False Witness

by Aimée; David Thurlo

  Sister Agatha nodded. Prayer in the hands of Sister Ignatius could move mountains.

  “You look like you’ve had a very hard day,” Sister de Lourdes commented after a moment.

  “The case I’m working is … difficult,” she said at last. “I have a strong feeling that I’m missing something important—a crucial bit of information that’s probably right in front of my eyes.” The sudden ringing of the parlor phone made Sister Agatha jump.

  Sister de Lourdes took the call, then handed the phone to Sister Agatha. “It’s the sheriff.”

  “Can you come to the station? We’ve got to talk,” Tom said gruffly.

  “I’ll be there shortly,” she said. Tom was always curt when something was troubling him, and right now, judging by his tone, something major was brewing.

  17

  SISTER AGATHA FOUND PAX, AND, THIS TIME, THEY SET out together in the Antichrysler. The weather had turned too damp and cold for a ride in the Harley. When they arrived at the station she headed directly to Tom’s office. The door was open and Tom Green was standing by the window, looking outside.

  “Sheriff?”

  “Come in, Sister, and have a seat.” Tom returned to his desk and sat down. “I’ve had an APB out on Terri, and someone matching her description checked in at an Albuquerque motel yesterday. I went over there myself and found suitcases with her tags on them, but the room was empty.”

  “Was her purse there?” Sister Agatha asked.

  “No. Her car was still parked outside, though, so I know she didn’t drive off, at least in that vehicle. No calls were made from her room, so I’m hoping she just went for a walk. I have an officer watching the motel in case she comes back.”

  “Any chance she was abducted? She could have been grabbed outside, maybe by that guy Cindy saw lurking around her property.”

  “It’s possible. The circumstances convinced me that we should search her home, motel room, and car, and a judge agreed. I’ve already been through the two suitcases left in the motel room, and deputies are searching her car as we speak. If we find evidence that she was kidnapped, I’ll notify the FBI and the Albuquerque police.”

  “Either she dropped out of sight completely or Garza nabbed her. Maybe Garza thinks Angie knows where the money is. Assistant District Attorney Mercedes Castillo prosecuted the case. She might know more. I think we should talk to her. Do you know where she lives?”

  “Sure. She’s retired and lives right here in town off of Calle Bonita,” he said, then checking in his computer, gave her the house number. “She’s listed in the phone book, so it’s not a secret.”

  Sister Agatha was acquainted with the area. Rows of new, upscale southwestern-style houses had sprung up near the river where apple orchards had once thrived. “Why don’t we go over there right now?”

  “I’m waiting for some calls and have my hands full here. You go ahead and let me know what you find out.”

  “All right. Afterward, I’ll visit Lucinda at Catholic Charities. Maybe if I ask the right questions I can get her to tell me something about Terri I don’t already know.”

  “Both are good ideas. People speak to you much more freely than to me or one of my deputies.”

  “It’s one of the advantages of being a nun.”

  __________

  Sister Agatha drove down a newly paved road that bisected a large apple orchard. Soon she pulled into the driveway of an adobe-style hacienda. The sprawling one-story home was elegant but not flashy, with well-shaped piñon trees and chamisa adding to the simple landscaping.

  As she let off on the gas and hit the brake, the car backfired so loudly it made Pax bark in protest.

  A woman in her late sixties came to the door and glanced out. Seeing them, her frown changed to a smile, and she waved.

  “I think our fame—or maybe that of the Antichrysler—precedes us,” Sister Agatha whispered to Pax, rolling down the window to give him plenty of air while he waited in the car.

  As Sister Agatha went up the flagstone walk to meet Mercedes, the former prosecutor was gracious enough to meet her halfway. Mrs. Castillo was wearing jeans and a freshly pressed white cotton shirt.

  “Hello, Sister. Why don’t you bring the dog, too? I’ve heard so much about him.”

  “That’s very kind of you, Mrs. Castillo. Thank you.” Sister Agatha walked back to the station wagon. “She wants you to come in, too, Pax. Be on your best behavior now.”

