Thief in Retreat

by Aimée; David Thurlo

  She purposely didn’t tell him that before she’d become a nun she’d been an investigative reporter and journalism professor. A lot of police officers didn’t trust the press or media, and she wanted to help her case, not hurt it.

  “An extra set of eyes and a very sharp mind,” Tom said, glancing at Sheriff Barela and then nodding approvingly in Sister Agatha’s direction. “What do you have to lose?“

  “Not a damn thing, it seems,” Barela said, then stopped. “Sorry, Sister.”

  “That’s all right.”

  At Barela’s suggestion they searched the rest of the house before going down to the root cellar. They checked everywhere, but as the sheriff had said, there was precious little to sort through. Miller had had few personal possessions that were not associated with his art or his job as handyman, and he seemed to have taken many of those with him.

  “The thing that gets me is that he not only stole from the Lu-nas, he also stole from this community;“ Barela said. “I’d like to think that the little statue of Our Lady of Sorrows will miraculously find its way back here, but my guess is that it’ll end up with a collector.”

  “You’re probably right about that,” Tom said.

  “If I ever find Bill Miller, I’ll squeeze the answers out of-that hack artist. If all he’d done was steal money, I wouldn’t have stayed on this case and worked so hard, but that little bulto gives a lot of poor people around her hope and I’m going to do my best to get it back.”

  As soon as they concluded the search, Barela walked off to his vehicle. Sister Agatha watched him go, lost in thought, then turned to look at Tom. “Did you gather a sample of blood from the floor here to test?“

  “Yeah and I handed it over to Barela the other morning. If it belongs to Bill and also matches the blood on the hide painting— and what was collected at the crime scene back in 1976—that’ll prove Miller is one of the original thieves. I’d tell Barela right now about all that, but it wouldn’t do any good because we don’t know for certain that the blood sample we took from the floor is Bill’s. We won’t be able to match DNA until we catch up to him. But we’ll have motive if Bill’s fingerprints are the ones in the blood. He had to get them off the artifacts even if it meant stealing them again, now.

  “Bill couldn’t afford to be linked to art theft and fraud because it would have killed his career,” Tom continued. “No gallery or museum would have wanted to be associated with him. That could explain why he risked everything so close to his show—he had everything to lose.”

  They remained silent for a while after that, each lost in their own thoughts as they entered the lobby of the main house. “I better see how Gloria’s doing,” Tom said. “I’ll catch up to you later.”

  Sister Agatha gave him a halfhearted good-bye wave. Her body ached, and she knew it was time for more pills. At least there’d be no need to patrol tonight, not once the pieces the thief would most likely be interested in were located and secured. She led Pax back to the library and was unlocking the door when Mrs. Mora came up to her.

  “Sister, may I speak to you?“

  “Of course,” Sister Agatha said. “Come into the library.”

  As they sat down, Sister Agatha could see that Mrs. Mora was extremely nervous. In her heart, she’d already ruled the elderly housekeeper out as a possible thief, so her behavior puzzled her.

  “Sister, I have a problem, and I’m just not sure how to fix this. I’ve never had anything like this happen to me before....”

  “What’s happened?“

  Mrs. Mora’s hands were folded on her lap, and Sister Agatha could see that the women’s knuckles had turned pearly white from strain. Curious, she waited for Mrs. Mora to explain.

  “When I first came to work for Mr. Luna, he did what he could to make the housekeeping staff comfortable. For one thing, he gave us each a large locker that we could use for our coats and purses, or to store an extra change of clothing. This morning I decided to clean mine, since the police made such a mess when they were searching the other day. And that’s when I found this.” She reached into the deep pocket of her skirt and brought out a small package. Mrs. Mora unwrapped it carefully, revealing a statue of a woman clothed in a long, hooded black robe. She was holding a bow, but the arrow was missing.

  “What is it?“

  Mrs. Mora pulled back the edge of the figure’s robe, revealing an intricately carved skeleton beneath. “It’s one of the missing items—the statue of Dona Sebastiana. She’s the symbol of death.”

