The Prodigal Nun

by Aimée Thurlo

  “I’ll do that. I’ll be interviewing everyone—and you again as well—before I leave.” Tom motioned to some officers who’d been hovering near the scene.

  As two members of the crime scene unit walked up with their cameras and gear, Sister Agatha stepped back. A third deputy, female, started attaching yellow crime scene tape to a vehicle aerial.

  Sister Agatha said another prayer for the soul of the departed. For now, Father Mahoney would be prevented from administering Last Rites. Access to homicide victims was restricted to police personnel taking part in the investigation.

  As one of the women deputies, wearing latex gloves, inventoried the contents of Jane Sanchez’s purse, Sister Agatha glanced away. That was when she noticed what looked like the letter Y on the door of the Antichrysler. Sister Agatha moved to her left, realizing that she might have been premature when she’d assumed what she’d seen there was only scratches. Positioning herself to see the entire door, she read the message, and it brought chills to her blood.

  Etched in crude block letters at least a foot high was YOU’RE NEXT, NUN.

  2

  HER HANDS SHAKING, SISTER AGATHA LOOKED AT THOSE gathered there. The only person who seemed to be looking in her direction at the moment was Fritz Albrecht. He nodded, and she nodded back.

  Sister Agatha moved around until she caught Tom’s eye; then she pointed toward the old station wagon.

  “You didn’t leave anything valuable in that old rust bucket, did you?” Tom asked, coming over.

  “No, but I just realized what was scratched into the door. Take a look for yourself,” she said, pointing.

  “Oh, crap,” Tom muttered once he was at the proper angle to see the entire message. “It wasn’t there last night?”

  “No, and we wouldn’t have left the door open like that either. So what now? This is either the work of a very sick person or a direct threat to our monastery,” she said. She swallowed, but her mouth remained infernally dry.

  “Maybe not the entire monastery. It could be directed at you or one of the other externs who drive this car. This is the vehicle you use to deliver the Good News meals to people all over the community, correct?”

  “Yes. Sister Jo usually handles the details and makes most of the deliveries. Sister Bernarda and I help when needed. Did you know that Sister Jo did all the paperwork that resulted in the county handing the contract to us and St. Augustine Church? This is the first faith-based initiative in our area. Of course, we don’t make any profit from it, but it’s now a better and more reliable service to the community.”

  “However, I remember some people were upset about a state-funded program being awarded to religious groups. Have you caught any flak over it?”

  “Only from Peter Aragon, but he’s just a city councilman using the program to promote his own agenda. Some nonsense about us using the program to try to push religion down the throats of senior citizens. He’s a political hack, not a killer.”

  “Probably, but this threat’s real, and I have to check out all the possibilities. Make sure everyone at this monastery stays alert, the externs in particular.”

  “I’ll pass the word.”

  “Which car is Jane Sanchez’s?” he asked.

  Sister Agatha pointed to the maroon sedan, an older model with faded paint. “That’s hers.”

  Crime scene officers were already inspecting the cars, which would be dusted for prints. Leaving Sister Agatha outside the tape, Sheriff Green began searching the ground around Jane’s car, moving outward from the parking area toward the opened gates and the driveway beyond.

  Except for the rose bed in the circular planter at the center, and some lilac bushes beside the walls, the parking lot was covered with a thin layer of gravel. Over time, activity and the elements had shifted the rocks, creating areas where there was more sand and soil than stone.

  Tom looked up. “Someone walked in,” he said, pointing at what appeared to be large footprints. “Those impressions lead right up to the body. Any idea who arrived on foot?”

  Sister Agatha shook her head. “Why would the killer come in on foot this close to where Mass was being celebrated? If he’d been seen, his only option would have been to run for it.”

  “Wait there. I’m going to check outside the grounds.” He continued on, studying the ground all the way outside the monastery’s property line. He stopped beside the wall, looked down and toward the road, then came back.

  “Anyone come to church on a bike recently, like today?” he asked.

  “Not that I know about.”

  “Someone rode up on a bicycle, leaned it against the wall, then came back for it and took off. The tracks are fresh, and there isn’t any gravel to confuse the markings. The size of the footprints rules out a child. So let’s say that it was our killer on that bicycle,” he said in a soft, thoughtful tone. “Providing he was in shape, that would have given him a way to make a fast exit. He could ride down this road about a hundred yards, then cut across into the bosque, out of sight, taking a route most cars couldn’t access. And on a bicycle, he would have been virtually silent. All things considered, it may have been a very good strategy.”

