not sure the police have released it yet.”
“Jesus, how long does it take?”
“A lot longer than on television,” Cole said.
“So how do we find out about the money? He was loaded.”
“I don’t know anything about it,” she admitted.
“But someone must,” Van insisted. “I could really use the money.”
“Who says you’re entitled to any?” Cole asked. “Terrence might have left everything to charity, for all you know.”
“Nah. He couldn’t. He wouldn’t.” Van seemed almost frantic. He shoved his long hair from his eyes. “Look, Eve, we have to get this settled.”
“We will, when we get into his house and find the will.”
Cole pushed away from the window. “Check with Guy Perrine at O’Black, Sullivan and Kravitz. I’m not sure, but Terrence might have worked with him. You’ll be better off not mentioning my name. I’m still persona non grata down there.”
“And if this person, this Guy, doesn’t have the will?”
Cole’s cool gaze met Van’s anxious one. “Then I guess you’re shit out of luck.”
“Let’s not go there,” Eve said as Kyle pushed the door open so hard it banged against the wall.
“She’s on her way,” he said, glowering at Eve as if all his marital problems were her fault. “And she’s really freaked out about the nun.”
“The nun?” Eve asked blankly.
“The Reverend Mother at Our Lady of Virtues.”
“Sister Rebecca?” Eve’s knees threatened to give out as she read the message in Kyle’s eyes. Something horrible had happened.
Kyle nodded. “That’s the one. Anna Maria says it’s all over the news. Guess she was killed last night.”
CHAPTER 23
Bentz was walking with Montoya toward the cruiser when his cell phone rang. Caller ID showed that Eve Renner was on the other end of the line.
For the first time all morning, he picked up. “Bentz.”
“This is Eve Renner. I just heard the news about Sister Rebecca. He’s struck again, hasn’t he?”
“I can’t discuss the case, Ms. Renner, but I can confirm there’s been a homicide.”
“The news people have identified the victim as the Mother Superior,” Eve went on, and Bentz wondered who had already leaked that information. “I know…you know it’s the same guy. I want to help. I, uh, found something I think you need to see.”
“What?”
“I think you’d better see for yourself.’”
Bentz didn’t like the game-playing. “Okay, where?”
“At the hospital.”
“What hospital?” he asked, but he felt a chill run through his blood as he understood.
“Our Lady of Virtues.”
“I’m already at the campus.”
“Then open the hospital main gate, and I’ll be there in half an hour or so.”
“Can’t you just tell me what this is all about?” Bentz demanded testily.
“It’s complicated, and you’ll want to see it for yourself.”
Her voice was firm, but there was a drip of fear in it. “Believe me, this is important. I also have something you’ll want. Something I took from there,” she said. “Faith Chastain’s medical history.”
“What!”
She hung up. Just like that.
“Son of a bitch!”
Montoya had stopped walking. “What the hell was that all about?”
“I don’t know,” Bentz said, “but I don’t like it.” He moved out of the way as a couple of guys from the coroner’s office hauled a body bag out of the convent. The news crews still stood by, vans and trucks parked along the side of the lane leading toward the convent. Earlier, as he’d examined the cloister, he’d heard the distinctive whoosh of overhead rotors and looked up to spy a news helicopter hovering above, hoping to give the cameraman a better shot of the crime scene.
Bentz realized the newspeople had their place. Hell, sometimes the local stations were instrumental in investigations, posting pictures of wanted criminals or asking the public’s help in finding a suspect or a victim. But today he wanted nothing to do with them.
“Give me a second. I need to get something. I’ll meet you at the car.”
“What?” Montoya called after him, but he didn’t turn around, didn’t understand why he felt compelled to do Eve Renner’s bidding. Maybe it was the sound of desperation, of fear, in her voice. He chided himself as he made his way to the secr
etary’s desk, where a shaken but priggish secretary by the name of Mrs. Miller manned the single telephone. There was a computer on her desk, though most of her notes seemed to have been scribed in perfect cursive by one of the three sharpened pencils that were arranged in a neat row at the edge of her desk blotter.
Wearing a gold cross and an expression that indicated she thought she was guardian to the sanctuary, she wasn’t easily persuaded to find the keys to the old hospital, but when Bentz suggested she might be hampering a homicide investigation and that he could arrest her for it, she blanched and punched the buttons on her phone so quickly her fingers were a blur.
Within five minutes a caretaker arrived with the set of keys. Grudgingly, lips pursed, insisting Bentz return the “order’s property” promptly, Mrs. Miller dropped the keys into Bentz’s outstretched palm.
“Thanks,” he said, then jogged back to the cruiser, only pausing long enough to ask one of the deputies to follow in his car. He didn’t know what kind of show Eve Renner planned to put on at the hospital, but he figured he might need backup to guard the gates and keep the lookie-loos at bay.
“There’s been a leak,” he told Montoya as he settled behind the wheel of the cruiser and handed his partner the keys to the asylum. “The person who called was Eve Renner. From listening to the news, she knows that the victim was Rebecca Renault.”
“Damn!” Montoya slipped out of his jacket and tossed it into the backseat. “So much for notifying next of kin.”
“I think the sheriff’s department is taking care of that. Sister Rebecca has a niece in Cambrai.”
“I hope she found out before she saw it on the news.”
“Me too.” Bentz started the engine.
“The sheriff’s gonna be pissed.”
“He won’t be the only one.”
Bentz rammed the car into reverse and was about to back up when Montoya said, “Hey, wait. Something’s going down.”
Bentz hit the brakes as he saw Sister Odine, holding the huge skirts of her habit high, half running toward his car. Several of the officers standing near the door started to follow her, and a cameraman turned his head and caught the running nun on tape.
