False Witness

by Aimée; David Thurlo

  Suddenly a thunderous crash shook the entire building. For a moment, the possibility that she’d received an instant answer to her prayer left Sister Agatha dumbstruck. Then she heard the ragged rhythm of a car motor somewhere close by and saw a light shining through one of the back windows of the chapel.

  There’d been an accident. Sister Agatha jumped to her feet and hurried toward the door, Sister Bernarda a few steps behind her. Almost immediately Sister Agatha detected the smell of motor oil. In the glare of a bright light, she saw a cloud of dust around the twisted metal and adobe bricks that had comprised the monastery’s wall and gates. In the haze, jammed into the ruined barrier, was a big sports utility vehicle, one of its headlights still working.

  “We need to help whoever’s inside,” Sister Bernarda said, hoisting her long skirt and sprinting toward the vehicle.

  Sister Agatha saw the SUV’s driver’s side door burst open. A tall, shadowed figure in a hooded sweatshirt jumped out of the vehicle. Shielding his eyes with his forearm, he ran away from them, quickly disappearing into the dark beyond the scene of the crash.

  “Did you get a look at his face?” Sister Agatha asked, catching up to Sister Bernarda.

  “No, but don’t worry about that now. We need to see if there’s a passenger,” Sister Bernarda said, racing around to the open door and checking inside.

  A moment later she eased back out of the SUV, shaking her head. “There’s no passenger, but there are a bunch of empty beer cans scattered on the floor,” she said disgustedly. “The emergency airbag was set off, but I didn’t see any blood anywhere, so the driver probably wasn’t badly injured.”

  “I’ll call the police,” Sister Agatha said. “Maybe you should switch off the ignition and light in case there’s a fuel leak.”

  Sister Agatha hurried back inside the monastery’s parlor. Although she was sure that the cloistered sisters had been awakened by the crash and would be worried, the Great Silence made its own demands. She couldn’t exactly run around making an announcement now.

  Wondering how to handle the situation, she walked quickly through the chapel. Then, at the entrance to the corridor, she found Pax, the monastery’s large white German shepherd dog, pacing nervously back and forth. Although alerted by the noise, Pax had learned not to go into the chapel or make any sounds after Compline.

  Pax stayed with her as she hurried to the parlor and dialed the county sheriff’s office. Since there weren’t any victims at the scene, the desk sergeant warned her that it would be at least twenty minutes before a unit would respond. She wasn’t surprised. The sheriff’s department had been forced to implement new budget cuts and was chronically understaffed these days.

  Sister Agatha grabbed a flashlight from the desk drawer. She was about to go back outside when she heard a light rap on the grille that separated the cloister from the monastery’s front parlor.

  Reverend Mother was standing there, silently waiting for an explanation. After living with her for more than a decade, Sister Agatha could almost hear the thoughts that reverberated behind Reverend Mother’s silences as easily as she could her spoken words.

  “A big passenger vehicle crashed through the front gates, Mother,” Sister Agatha whispered. The Great Silence could be broken in case of emergencies, and informing Reverend Mother of the crisis at hand was not only justified, it was imperative. “We think the driver was drinking, but he’s run off. Fortunately, there were no passengers. I called the sheriff’s department and now I’m going to join Sister Bernarda outside to wait for an officer to arrive.”

  Reverend Mother nodded. “Benedicemus Domino,” she said, praising God before breaking Silence. “Will you be able to close the gates once the car is removed?” she asked softly.

  “No, Mother, the gates are in pieces. But I’ll make sure Pax has free run of the grounds tonight, and I’ll sleep in the parlor until everything’s fixed. He’ll bark if he sees a stranger, and I’ll be able to hear him clearly from here. We’ll be safe.”

  With a nod, Reverend Mother slipped away into the cloister as silently as she’d come. Their alpargates, rope-soled sandals, made almost no sound on the brick floors.

  Sister Agatha flipped on the floodlights that illuminated the gate area and parking lot, then hurried back outside to join Sister Bernarda, Pax at her side.

  “Twenty minutes,” she told Sister Bernarda, who understood without further explanation. “Reverend Mother’s been told.”