  18

  ASSUMING SISTER AGATHA DIDN’T UNDERSTAND, MRS. Mora took a deep breath and explained, “She’s meant to remind us of man’s mortality. In this area of New Mexico, she plays a big part in the penances of Holy Week.”

  “Sebastiana?“ Sister Agatha looked at the little figure that was the source of the arrow that had been left with the threatening note she’d received. “Is her story related to the martyrdom of Saint Sebastian?“ she asked, knowing that saint had been killed with arrows.

  “I don’t know. The figure has been around as far back as anyone can remember.”

  Sister Agatha pulled out the list she’d made of the items that had been stolen originally from the monastery and confirmed that Dona Sebastiana was listed there. As Sister Agatha took the figure from Mrs. Mora and turned it around in her hands, she saw a section at the bottom that appeared to have been sanded and restained. This supported their theory that the reason the new wave of thefts had started was so that any damning fingerprints could be removed.

  For months or maybe even years, they’d been replaced with replicas, but once that ruse—intended to cover the thefts—had been discovered, no more attempts had been made by the criminals to conceal their activity.

  “Why don’t you just return it to Mr. Luna?“ Sister Agatha said gently.

  “I’m not stupid. He knows that 1 sometimes forget and misplace things, or even start to take them with me before I remember having them. If he thinks I took this, he’ll never trust me again.”

  Sister Agatha shook her head. “No, too many other things have happened. He’ll know this isn’t your doing.” She paused, gathering her thoughts. “Who has access to the room where the lockers are—besides the staff, that is?“

  “Anyone, really. Every once in a blue moon one of the guests gets lost and somehow ends up in there, like Mr. Whitman. I remember running into him when I stopped by for cleaning supplies.”

  “Did he mention what he was doing there?“

  “He said that he’d been exploring the old parts of the building and had taken a wrong turn somewhere.”

  To Sister Agatha, that kept Paul on the suspect list. “Did you see him near the lockers?“

  “No, he was looking out the window when I came in. He told me he was trying to get his bearings. Then, more recently, I saw Mr. Delancy there. That was yesterday, I think, or maybe the day before.”

  “Was he alone, too?“ Sister Agatha asked.

  “Yes. He said that he was just looking around, playing private eye. He said that he was more than happy to pit his own intelligence against any flatfoot or back-alley larcenist. Then he laughed. I’m not sure what he was talking about—we don’t even have an alley here.”

  “Did you see anyone else around there?“ Sister Agatha asked.

  “No.”

  “The lockers aren’t locked?“

  “Most aren’t. The housekeeping staff is small and we trust each other.”

  Sister Agatha tried to hand the figure back to her, but Mrs-Mora stepped away. “I don’t want to touch her again. She’s bad luck. I was hoping you’d give her to Mr. Luna for me and tell him what happened.”

  “How often do you check your locker?“

  “Not very often. I have no idea how long that’s been in there, if that’s what you’re asking. Maybe since it disappeared.”

  “I’ll speak to Ernie and give him the statute, so don’t worry, okay?“

  Mrs. Mora stood to leave. “Thank you, Siste
r. That statue makes my skin crawl, and I didn’t want to keep it one second longer than necessary.”

  Sister Agatha looked down at the figure. It was an ugly little thing, with the face of a skeleton, but she had no problem handling it. She recalled the real human skull in the refectory back home meant to remind the nuns that they were all mortal. In comparison, Dona Sebastiana was a real party animal.

  Making sure Pax had fresh water, and kibble in his food dish, she left him in the library, not bothering to lock it with the dog on guard. As she walked down the hall, she noticed that the building was quiet now. Nearly everyone had retired to their rooms, and the polite seemed to have finally run out of places to search.

  Sister Agatha made her way directly to Ernie’s office and found him there with Ginny. Both Lunas looked up from their work when she knocked on the wooden trim of the doorway.

  Sister Agatha returned the figure to him, explaining what had happened. “Once the police get through with it, you can add the missing arrow to it,” she said, remembering the threatening note and the arrow that had fastened it to her bag.

