by Aimée Thurlo
“Go ahead, Sister Bernarda,” he answered. “Just give me a list so I can enter it in the books.”
“Thanks,” she said and left, closing the door behind her to give them the privacy Sister Agatha had asked for.
“Okay, ’fess up, Sister. What’s on your mind? Something to do with Sheriff Green’s situation, right?” Smitty asked, scooting his chair closer.
Sister Agatha laughed. “I didn’t think I was that easy to read, but you nailed it.” As she told him about Scout and the possibility that he’d witnessed something, she saw Smitty’s expression change.
“I know who you’re talking about, Sister, but I have no idea how you’re going to track him down. He’s a very troubled man—and with reason.”
“What can you tell me about him?”
“His name’s Daniel Perea, and he used to live a normal life in this community. The family owned a video rental store and seemed to make a decent living. That was about ten years ago, if my memory’s correct.”
“What could happen to a man to turn his life so upside down?”
“You mean how did he become Scout?” Seeing her nod, he continued. “Daniel always had a problem with alcohol. One evening he was behind the wheel and got into an accident. His wife and two kids were in the car with him, and they were all killed. Daniel was drunk at the time and somehow managed to survive it all without a scratch,” Smitty added.
He shook his head slowly. “After that, Daniel fell apart. He drowned himself in a bottle, lost his business, then his home. Eventually, he ended up on the street and disappeared for a few years. He came back last March, still a transient. He lives in the bosque and roams the backstreets, mostly in the early mornings and evenings. He survives thanks to some of us who make sure he gets something to eat.” After a long pause, he added, “Daniel—the man he used to be—is long gone. I don’t think he even recognizes his name anymore. I’ve never seen him with a bottle, so I think his demons have conspired to take away his memories. Scout’s all that remains.”
“Have you ever tried talking to him one-on-one? If he knew you once . . .”
“I know what you’re thinking, that maybe I could reach him. Unfortunately, I’ve already tried—and failed. I know he usually comes around late to pick up sandwiches and whatever else I leave out on the windowsill for him,” Smitty said. “That’s why I decided to hang around one night. I figured he and I would talk, but the second he saw me, he bolted. Then I tried leaving him a note and a pencil and pad, asking him to write me back. I got nowhere with that either.”
“I’m really sorry to hear it,” Sister Agatha said, wishing for everyone’s sake that things could have been different.
“One morning I came around the corner and saw him up close,” Smitty said in a hushed tone. “His gaze was completely blank, Sister Agatha. Daniel’s not home anymore. All that’s left is madness, coupled with the survival instincts of a wild animal.”
“Would you mind if I hung around here some night and waited for him to show up?” she asked him.
He considered it, then answered her. “I’d rather you didn’t. Once he spots you, he may be too afraid to stop by and get his food. Then he’ll go hungry, and I’d hate to see that happen.”
“Maybe I can back him into a corner—”
“Bad idea,” Smitty said resolutely. “Like a wild animal, he might panic and strike out. Is talking to him really that important to you?”
“Yes,” she answered simply.
“Then give me a chance to think about this some more. I’d hate to scare him off for good. He needs to eat, Sister, and I’m in a position to help him with that.” He paused for a long moment, a faraway look on his face. “When I was growing up in the south valley, we were dirt poor. Six of us lived in a rented two-bedroom mobile home. If it wasn’t for food stamps, we would have starved. When I see someone like Scout, I can’t turn away. I still remember what it was like to try to sleep when your stomach’s so empty it hurts.”
“You have a good heart, Smitty, and God has blessed you in so many ways because of that. As soon as you come up with a plan, let me know,” Sister Agatha said, going to the door.
Smitty followed her into the store. “For now, you might find it helpful to talk to the man who just came in.”
“Who are you talking about?” Sister Agatha asked, looking around at the customers and past the full shopping carts near two busy cashiers.
“See the tall guy in the tan sports coat browsing in the deli sandwich cooler? That’s Frank Marquez, a detective for the state police. He was just put in charge of the Robert Garcia case. The mayor insisted that someone outside the sheriff’s department handle the investigation.”