  “The driver won’t get away. They’ll track him down easily enough from the registration.”

  “Unless the SUV was stolen,” Sister Agatha replied. Using the flashlight, she moved farther down the road, beyond the gravel, examining the footprints the driver had left in the dirt.

  “I think we had a visit from Bigfoot,” Sister Agatha said, pointing.

  Sister Bernarda glanced down and nodded. “Drunken Bigfoot.”

  “But he didn’t run like someone who was that drunk…. He never staggered or stumbled as he raced out of here,” Sister Agatha said, recalling what she’d seen.

  Sister Bernarda shook her head. “Don’t complicate things. Take one sniff inside that SUV and the smell of beer will tell you the whole story. If the driver hadn’t been drunk he wouldn’t have lost control of the car.” She paused then added, “What we have to do now is figure out a way to restore the gates. The next drunk that comes along might end up in our parlor. Have you thought of that?” she added brusquely.

  The harshness of Sister Bernarda’s tone surprised Sister Agatha. She looked over at her fellow extern nun, trying to figure out if it was just a reaction to the shock—or something more. To her, Sister Bernarda, their ex-marine, had always been the toughest of the tough—unbreakable. But the truth was that, lately, she hadn’t been herself.

  Pushing those thoughts aside and concentrating on the problem at hand for now, Sister Agatha added, “Do you think that the hacker who has been harassing us is somehow responsible for this? Maybe he decided to go for a more hands-on approach.”

  “But how would he even know that the monastery’s handling NexCen’s orders?” Sister Bernarda countered.

  “There was a notice in the business section of the local newspaper right after we got the contract,” Sister Agatha answered, then shook her head. “No, you’re right. I’m just complicating things. This was undoubtedly just the work of a drunk.”

  Sister Bernarda remained silent for a moment, then gestured to flashing lights in the distance. “Looks like we got lucky. There’s the police.”

  Sister Agatha glanced back at the monastery, worried. “They’re all awake in there now, praying their hearts out.”

  “That’s a good thing. Heaven knows prayers are needed now, not only for the person who did this, but for our monastery, too,” Sister Bernarda said, walking to the crumbled wall and staring at what was left of several dozen big adobe bricks. Both sections of the steel gate were on the ground—bent or snapped in two. Welds had parted and bare metal was showing in several places. The locking mechanism in the center had been mangled and was now useless.

  “How are we ever going to get the money to fix this, on top of everything else?” Sister Bernarda added, not really expecting an answer. “We got a new roof last year, but now the rest of the place is falling apart. That electrical fire we had in the kitchen wall was just a wake-up call. Dealing with this mess on top of getting new wiring is going to take far more than we have available in our sinking fund.”

  “Aluminum wiring … all the time we’ve been here it’s worked for us—until now. Who knew it was a potential fire hazard?” Sister Agatha replied with a sigh.

  “We might have gotten away with it for another twenty years if we hadn’t overloaded the system by adding computers, printers, work lights, and the air conditioner in the infirmary.”

  “The air conditioner was a necessity now that Sister Gertrude’s heart condition has worsened. As far as the scriptorium equipment—well, what choice did we have? We have to support
ourselves by the work of our hands. That’s part of our Rule,” Sister Agatha answered. “But there’s no sense in worrying about this. We’ve done all we possibly can. Now the rest is up to God.”

  “You’re right. He’ll provide whatever we need.”

  “He always has and He always will,” Sister Agatha said.

  Sister Bernarda scrutinized the immediate area. “Right now you and I have to find a way to secure our perimeter,” she added, sounding very much like a marine again.

  “I’ve got that covered,” Sister Agatha answered. “I’m going to sleep in the parlor tonight, and Pax’ll stay outside. If anyone wanders into our grounds the dog will let us know.”

  “Good plan,” Sister Bernarda said. “But I should be the one to sleep in the parlor,” she added, glancing down at Sister Agatha’s hands, which were swollen from rheumatoid arthritis. “You did something for me by joining your prayers to mine in chapel earlier. Let me do this for you.”