  “So is this a burglary that escalated to robbery and then murder, or was murder the intent all along?” Sister Agatha asked him, making sure Fritz was still out of earshot. “Was Jane the unfortunate target because she happened to show up alone at just the wrong time?”

  “It’s hard to say at this point, but if the killer did indeed bring a silenced weapon that would imply premeditation. Now here’s the critical question—was Jane always the last person to arrive?”

  Sister Agatha nodded. “Without fail. Our list of regulars is small and well established, and you could almost set your watch by Jane’s arrival.”

  “So my guess is that the shooter knew exactly who his target was going to be. Whether her selection as the victim was circumstantial or personal—that, I don’t know. He may have been watching Jane in her own neighborhood as well and learned her routines.”

  “How does the warning on the monastery’s station wagon fit in with all that? Are we next on the killer’s list?” she asked.

  “If Jane was the intended target, then the robbery and the message on the monastery’s car could be just a smoke screen.”

  “If Jane was the target, could it have something to do with what she wanted to talk to me about? Could that have been important enough for someone to kill her?” Sister Agatha asked in a strangled voice.

  “Do you think Jane might have had something she wanted to show you, too? Something that may have motivated the killer to go through her purse to remove it?”

  “And then take the money and rummage through the other cars just to hide that? I can’t answer that, Tom. I’m sorry,” she said in a strained voice. “I have no idea what she wanted to talk to me about. I wish I’d taken time to talk to Jane when she called. I failed her—and God.”

  “No matter what the investigation uncovers, you’re not responsible for what other people do.”

  “A sin of omission is still a sin,” she said.

  “The killer is the only one who should be feeling guilty,” Tom answered. “Now you’ll have to excuse me while I get back to the crime scene,” he added for Fritz’s benefit, seeing that he’d ventured closer.

  As Tom walked off, Sister Agatha gave Fritz a nod and decided to go inside to see if she could help there. She was a few feet from the doors when Tom caught up to her again.

  “No cell phone anywhere. Either she left it at home, or the killer took it. I’m going to question the people who were in the chapel. It might help keep them calm if you sit in,” Tom said.

  “I appreciate the offer. Most of them are elderly, and they’ve been through quite a shock.” Sister Agatha led the way to the entrance. “What I still can’t understand is why Jane didn’t scream for help. We would have heard her.” Sister Agatha stopped in midstride as a thought suddenly occurred to her. “Do you think Jane knew her killer
?”

  “Maybe so. That might mean it’s someone people would ordinarily trust, so you better warn the other nuns right away.”

  “When it comes to defending ourselves, we have very few options,” Sister Agatha said.

  “I’ll increase patrols in the area and assign a deputy to keep an eye on the monastery. You have Pax, too. Keep him outside at night for the time being. If there’s a problem, he’ll bark—and be one heckuva deterrent.”

  Whispering a soft prayer that God would also send His angels to watch over them, Sister Agatha led Sheriff Green through the chapel doors.

  3

  WHILE THE EXTERNS SERVED TEA AND SISTER Clothilde’s Cloister Cluster Cookies in the chapel foyer, Sister Agatha and Sheriff Green questioned people individually in the parlor.

  Simplicity defined the decor here. A crucifix made of pine stained a dark brown had been placed on the whitewashed wall. A wooden desk stood toward the back and, thanks to the extremely prolific lilac bushes outside, there was a vase filled with blossoms on it. A small quilted wall hanging depicting the Annunciation, crafted by Sister Maria Victoria, their resident seamstress, was hung on the right wall.

  The townspeople who’d attended their early morning Mass hadn’t been very helpful so far. They’d neither seen nor heard anything outside during the service. Although she’d hoped things would turn out differently, Sister Agatha wasn’t surprised.

  Mrs. Brown was the last churchgoer Sheriff Green questioned. The paramedics had, at long last, pronounced her in good shape. Despite her age and the shock she’d received, Mrs. Brown seemed more angry than frightened now. Although she’d willingly answered all the sheriff’s questions, she was now demanding answers from him.

