A quick call to Father Fortis’s home community in Ohio had confirmed it. Nick, as Worthy had been invited to call him, had indeed gone to St. Mary of the Snows and arrived a few days before the nun’s body was discovered. It would be the type of coincidence that Father Fortis would call providential.
“You say you want him to stay at St. Mary’s? Why’s that?” the policewoman asked.
Worthy suppressed a smile as Father Fortis pulled out a handkerchief and wiped his brow.
“My dear, you must think I never make sense,” the priest stammered. “Would you be so kind as to remind me of your name?”
“Lieutenant Lacey from the sheriff’s department, Father,” she replied.
“Yes, yes, that’s right. Forgive me, Lieutenant Lacey, but it’s really quite simple. When I received the message that Christopher would be in Santa Fe on a case, I gave in to a very selfish thought. You see, we monks have few opportunities to visit with close friends. I couldn’t see how it would hamper his work if he stayed with us. He’d have use of one of the monastery’s vehicles, and I promise that we go to bed very early. Oh, and did I mention, St. Mary’s is near Santa Fe, just out by Truchas?”
“I know where St. Mary’s is, Father. It’s nearly forty miles from Santa Fe, but since you drove down from there you already know that.”
“Is it really that far, my dear? My, my.”
The policewoman gave Father Fortis a withering look. “What surprises me is St. Mary’s permitting guests right now, especially a homicide detective from Detroit.”
Father Fortis shook his head vigorously. “No, no, please don’t connect my offer with the terrible tragedy. The last thing the police need is a couple of meddling outsiders.”
With the words “meddling outsiders,” Worthy noticed a slight twitch at the corner of the policewoman’s mouth. Yes, it was just as he had protested to his captain back in Detroit. How would we feel if a detective from Santa Fe barged in on one of our cases?
The policewoman seemed to ponder Father Fortis’s explanation, but gave no indication that she was convinced. She reached into her shoulder bag for a folder and handed it to Worthy. “I work Child Protection, Lieutenant, which is why I was assigned this case. The children I look for are usually a lot younger, but Ellie VanBruskman is still technically underage. What’s in there,” she said, nodding toward the folder, “should bring you up to speed on everything we know so far.”
She started toward the exit before looking back over her shoulder. “I assume we’ll see you in the morning after your restful night at St. Mary’s?”
“I’ll be there by nine,” Worthy replied. “I’d like to meet your boss, if that’s possible. I feel a need to explain why I’m here.”
The policewoman faced him. “I can’t promise that everyone’s going to welcome you with open arms, Lieutenant, but Sheriff Cortini is a decent man. Turn around, will you?”
Puzzled, Worthy did so. Something flat pressed against his back, then a sharp point slowly etched down his spine before traversing several times from shoulder to shoulder. As the policewoman continued to draw what Worthy took to be a map, he felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up. It had been a long time since a woman had touched him.
“What about you?” he asked boldly. “Is my being here a problem for you? I mean, it’s really your case.”
The pen stopped its movement. “We were told the girl could be sick. Is that true?” she asked.
Worthy noted that she’d evaded his question. “Is Ellie VanBruskman really sick? Well, we know she was diagnosed about two years ago as bipolar, but we also know she likes to squirrel away her pills. So it’s hard to say if she’s in serious trouble or laughing at us from some motel in Vegas.”
The pressure on his back lifted, and Worthy faced the policewoman.
“Being a mother myself, I tend to assume the worst, Lieutenant,” she said. “Let’s say this girl is sicker than either of us can imagine. That means we have to find her as soon as possible, and who gets the credit doesn’t really matter, does it?”
She handed Worthy the map, nodded toward Father Fortis, and walked out the door. Her suit looked less professional from the back, the skirt stretched tight across her narrow hips as she hurried across to the parking lot. Her hair swayed from shoulder to shoulder, her earrings sparkling in the late-afternoon sun. Just before disappearing behind a concrete pillar on the other side of the road, she glanced back and caught Worthy’s eye.