  “I’m okay. This looks a lot worse than it feels,” she said, glancing down at her hands. “But I sure wish you’d tell me what’s been troubling you. Maybe I can help.”

  “We’ll talk later. Here comes the deputy now,” Sister Bernarda said as a patrol car came up the road.

  Seconds later, a woman in her late twenties, with brown hair tied back into a ponytail, climbed out of the squad car. She left the engine running and the headlights on to illuminate the crash scene. Clipboard in hand, she approached them. “Sisters, I’m Deputy Susan James. Did either of you see what happened here?”

  Sister Bernarda briefed her in clipped sentences. “You’ll notice the smell of beer and the empties in the SUV. The driver’s gone—ran off as soon as we came outside. He left the key in the ignition, and I switched off the power and lights,” she said, and gave her a description of the man.

  “I’m going to call it in, then take a look around,” Deputy James said, picking up her handheld radio and making her report.

  “It won’t be hard to figure out who this SUV belongs to once you pull out his registration. After that, we’d like the man arrested,” Sister Bernarda said in her usual no-nonsense style. “We need our gate fixed on the double, and the person who did this has to make things right.”

  “You may have trouble collecting if he has no insurance. One out of three New Mexico drivers still aren’t covered.” As her radio came to life, Deputy James held up a hand, then answered the call.

  To Sister Agatha and Sister Bernarda the transmission sounded garbled and virtually incoherent, but the deputy appeared to have no trouble deciphering it.

  “Did ya’ll get that?” she asked, looking at Sister Agatha and Sister Bernarda.

  Sister Agatha shook her head and looked over at Sister Bernarda, who shrugged. “Sorry,” Sister Bernarda said. “It’s been a while since I’ve tuned in on radio chatter. You better translate for us.”

  “This particular SUV was reported stolen earlier tonight.” “Terrific,” Sister Bernarda muttered sourly. “Guess I shouldn’t have touched the key.”

  “At the time it was the right thing to do,” Sister Agatha said. “Besides, the beer cans in there can also be checked for fingerprints. And that air bag, too. He had to push it away to get out. We found his footprints, too, Deputy James,” Sister Agatha added, pointing to the ground. “They’re distinctive because of their size.”

  “A man’s shoe, size twelve or bigger. I’ll take some photos.” Deputy James brought out a camera with flash attachment, put her pen alongside for scale, then took several photos. She then took shots of the interior and exterior of the SUV. Finally she gathered all the cans, handling them by the edges, and placed them into evidence sacks, labeling each.

  Deputy James cut away the deployed air bag from the center of the steering wheel with a big folding knife, rolled the bag up, and placed it into a large grocery bag, labeling it with the time, date, and her initials. She then slipped behind the SUV’s wheel and took a quick inventory of the interior at a glance. “No key ring. The thief must have found a spare hidden on the vehicle.”

  “When are you going to tow the vehicle away? It’s blocking our entrance,” Sister Bernarda said.

  “The department will send a wrecker over, but probably not before morning.”

  “We’ll need our driveway cleared as soon as possible,” Sister Bernarda said. “What if, God forbid, we have an emergency and can’t get out in our own vehicles? We have a few elderly sisters here, and all the commotion might have upset one or two of them. We should at least try to push the SUV to one side so our station wagon can get out.”

  Deputy James nodded. “I understand, Sister. Let me see if I can get this hunk of junk running,” she said, then moved the seat forward. The seat had been set so far back that her feet barely reached the pedals.

  The engine started on the first try and, although it sputtered all the way, they succeeded in getting it to the side of the road.

  “Expect the wrecker in the morning,” Deputy James said, taking the key and bagging it as evidence. Moments later she drove off.

  Sister Bernarda glanced at Sister Agatha. “We might as well go back inside. We have a long day ahead of us tomorrow.”

  2

  THE RHYTHMIC, DEEP PEALS OF THE GABRIEL BELL woke up Sister Agatha the following morning. Her body ached but, mercifully, not much more than usual. A few minutes later, before she’d had a chance to roll up the air mattress she’d placed in the parlor, Sister Bernarda came in.