  “You know, I don’t doubt that Mrs. Mora’s telling you the truth,” Ernie said. “Maybe Bill was using her locker to stash things, knowing that her absentmindedness would cut her some slack if the stuff was found there.”

  “That’s possible,” Sister Agatha said.

  “You mentioned that Mrs. Mora said something about having seen Tim Delancy and Paul Whitman near the staff lockers?“ Ginny asked.

  “Yes, but don’t jump to conclusions,” Sister Agatha said. “Be patient a little longer. We’re getting very close to the truth.”

  Her duty done, Sister Agatha went back to the library and, after locking the hall door, took Pax for a short, uneventful walk. Too restless to sleep, she started a novena for everyone at The Retreat—the guilty and the innocent alike—knowing that they were all God’s children.

  She was deep in prayer when she heard a knock on the open door leading into the hall. She jumped, startled, and saw Pax greeting Tom with wagging tail.

  “When did you learn to walk so softly?“ Sister Agatha asked.

  “I didn’t. I think you were just completely engrossed in your prayers. Good thing you’ve got Pax to watch out for you.”

  “Amen to that.” Sister Agatha stood and stretched, then glanced at some of the books she’d left out of the crates, wanting to hand-carry them. “The crates have been filled with surprises. Did you know that I actually found a handwritten manuscript of Latin chants?“

  “Latino chants, huh? Cool.”

  “No, you dummy. Gregorian chants—in Latin.”

  He grinned. “I know. I was just giving you a hard time. I can’t see the monks salsa dancing in the parlor.”

  “Heathen.”

  “So my wife tells me.” He sat down. “Can you take a break?“

  “Sure.” She sat on the floor and looked at him. “What’s on your mind?“

  “I decided to postpone talking to Barela about the fingerprint on the artifacts, and the blood. Instead I went by the sheriff’s department and started talking with the good ole boys. That usually gets me further than going the direct route.”

  “Did you find out anything interesting?“

  He nodded. “Something really odd is going on. Several fingerprints belonging to Sheriff Barela turned up at the gatehouse.”

  “So what? He was in there searching the crime scene.”

  Tom shook his head. “Think back. Law enforcement people searching a crime scene are required to wear latex gloves. He didn’t break that protocol the entire time that I was with him—at least up until the time the search for prints had been completed.”

  “So that means that he’d been in the gatehouse before. But remember that he and Bill knew each other while growing up around here. It wouldn’t have been out of line for him to drop by for a visit.”

  “I know that, but from everything we’ve heard, they were hardly buddies. Just having his fingerprints show up there isn’t enough to prove anything, but it does raise questions.”

  “What about other prints?“

  “There were several that they couldn’t match. I asked them to fax copies of those to my office back in Bernalillo. I told the deputy that we had a new program that could cut some corners and even link to Homeland Security and military databases,” he said with a sheepish smile.

  “I get from your tone that you don’t?“

  He burst out laughing. “On our budget? I’m lucky we have a computer system at all. I just needed an excuse to forward the prints to a friend of mine in the Albuquerque Police Department. They have the setup needed to see if Whitman, Delancy, and Ernie’s prints are on file somewhere, and to try to match them with the unknowns.”

  “How long will it take to get an answer?“

  “Already got one. All three men had left prints at the gatehouse.”

  “I expect at least one set of the unknowns belongs to me. I delivered a dinner tray to him once and stayed to talk. Ginny’s might well be there, too,” Sister Agatha said.

  “I have more news.”

  “The bloody fingerprint on the wood frame is Miller’s?“

  Tom nodded. “I believe so, since it matches the most common print taken from the gatehouse. But as I told you, Miller doesn’t have his prints on file.”

  “I guess we’ll have to wait on the blood?“

  “Yeah. That’s all we’ve got right now. If we haven’t learned anything new by tomorrow night, I’m turning everything over to Barela. It’s his case,” Tom replied.