  Moments later she and Pax followed Mercedes inside.

  “Your timing is perfect,” Mercedes said. “I was just fixing myself a cup of decaf mocha latte. I like a leisurely cup of flavored coffee in the evening. Will you have some with me?”

  Knowing how most people relaxed over coffee, Sister Agatha agreed. “I’d love some,” she answered.

  “Wonderful. Why don’t you join me in the kitchen?” she invited.

  Sister Agatha followed her through the spacious house, noting the simplicity of the furnishings and the beauty of the dark log vigas and crossed latillas that comprised the traditional ceiling. The few pieces of Spanish-style furniture that were there seemed unusually large.

  Soft guitar music was playing from hidden speakers as they entered the kitchen/dining area, which was decorated in rich earth tones. The backsplash was composed of colorful Mexican tile.

  Mercedes set out two cups, filled them with steaming liquid, then brought them to the table. “It’s my own blend of instant coffee powders, mind you, but I add a bit of cream and evaporated milk and it really sparks up the flavor.”

  Sister Agatha tasted it and nodded. “It’s wonderful,” she said.

  Mercedes took a sip and smiled at Pax, who was lying on the cool redbrick floor by Sister Agatha’s feet. “So what can I do for you today, Sister?” she asked.

  Sister Agatha took a deep breath. “I need to ask you about a case you prosecuted several years ago before you retired.”

  “The Garza thing?”

  “How did you know?”

  “Sheriff Green called a short while ago,” she admitted. “But that would have been my first guess anyway. That case has persistently followed me, mostly because Garza is a fugitive and so much money is still unaccounted for.”

  “The uncle of a prosecution witness who chose to leave the Witness Protection Program came to us for help locating his niece.”

  “Ah—that would be John Gutierrez, which means you’re looking for Angie,” Mercedes said. “It was amazing to me that she actually left the program. There was no doubt that Garza blamed her for his conviction. He swore she’d pay for her lies, yelling almost those exact words in the courtroom when the verdict was handed down.”

  “It sounds like it was a difficult case from start to finish.”

  “That’s the thing. I don’t consider it finished.” Mercedes stared at some indeterminate spot across the room. “I remember the case as if it happened yesterday. Angie had seen Garza burying Rio’s body near a ditch bank and was able to take us to where it was. She had no idea what he’d done with the gun, but her testimony helped us get Garza convicted,” she said, then added. “We worked really hard back then to keep the location of Rio’s body out of the papers. We were worried that people would dig up the whole area looking for the money and destroy the flood protection along the river in the process.”

  “You were right to be concerned,” Sister Agatha agreed. “A large sum of money like that would make people a little crazy.”

  “Angie was an invaluable witness, providing us with details of the fraudulent deals and the friction between Rio and Garza, but there were times …” Mercedes grew silent and shook her head.

  “You can speak freely, Mercedes. Whatever you say will stay between us.”

  “I was the ADA back then, and Angie handed me that case on a silver platter. But Angie’s story never deviated by more than a few words—as if she’d memorized it. That’s what made me suspect that Angie had something to hide. I speculated for a while that she and Garza had been
partners in the beginning and that she’d turned on him later, killing Rio and framing Garza. But I never had enough to prove it. The murder weapon was never found, you know.”

  Sister Agatha leaned back in her chair. “If you’re right, Angie may know exactly where that money is. That would explain why she eventually left the Witness Protection Program. She couldn’t go get it until then.” “That’s possible.”

  After saying good-bye to their hostess, Sister Agatha walked back to the Antichrysler with Pax and slipped behind the driver’s seat. She’d stop by Catholic Charities next. Although it was already close to five, maybe Lucinda would still be there working late.

  When she arrived, however, the office was locked up for the night. Fortunately, Sister Agatha knew where Lucinda lived. She and her terminally ill mother shared an old farmhouse near the monastery.

  Sister Agatha arrived at the Gomezes’ home less than ten minutes later. Lucinda was outside feeding the chickens.

  Seeing the Antichrysler, Lucinda waved, finished her work, and came over. “Sister, what a surprise! What brings you out here?”