  At first, Sister Agatha assumed that she’d washed up early so she could relieve her as soon as the bell rang. But once she saw the darkened circles under Sister Bernarda’s reddened eyes, Sister Agatha realized that her fellow extern had probably had another sleepless night.

  Sister Bernarda crouched by the mattress and gestured by cocking her head that she’d put things away while Sister Agatha went to wash up. The Great Silence was still being observed so, with only a nod, Sister Agatha hurried down the corridor.

  They met again shortly thereafter in chapel. Matins was chanted before daybreak as a counter to the evils that gathered strength during the night. That ritual was followed by Lauds at sunrise, when light returned to the earth. It was the hour of praise—a commemoration of the Light that had come to the world through Jesus Christ. Their voices rose in the stillness, adding texture to what was in their hearts—an immeasurable love for the One God and His Son. After Mass came breakfast and Morning Prayers, which signaled the end of the Great Silence.

  When Sister Bernarda came to find her sometime later, Sister Agatha was back at her post as portress, dusting the room with meticulous precision. If it was done for His glory all honest work was a continual prayer.

  “One of us has to take Sister Gertrude to the doctor’s this morning,” Sister Bernarda said. “Last night, Sister Eugenia noticed that Sister Gertrude was holding her arm against her side. When she asked Sister Gertrude about it she found out that Sister has been having sharp pains in her arm and back. Both are symptoms of a heart problem, so Sister Eugenia called the doctor immediately. Sister Gertrude’s better this morning after a new round of medication, but the doctor still wants to see her.”

  Sister Agatha knew that Sister Gertrude’s heart was slowly wearing out and there was little that could be done. Sister Gertrude was in her midseventies. Although not nearly as elderly as Sister Clothilde, who they all suspected was in her nineties, Sister Gertrude’s health was failing. For a while, Reverend Mother had tried to forbid her to do any work whatsoever, but that had made things worse. Stripped of all the tasks that defined her, Sister Gertrude had sunk into a deep depression. Habits of a lifetime were hard to break. These days Sister Gertrude attended each liturgical hour and helped Sister Maria Victoria with the job of cellarer, the monastery’s bookkeeper.

  “Her body’s turning traitor,” Sister Agatha said sadly. “Good thing she agreed to move into the infirmary so Sister Eugenia could keep a closer eye on her. But going back to what you were saying, would it be
possible for you to take her in to the doctor? The owner of the SUV has been located and he and Sheriff Green are coming over this morning. The owner wants to tow the car away himself once the sheriff’s department releases it.”

  “I’m glad the sheriff is handling this personally,” Sister Bernarda said.

  “He’s taken it upon himself to watch over our monastery,” Sister Agatha said. But it hadn’t always been that way. Many years ago, he’d seen it as an adversary. It was no secret that she and Tom had enjoyed a close relationship before she’d become a nun. But that was all ancient history.

  “Sheriff Green values your feedback and your observations, so you’re right to stay,” Sister Bernarda said. “If you need help in the parlor, Sister de Lourdes is outside, clearing the area next to the north wall. She’s concerned that all the dried leaves that have collected are a fire hazard, particularly after she spotted several discarded cigarette butts there yesterday. Obviously someone working at the vineyard next door flicked them over.”

  “That’s strange. I don’t remember ever seeing a worker in that section. There are no grapevines even close to the property line.”

  “Someone’s been hanging out around there, so we should speak to Eric about it. As caretaker he’s responsible for whatever happens there.”

  “I’ll see what I can do,” Sister Agatha said. “I have a feeling it might be one of the homeless people passing through.”

  Hearing the sound of a car driving up, Sister Agatha glanced out the parlor window. “It’s the sheriff.”

  “Go take care of that and I’ll drive Sister Gertrude to the doctor’s,” Sister Bernarda said.

  Sister Agatha switched on the answering machine and walked outside. She had to force herself not to cringe as she saw the damage to the gate and wall in broad daylight. The monastery was kept in perfect order for a reason. Living in the presence of God meant that everything—from sweeping the floors to painting a wall—was done in service to Him.