He blushed, as he had since grade school when the cute girl would make that last check to see if the boys were watching, and so he was surprised by the look on her face. Was it suspicion, or something more?
He turned back toward his bags, saw the bank of telephones to his left, and remembered his promise to Susan. Tomorrow, he thought; tomorrow’s good enough.
He felt Father Fortis’s huge hand slap his shoulder. “The Jeep is parked outside, my friend. What do you say we take a little detour and see where the body was found?”
Chapter Three
The Jeep rumbled along Highway 503, rising from the Rio Grande valley and leaving the noise of the freeway behind. Mountains, many with snow still on them in early June, loomed ahead above the piñon forests.
At the top of a rise, a collection of weather-beaten buildings could be seen.
“That’s Truchas,” Father Fortis explained. “Not much of a town. Little more than a couple bars and an old church, really.”
He thought of his own introduction to Truchas just days before. He’d been on his way into the general store, trying to buy dental floss and mints, when a derelict grabbed him by the pectoral cross hanging from his neck.
“You a priest?” he muttered.
Father Fortis freed the cross from the derelict’s grip. The woven design of a roadrunner on the front of the man’s serape was covered with greasy stains. “Yes, my son. Can I help you in any way?”
The derelict’s eyes had danced as he inspected Father Fortis’s ponytail and long flowing robes before returning to the enamel cross. “You say you’re a father. Not my father,” he said, as he spat at Father Fortis’s feet before crossing the street.
Father Fortis shook off the memory and took his foot off the accelerator to let the Jeep coast. “Get ready for a bumpy ride.”
He turned off the asphalt onto a deeply rutted dirt road that worked its way toward the piñon trees above. Father Fortis fought to keep the Jeep’s narrow wheelbase from falling into the ruts from other vehicles—those of food suppliers, guests, and more recently, police vans.
“I suppose you’ve already taken a look around the place,” Worthy said.
“I’ve been here less than a week, Christopher. So, no, I haven’t.”
The Jeep jogged left at a fork in the road. “But you seem to know where you’re headed, Nick.”
Father Fortis offered a sly smile. “I never said I hadn’t studied maps of the grounds. And by the way, when we get to St. Mary’s, say nothing about our little trip out here, okay?”
“Understood. But they do know I’m a cop, don’t they?”
“Of course. Sometimes the best disguise is the truth. And the truth is that you’re in New Mexico to find a missing college girl.”
“And even if they suspect otherwise, you’re left to poke around while doing your research. How’s the sabbatical going, by the way?”
Father Fortis sighed heavily as he swerved to avoid a boulder in the road. “I can’t say I’ve gotten very far. My research partner, Father Linus, is a bit of an old kook. Our research time together means he’s allowed to talk freely, still a bit of a rarity for Trappist monks. So he talked nonstop at our first meeting this morning. Unfortunately, our project never came up.”
“You came out here to work on some sort of music, as I remember.”
“We’re working on very old music called Roman chant. Ecumenically significant, you might say, given that the chant shows eastern Christian influence. Father Linus wrote the definitive monograph, but that
was decades ago. To be honest, I think he misrepresented matters when we first communicated. You see, he assured me that he was very keen on my particular theory on the problem. He wrote that he found my Orthodox ideas a fresh new angle. I’m sure they were fresh. I don’t think he’s thought about his research in years.”
Coming to an unmarked crossroads, Father Fortis slowed, looking left before turning right onto an even rockier road. At the bottom of a hill, he slowed the Jeep to a crawl before edging through a shallow creek. On the other side, the Jeep bounced along as if on a washboard while Father Fortis craned his neck to follow the tire prints ahead.
“How many ways are there out to the place?” Worthy shouted over the whining motor.
“The retreat house? I saw only the one on the map. I can’t see how anyone could make their way cross-country, can you?”
“No. That means that unless the killer hiked in or came by horseback, he probably used this same road. Did they find any prints at the place?”