“I know Frank, but I had no idea he was running the investigation,” Sister Agatha said. Interestingly enough, chances were good that Al Russo had known about this when they’d spoken earlier but had chosen to keep her in the dark. “Thanks for the tip. I’ll go talk to him.”
As she walked over, Marquez turned and gave her a taut smile. “Mary—uh, sorry, Sister Agatha. I was wondering how soon it would be before you and I ran into each other,” he said.
“And here we are!” Sister Agatha said pleasantly. “You’re looking well, Frank.” He’d never looked anything but fit. A former all-star jock, he’d been a man’s man from day one.
He laughed. “I’m looking old—but you know, despite the habit, you haven’t changed that much since the days when your brother and I hung around together.”
The memories made her eyes grow misty with tears, and she had to look away and compose herself before finding her voice again. “You and Kevin spent hours working on your motorcycles in the driveway or in the shade of that cottonwood.”
“You were always there, too. You liked working on bikes as much as we did. You didn’t mind getting oil on your sleeves or dirt under your fingernails.”
Memories crowded her mind. She’d adored her big brother and would have cheerfully gone with him to the ends of the earth—but ultimately he’d gone to a place where she couldn’t follow. His death had come after a long, hard illness, and the ravages of grief had eventually led her into the arms of God. Only by drawing closer to Him had she been able to rise above her sorrow and find purpose in her life again.
“Now here we are,” she said softly.
He nodded. “You and Tom are good friends, so I know that telling you to leave this case alone is a waste of time—but here’s a word of warning. This is my investigation, and I won’t tolerate anyone undermining or interfering with my job. If you find out anything relevant, I want you to tell me immediately. If I find out you’ve withheld evidence, I’ll throw the book at you—my friendship with you and your brother notwithstanding.”
The words didn’t surprise her. They were typical of Frank, who’d practically raised his three brothers alone. After the death of their father, his mother had sunk into an alcoholic’s version of hell. Frank had then stepped up to do what had to be done. If Frank could be said to have a trademark, it was that he never let a challenge go unanswered. Frank, simply put, was a man to whom strength meant survival. He’d chosen the right job.
“I would never keep evidence from the police, Frank. You don’t have to worry about that. I just want to help you uncover the truth,” she said, then added in a gentle voice, “We all went to high school together, and you’re Tom Green’s friend, too. How can you possibly believe Tom’s guilty of murder?”
“I have information you don’t, and unfortunately it doesn’t look so good for Tom, Sister,” he said in a voice so quiet it was almost a whisper. “I know you want to poke around, but by doing that you’re making some serious enemies.”
“It won’t be the first time,” she answered. “Good thing I have a powerful ally.” She pointed upward to heaven.
6
MARQUEZ PAID FOR THE SANDWICH HE’D SELECTED, then left in the black-and-white state police unit. A second later, Smitty joined her at the door.
“You don�
��t look happy,” he commented.
“I’m afraid for Tom,” she admitted. “The Garcia family wants someone to hang for this, and Tom’s the obvious target.”
“You didn’t tell Marquez about Scout, did you?”
Sister Agatha looked at him and blinked. “No, we never got around to that. At this point, I’m not even sure Scout saw anything. If I find out differently, of course I’ll pass it on.”
Smitty nodded, but before he could answer, a tall, stylishly dressed brunette wearing an overload of fine Zuni-style turquoise and silver jewelry approached them.
“You’re Sister Agatha, right?” she asked, glaring though yellow-tinted designer glasses.
Sister Agatha nodded. “Yes, can I help you?”
“I’m Elena Mora, a friend of Victoria Garcia’s, and I just wanted to say shame on you, Sister! People trust you because of the habit you wear and what you represent. By helping the guilty, you’re not only undermining law enforcement in our community, you’re siding with the devil.”