  “I needed to ask you a few questions, Lucinda. Do you have a couple of minutes to spare?” Sister Agatha asked, getting right to the point.

  “Sure. Let’s go inside, but be very quiet, okay? Mom’s asleep.”

  As they approached the house Lucinda glanced down at Pax, then back at Sister Agatha. “Don’t let him bark.”

  Sister Agatha looked at the dog, and held up one finger—a signal that he should be very quiet. The dog understood and padded silently by her side.

  Lucinda invited them into the den, offered Sister Agatha a seat on a comfortable-looking sofa, then closed the heavy wooden door.

  “We can talk freely here,” Lucinda said. “With the door shut, sound doesn’t carry to her part of the house easily.” Lucinda sat down across from them. “So what can I do for you?”

  “Tell me about Terri Montoya. What’s she like?” Sister Agatha asked. “I’ll keep whatever you say strictly between us.”

  “If it was up to me, Terri would have been fired weeks ago,” she said honestly.

  “Why?” Sister Agatha asked, leaning forward.

  “She’s completely unreliable. She’ll make a field visit to one of the families we’re working with, then take off on personal business. That leaves me stuck in the office, and all too often ends up making me late for my own appointments,” she said.

  “Have you talked to her about that?”

  “Yeah, more than once. I even tried befriending her, thinking it would help us work together better. But it was a disaster. I’ve met women who like to protect their privacy, but Terri’s on a level all her own.”

  “How so?” Sister Agatha pressed.

  “Let me give you an example. I told her that I grew up near Colorado Springs, where my dad and mom managed a small resort. Then when I asked her where she was from, she gave me this really hard look and told me it wasn’t any of my business. Every once in a while I ask her again, just to bug her,” she added with a mischievous grin. “The marine in me doesn’t give up that easily.”

  Sister Agatha smiled. “Sounds like Sister Bernarda.”

  “Another ex-marine, naturally. But I’m telling you, Sister Agatha, Terri gives new meaning to close-mouthed. I asked her once what she liked most about Bernalillo and why she’d chosen to live here. She never answered me. She just glared at me like I was asking for her deepest secret. In my opinion, there’s some heavy-duty stuff in that woman’s past—something she’s determined to keep hidden. Everything about Terri is off-center somehow.”

  Hearing the sound of a bell, Lucinda stood up. “That’s Mom. She needs me.”

  “Can I help?” Sister Agatha asked.

  “No, it’s all right. About now her pain pills are starting to wear off. She doesn’t like to take the next batch right away because they zone her out, so when she wakes up we visit and talk until the pain gets bad again. Then she takes the next batch and drifts back to sleep,” she said, then added, “Is there anything else I can do for you?”

  “No, and thanks for helping,” Sister Agatha said. “If you need anything, call the monastery. We are neighbors.”

  “Thanks. I appreciate that. And say hello to Sister Bernarda for me, will you?.

  Sister Agatha and Pax returned to the Antichrysler but, this time, when she turned the key, the motor flat-out refused to start. With a sigh, Sister Agatha pulled the hood-release lever below the dashboard, rolled up her sleeves, and grabbed a big screwdriver from out of the glove box. The lessons she’d taken from her brother, a car mechanic, had come in handy lately. “Stay, Pax.”

  “I worked in the motor pool back in the Corps,” Lucinda called out, stepping onto the porch. “Can I help?”

  It took five minutes for them to determine that an in-line fuel filter was clogged, and another five to clear the obstruction and reattach the part.

  Soon after that Sister Agatha was on her way, but she hadn’t gone far when she noticed that she’d picked up a tail, a faded gray Mustang. Not wanting the driver to know she was on to him, she picked up the cell phone, called Tom, and filled him in.

  “Are you on the way to the monastery?” he asked. “I was,” Sister Agatha answered, “but I’m not sure I should go there now.”

  “Head for the station, staying on the main highway. I’m sending a deputy to meet you. Any idea who’s following you?”

  “No, not yet. I haven’t been able to see his face,” Sister Agatha answered.