Father Fortis shifted into low gear to negotiate a steep rise, propelling rocks, like bullets, off to the side. They were in the thick piñon trees now, and he wondered how even a horse could pass anywhere but on the road. “I’ve heard nothing about prints, but the police have been tight-lipped. I don’t think even the abbot knows exactly what they’ve found.”
The vehicle hit a massive hole, throwing the two men to the right. The Jeep, its transmission whining, lurched out of the pit and climbed toward the next rise.
“Have you read anything about the nun’s murder?” Father Fortis asked.
“A bit. Her body was mutilated, right?”
“Yes, indeed, it was. I’ll show you some photos the abbot gave me. I have to say they’re pretty grisly. You see, she was stabbed repeatedly. First in her back, and then, from what I was told, she was stabbed in the heart.”
“Her heart? Whoa! And she wasn’t sexually assaulted?”
“No, her underclothing was undisturbed. It seems to be a very odd and a very sad murder.”
“They always are, Nick.”
Just when Father Fortis was sure that the side trip had been a mistake, the Jeep rounded a final set of rocks, standing like sentinels, and faced a squat adobe building. A one-story L-shaped structure, with broken log ends protruding from the top, the retreat house made no more sense to the priest now than it had in the photos. It looked more like an old garage from the forties, its small windows set too high on the walls and too opaque to let in much light. There was nothing of the modern lines of St. Mary’s sanctuary here.
Father Fortis brought the Jeep to a full stop. Both men sat for a moment in silence as they studied the odd building before them.
Worthy turned around in his seat and drew a flashlight from his suitcase. “Well, as long as we’re here, I suppose it won’t hurt to take a look around.”
Exiting the Jeep, the two men passed under the yellow tape cordoning off the building. With a handkerchief, Worthy pushed against the building’s wooden door, but it didn’t open.
“See if there’s a screwdriver in the Jeep, will you, Nick?”
Father Fortis returned to the vehicle and rummaged through a toolbox.
“Here’s one,” he called to Worthy as he jogged back.
“I think the lock is only an old latch on the inside.” Worthy pushed against the door again, creating a slight opening. With one upward thrust of the screwdriver, he sprung the primitive lock.
Instead of following Worthy into the gloomy retreat house, Father Fortis paused for a moment to study a statue of the Blessed Virgin, arms outstretched, that stood guard in the dirt yard. From the canyon below, darkness rose like mist. He crossed himself and said a brief prayer for the woman who’d died inside. From the ghastly photos, he recalled the look of bewilderment on Sister Anna’s face. What words had she prayed as she looked into her killer’s eyes? Did she know that face?
He tried to recall the faces of the twenty-nine professed monks of St. Mary’s, plus the three younger novices and the one old hermit. Could one of them have come out to this remote retreat house, a good twenty miles from the monastery itself, without being missed? Or had the killer been someone from outside, perhaps a guest who’d visited the monastery over the past two months? If so, how would a guest know of this place?
As if he’d been listening in on his thoughts, Worthy called out from inside the building, “A nun living with a bunch of monks is a bit odd, isn’t it?”
Father Fortis entered the door and walked down a hallway toward Worthy’s flashlight beam. “I don’t know much more than what was in the paper. About two months ago, Sister Anna returned with the abbot from his pastoral visit to one of St. Mary’s foundations.”
“What’s a foundation?”
“In this case, it’s a convent, a daughter house in Oklahoma under the spiritual care of Abbot Timothy. What Father Linus told me was that when Sister Anna arrived at St. Mary’s, she could barely walk and only spoke in whispers. Everyone thought she was sick.”
Something metal hit the floor in the room in front of him, causing Father Fortis to jump.
“Sorry, Nick. Just an old shovel. I’m over here.”
Father Fortis moved into a second room and found Worthy aiming the flashlight around the perimeter of the room. The beam illuminated the crease where the wall met the floor, but aside from a small wagon filled with potted plants, the room seemed bare.