“You’re badly misinformed, ma’am. I’m searching for the truth and taking care not to condemn anyone on circumstantial evidence alone. Nobody but Our Lord knows what really happened last night—not me, and certainly not you.”
“Putting a different spin on the facts isn’t going to excuse the sheriff for what he did, Sister.”
“Are you really so sure that he’s guilty? Unless you were an eyewitness, you should wait for the facts before you judge—and condemn.”
“You’re the one who refuses to see what’s right there in front of your face,” she said. “Also, Sister, there’s something you might want to keep in mind before you muddy the waters. Your monastery depends on donations to get by, and the people in this town want to see justice—not watch a killer set free.”
“Then we’re in agreement. I want to find a killer, too, and that can’t be done with a closed mind.”
“Sheriff Green is the killer. Wake up, Sister.”
As the woman walked away, Smitty gave Sister Agatha a worried frown. “You’re going to have to be careful, Sister. A lot of people are indebted to the Garcias in one way or another. That includes me, too, by the way.”
“You?”
“Yeah, I got into a financial bind a few years ago, and thanks to JD’s character reference I was able to get a loan.”
“I’m glad he helped you—but the mayor’s not my enemy, Smitty. If anyone deserves to learn the truth about how Robert died, it’s his family.” She paused and took a breath. “Believe me, I’m going to find the answers even if I have to pursue this case twenty-four hours a day.”
Smitty’s eyes narrowed. “That hurry you’re in . . . it’s not just the murder, is it? I’ve had the feeling that there’s something you’re not telling me. You and Sister Bernarda haven’t been your usual cheerful selves lately, and your shopping habits have changed, too. What’s going on? If I can help, all you have to do is ask.”
“We’re trying to work out some problems at home, that’s all,” she said vaguely. “As soon as I can, I’ll tell you all about it.”
Eager to avoid more questions, Sister Agatha went to meet Sister Bernarda, who’d already gone outside and was standing on the sidewalk.
“Come on. Let’s go,” Sister Agatha said, walking quickly back to the car.
“What’s your hurry?” Sister Bernarda asked.
Sister Agatha filled her in as soon as they got under way.
Sister Bernarda exhaled loudly. “It’s hard to hide what’s never far from our minds.”
Sister Agatha nodded. “Speaking of our move, why don’t we stop at the Ship and Mail Store on the way home? The manager offered us some sturdy boxes when I mentioned that we were in the middle of packing away some office supplies.”
“We can use whatever she has to spare,” Sister Bernarda said with a nod.
“Our computers will need to be double boxed in order to make the move to Agnus Dei safely,” Sister Agatha said. “That statue of the Blessed Mother in Reverend Mother’s office, too, will need special handling.”
“I think most of our statues will probably end up in St. Augustine’s chapel here in town. It looks like Father Mahoney is going to get the funds for the renovation he wanted.”
“Where did you hear that?” Sister Agatha said.
“At the mayor’s house. His wife said that the Garcias intend to make a big donation so the chapel can become a permanent memorial to Robert—bronze plaque and everything.”
“That family’s reach extends far and wide, doesn’t it?” Sister Agatha asked, not expecting an answer.
Bernalillo was a small town, so it took less than five minutes for them to reach the Ship and Mail right across from city hall. The second they walked inside, Sister Agatha felt the change in the air. Conversations stopped abruptly, people stared for a moment, then voices began again, hushed, like people talking in the back row of church.
Sister Agatha spotted Kris Anderson, the owner, behind the register. The redhead’s usual friendly smile was missing today.
“Good afternoon, Kris!” Sister Agatha said brightly. “We came to pick up those boxes you set aside for us.”
“Sister Agatha, I’m sorry, but we had to recycle every last one of them. We can’t help you,” she said in a monotone.
Kris glanced quickly at a man standing at the counter several feet away. Sister Agatha followed her gaze and saw Monty Allen, Robert Garcia’s business partner, attaching a label to a carton.
A moment later, Allen brought the box over and set it in front of Kris. “It’s ready to go,” he said. Giving Sisters Agatha and Bernarda an excessively polite nod, he headed out the door.