  Placing the phone down, Sister Agatha slowed, looking for a place to turn. Suddenly the Mustang behind her whipped around the Antichrysler and cut in front of her.

  Sister Agatha slammed on the brakes to avoid a collision, but the Antichrysler’s brakes locked on the driver’s side. The station wagon spun around on the loose gravel, coming to a jarring stop facing the wrong way, the engine dead.

  Before Sister Agatha could even take a breath, a dark-haired man built like a refrigerator with arms suddenly appeared at her window, knife in hand.

  Seeing the weapon, Pax lunged at him, but the angle was wrong and he missed the man’s hand by inches. Startled, the man flinched, and Sister Agatha took the opening. She threw open her door, slamming him backward onto the road.

  More angry than afraid now, Sister Agatha dove out of the car and kicked away the knife, which her assailant had dropped. Pax jumped over the seat and out the front door, attacking the man before he could stand up.

  Once she was sure the knife was well out of his reach, she gave Pax the command to stop. “Pax, out!”

  The dog obeyed reluctantly, and remained less than three feet from the man, snarling and baring his teeth.

  Sister Agatha grasped Pax’s collar, and held him. “If you give me the slightest reason, I’ll release the dog. And, just so you know, you can’t run fast enough to evade him.”

  “Okay, okay!”

  “Who are you and what do you want?” she demanded.

  “Are you crazy? I was having car trouble. I came to ask for help but you and that dog attacked me!” The man was looking in every direction, trying to find the means to escape.

  “Your defense is that you got jumped by a middle-aged nun and her dog? The knife will have your prints on it, pea brain.”

  Before he could reply, she heard sirens. The help Tom had sent would soon arrive. “You may not realize it, but God smiled on you today. This dog is trained to take out an armed opponent. It’s a miracle you’re still in one piece.”

  18

  WHATEVER YOU WERE PAID —IT WASN’T ENOUGH,” sister Agatha called out to the assailant as Tom’s deputy led him away.

  “No kidding,” he grumbled as the deputy placed him in the back of the squad car.

  “Nice work,” Tom said, giving Sister Agatha a thumb’s up and scratching Pax behind the ears. “We’ll find out what he knows and who hired him. Follow me to the station. We’ll have your official statement typed up and then you can si
gn it.”

  “You already know all I know, Tom. Could we finish the paperwork tomorrow?” Sister Agatha asked, trying to suppress the shivers. Anger, after being cut off the road, had given her momentary courage. Now only a lingering, bone-chilling fear remained. “I’d like to go home. I have a feeling Sister de Lourdes will need me to pitch in with the scriptorium work after recreation.”

  “I thought that no one spoke at night over there,” he said.

  “We don’t, not after Compline, but we can work in silence in the scriptorium,” she replied. “And write notes.”

  “Okay, go ahead. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  The following morning, after Terce, which commemorated the Third Hour, when the Holy Spirit descended on the apostles, Sister Agatha set out to town once again in the Harley with Pax. It was eight-fifteen, and Sister Bernarda was acting portress this morning while Sister de Lourdes handled their scriptorium work.

  So far, they’d had no more problems with either the computers or the orders. Wilder’s identity, and that of the person who’d vandalized NexCen’s warehouse, remained a mystery.

  Sister Agatha arrived at the station a short time later and saw Tom coming out of the bull pen. “Good morning,” she greeted as he came out to see her.

  “I’m glad you’re here. I have news,” he said, leading the way down the hall. Tom didn’t say anything more until they were inside his office and the door was shut. “Have a seat.”

  Sister Agatha made herself comfortable as Pax lay by her feet.

  “The guy you two ran into last night is a lowlife by the name of Benny Kowalski. Benny claims that Garza contacted him through the mail and hired him to scare you off. He didn’t want you meddling in his business. Garza refused to meet Benny face-to-face and that made Benny curious, since they’d been friends and all. So Benny did some checking and heard that Garza had cosmetic surgery to alter his appearance. Apparently, he doesn’t want anyone to connect his new face with his old identity.”