  “I’m not sure that’s a good idea. I assume the bloody fingerprint can’t belong to Barela, because his would be on file. But what if he’s the second thief and that’s his blood on the artifacts? You can’t rule him out because he’s the local sheriff,” she pointed out.

  “That’s the only reason I’m waiting another twenty-four hours. I’m hoping to turn up something more conclusive in the interim.”

  “I think we’re nearly out of time, Tom. Miller and his accomplice are under the gun now. They have to steal or get rid of the remaining art—at least those taken before—and they have to do it soon, before the museum gets hold of the pieces. That blood could be the key.” She paused, then added, “Do any people who aren’t criminals also have their DNA on record in a police database somewhere?“

  “Sure, but it’s not common.”

  “Bill Miller has a lot to lose, yet he obviously got involved. Maybe his current partner—and his partner back in nineteen-seventy-six—is in the same situation.”

  “It’s entirely possible.” Tom crossed his arms across his chest.

  “The trick is that we need to do more than just catch the thieves. We also have to recover the pieces, especially Our Lady of Sorrows. That piece belongs here.” She remained silent for several long moments, then finally spoke. “You know what? We need a sting operation.”

  Tom shook his head. “Those can be risky.”

  “Not if they’re handled right. We’ve got three main suspects to eliminate—Sheriff Barela, Tim Delancy, and Paul Whitman. I really think we can drop Ernie Luna and his wife from that roster. They both have much more to lose if The Retreat closes down than they would have to gain by the thefts. And they were in a position to clean up the fingerprints themselves all along.”

  “All true. So what do you have in mind?“ Tom asked.

  “From what I’ve learned, Sheriff Barela enjoys being the center of attention. So if Ernie calls and asks him to come over tonight and talk to the workshop guests about the status of the investigation, I’m sure he would. It would be good PR for him.”

  “Then what?“

  “We get creative.”

  Tom groaned. “What exactly do you have in mind?“

  She smiled. “It’s simple, and that’s why it’ll work.”

  Leaving Pax on guard in the library, Sister Agatha went outside to the bancos she knew Whitman frequented after dinner. A few moments lat
er Paul arrived.

  “Hello, Sister,” he said, lifting the brandy snifter in his hand in greeting. “What a pleasant surprise. What brings you out here?“

  She exhaled softly and launched into her planned speech. “Something’s been bothering me, and I was hoping the night air would help me figure it out.”

  “Would you like me to go elsewhere so you can have your pri-vacy?“

  “No, actually, I could use someone to talk to.”

  “Okay,” he said, sitting beside her. “I’m a good listener.”

  “I’ve been looking into the thefts because the stolen pieces were Church property.”

  “What’s there to worry about now? I thought the sheriff had pretty much determined that Miller was the thief.”

  “Please don’t breathe a word of this to anyone, but I’ve learned that there’s reason to believe he has an accomplice,” she said, explaining how she’d discovered that the items missing now had been stolen and returned many years ago. “It’s possible that the blood and fingerprints that were left on those objects then can help us identify the other thief now, thanks to new technology.”

  “But why would Bill care after all these years? It doesn’t make sense. Rather than get identified for a crime he couldn’t have been arrested for anymore, you think he committed a new crime?“

  “You don’t understand. Poor Bill must have felt really trapped. He had his reputation as a new and upcoming artist to protect. His partner, too, must have known he’d be hauled through the mud once the story came out. And there’s the greed factor. Several of the pieces that were stolen have been replaced with copies. Miller or his partner probably cleaned off the evidence, then decided to sell the pieces.”

  She shook her head sadly, then continued, “I got the archbishop’s permission to pick up all the folk art and have each piece tested by a lab tomorrow. We’ll know which are originals and which are duplicates then. And if there’s evidence the police can use, that’ll be turned over to them. The problem is that I need to keep them safe overnight, and there are so few places to lock up anything around here! I was thinking of transferring the pieces to the chapel and locking them up in a trunk inside the sacristy. The thief won’t be able to find them there even if he does strike before tomorrow.”