The second Allen left, the atmosphere in the room changed. Almost as if a collective sigh of relief had gone around, voices suddenly rose, and Kris flashed Sister Agatha a smile.
“I’m really sorry about being so abrupt, Sister. With Monty here, I couldn’t afford to look too friendly.”
“It’s okay,” Sister Agatha assured her. “I understand. Any friend of Sheriff Green’s is the enemy right now.”
“Unfortunately, yes—and the last person I want to cross right now is the man the Garcias are thinking of supporting in the race for sheriff. He’ll be a write-in candidate, of course.”
“When was all that decided?” Sister Agatha asked, surprised.
“My sister works at the mayor’s office. She overheard Al Russo reminding JD that if Sheriff Green managed to avoid being charged with a crime, he was now unopposed and guaranteed four more years in office. JD went ballistic and called Monty Allen. The man has the qualifications, apparently. He served with the Albuquerque Police Department for twenty years, the last ten as a detective.”
“Do you think there are many people out there who still believe Sheriff Green is innocent?”
“Yeah, I do, but the Garcias make a lot more noise.”
“Now that the coast is clear, do you think you can find any of those boxes for us?” Sister Bernarda asked.
Kris smiled and nodded. “Sure. Just go out back to the loading dock. They’re there against the wall, folded, stacked, and tied together with twine.”
Sister Bernarda and Sister Agatha drove the Antichrysler to the back loading dock and saw Kris’s teenaged daughter, Jaime, waiting at the door.
While they worked getting the boxes into the back of the large station wagon, Jaime didn’t say a word. Sister Agatha wondered about it, but trying to load all the boxes became quite a chore. It wasn’t until Sister Agatha went up the steps one last time to ask Jaime to thank her mother that the girl finally spoke.
“We depend on this city’s business to stay open, Sister Agatha. Please don’t put my mom on the spot again by asking for help. Okay?” Without waiting for an answer, Jaime closed the door behind her.
“Sister Agatha, you need to see this,” Sister Bernarda said. “Can you come over?”
Sister Agatha joined her by the driver’s side door. “What’s wrong?”
>
“This was on the seat,” she said, handing Sister Agatha a scribbled note that read, Answers come at a price.
“Exactly what do you think that means?” Sister Bernarda asked. “Are they telling us to stop asking questions, or offering to sell answers to us?”
“I’m not sure,” Sister Agatha answered.
“Should we stop by the sheriff’s department and turn it in?”
Sister Agatha considered it, then shook her head. “No, there’s no direct threat involved, and right now they’ve got their hands full. Let’s hang on to it, though.”
“All right, then. Let’s go home.”
“Excellent idea,” Sister Agatha answered.
Long after the Great Silence had begun, Sister Agatha sat alone at one of the few computers that hadn’t been packed away. With so much going on, she hadn’t even bothered to check e-mail. Despite the long list of ads that still managed to slip past their antispam software, one e-mail caught her immediate attention. It was from State Police Detective Frank Marquez.
As she opened it, Sister Bernarda came into the scriptorium wordlessly. Sister Agatha nodded to her, turned her attention to the letter, and gasped. Instantly, Sister Bernarda came over and began reading over her shoulder.
Frank’s letter—what he was calling a “courtesy” to Kevin’s sister—let her know that news that Tom’s hand had tested positive for gunpowder residue had been leaked to the press.
Sister Agatha considered it in silence. Either someone at the sheriff’s department couldn’t be trusted, or the information had come from the killer himself.
She sat back. The person who’d framed Tom knew about forensics, so it was likely that he also knew the damage that leaking incriminating information could do. The frame was on, and Tom was being tried in the courts of public opinion.
Sister Agatha fought to keep her spirits up. Maybe Tom’s blood had been tested by now. If he’d been drugged, as they suspected, those positive test results would add credence to his own explanation—that of a third person at the scene. That extra footprint and confirmation of a knockout drug in his system would mean that there were at least two irrefutable facts in his favor.