“Susan sends her greetings, by the way,” Worthy said. “Actually, she asked me to give you a hug, but don’t hold your breath.”
“It would be nice to finally meet her someday. That way I won’t confuse her with policewomen. But I hope she’s well. More importantly, how is Allyson?”
“I’m not sure what I can tell you about Allyson,” Worthy replied. “I solve mysteries for a living, but that daughter of mine is unsolvable. I guess I’m too close to things. And Susan can’t take her eyes off her when I’m around. I guess she’s afraid I’m going to say something, and Allyson is going to bolt for the door again.”
“But that’s how you got this missing-person’s case, right?”
Worthy grunted an assent.
“That’s a bit of a change for you,” Father Fortis added.
Worthy gave a sharp laugh. “You mean it’s beneath me, don’t you? The truth is that I managed somehow to solve a high-profile case four months ago and got my name back in the paper. Now I’m a departmental trophy, Nick, something that’s safer if kept on the shelf. They’re afraid I’ll dent the shiny finish if I’m given another real case. Hello, what’s this?” Worthy’s flashlight beam had moved to the center of the room to two dark stains, eight feet apart.
“Your nun must have bled to death right here, but I’m guessing from this trail that she was stabbed over there.” He aimed the beam at a smaller spot near an empty altar. “Now, was there a struggle, or was she dragged unconscious to where I’m standing?”
Father Fortis bent down and looked at the stains, then at the thin maroon line leading back to the center of the room. “So much blood. It’s hard to believe a frail body could hold so much.”
“That’s what you get when you puncture the heart.”
Father Fortis rose to his feet, only to feel a wave of nausea rise as well. “Christopher, I’m feeling a little woozy.”
“Sorry, Nick. I assumed you’d seen all this in the photos. Kneel down and put your head between your knees.”
Father Fortis obeyed, but it took a few moments for his head to stop spinning. “Those were just photos, Christopher. This is a bit too real.” He turned so that he couldn’t see the stains and took several deep breaths.
“When you can, tell me what you remember from the photos, Nick. Besides the body, what else was here when the police first arrived?”
Careful to stay clear of the stains, Father Fortis picked up Worthy’s flashlight, shining the beam from one wall to the other. In a recessed alcove were white planks and old shelves with books stacked haphazardly.
&n
bsp; “I think the shelves and books are the same in the photos. There were also bits of paper, like confetti, strewn all over the floor. The police must have all that.”
“And the body, what did she look like?”
Father Fortis closed his eyes, trying to recall the photos, but all he could think about was the young woman dying in this very spot, with her last breath crying out, asking “why” of her killer, or perhaps of God. He’d been told at the monastery that Sister Anna had been on retreat to pray for guidance, to try to discern the path ahead. Instead, her path had ended in this pool of blood.
“Sorry, Christopher, I don’t seem to remember the details. Can’t this wait until you see the photos in my room?”
“No, Nick, it can’t. I don’t mean to be a jerk about it, but we’re here now, and who knows if we’ll ever be back? Just tell me anything that comes to mind. God knows, the local guys purged this place.”
Father Fortis took another deep breath. “As I said, there was confetti everywhere, even on her. Wait a minute,” he added, looking up. “I think she was also holding something in one of her hands.”
Worthy smiled. “Good, good, Nick. What was it?”
“I’m not sure. It could have been another piece of paper—only it wasn’t shredded.”
“Huh. It would be nice to know what that was.”
Father Fortis felt another wave of vertigo and closed his eyes again until the spinning stopped.
Worthy took the flashlight back and bent down to inspect a small area to the left of the larger stains. “Nick, look at this.”
Father Fortis looked down. “I don’t see anything.”
“I wonder if the local guys caught this. There’s a single nick in the floor, and it’s fresh. See how much cleaner the wood is in the cavity?”
“Her fingernails, maybe?” Father Fortis asked.
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