  “Jane cared about everyone. She didn’t deserve this,” Mrs. Brown said. “Why was she attacked? Was it a robber? I saw the open car doors. Was my car broken into?”

  “We’ve just started to work this case, Mrs. Brown,” Sheriff Green said. “It’s much too early for us to have definitive answers on anything. That’s why we need your help. Can you tell me if Mrs. Sanchez had any enemies?”

  “That woman helped anyone who needed her. I don’t know why anyone would want to harm her.” She wiped a tear away with her white linen handkerchief.

  After a few more questions that got him nowhere, Tom stood and signaled Sister Bernarda. She’d help Mrs. Brown back outside, where a deputy would try to find out if anything was missing from her vehicle.

  As the two left, Sheriff Green glanced at Sister Agatha. “Who’s next?”

  “Father Mahoney.”

  Their priest, a former professional wrestler, came in a moment later. As he sat down they could see the lines of tension around his eyes and mouth.

  “I’ve done my best to keep everyone calm as you asked, Sheriff Green, but I was scheduled to celebrate other Masses today. Is it possible for us to talk this afternoon?”

  Tom shook his head, then held out his cell phone. “Call whomever you need to take over those duties for you, Father. I have no idea how long this is going to take.”

  “Thanks, but that’s not necessary,” he said, exhaling softly. “I had a feeling you’d say that, so I already called to make arrangements.”

  “Good,” Sheriff Green said, placing the cell back in his pocket. “How well did you know Jane Sanchez, Father?”

  “For the past three months she and her husband have been coming to my office for counseling.”

  “Was their marriage in trouble?” the sheriff asked instantly.

  Father Mahoney hesitated.

  “I’m assuming this isn’t covered by the seal of the confessional,” the sheriff pressed.

  “No, it isn’t, but I’m a licensed psychologist, and doctor/patient confidentiality survives death.”

  “Father, with all due respect, let me remind you that Jane Sanchez was a murder victim.”

  “I understand, Sheriff Green, but there are certain things I can’t discuss with you. What I can tell you is that they were both committed to making their marriage strong. So if you’re thinking that her husband may have had something to do with her murder, you’re way off the mark. They had problems, like most couples, but Louis loves…loved…that woman.”

  “Generally, what kind of problems were they facing?” When Father Mahoney hesitated, Sheriff Green added, “If you don’t think her husband’s responsible, then help me eliminate him from my suspect list so we can move on in the investigation.”

  Father Mahoney considered it, then at last nodded. “I can only tell you what’s already public knowledge. Louis has a heart condition, and Jane was terrified of losing him. They were constantly at odds because Louis had his own outlook on how to deal with those health issues. He wanted to live his life to the fullest—rejecting the idea of diet and exercise. Jane was doing her best to keep him on a saner course of action.”

  “Is there anything else you can tell me about the couple? Was there any reason for jealousy—perhaps a third person in their relationship?”

  “I’ve already told you all I can, Sheriff.”

  “I appreciate your help,” Tom said, shaking his hand.

  Once Father left, Tom glanced over at Sister Agatha. “I’m through here for now. I’m going to pay Louis Sanchez a visit.”

  “Take me along,” she said. “The news of his wife’s death may be easier to take from me—a nun who knew her—than from you. Since you’ll need to get clear answers, having a calming influence there will help you.”

  “Good idea.”

  “Oh, wait. I just remembered. Do you suppose Fritz Albrecht will tell his boss about you taking me along—me, a member of the public?”

  “Mayor Garcia wouldn’t want my job today. Let me deal with Fritz. You ready to go?”

  “I’ll get Reverend Mother’s permission, then meet you at your car.”

  As Sister Agatha went through the inner door and entered the cloister, Reverend Mother was coming down the hall. Reverend Mother Margaret Mary was a tall woman with rich, dark brown eyes and gentle lines around her face. There was a serenity about her that conveyed a sense of peace, no matter how dire the situation.

  Sister Agatha updated her quickly, then asked for permission to leave the monastery.

  “Go with my blessing, child.” Reverend Mother called all of them “child,” as was their monastic custom.

  Sister Agatha knelt, and Reverend Mother reached for a vial of holy water deep inside the pocket of her habit. Moistening her finger, she made the sign of the cross on Sister Agatha’s forehead.

  A short time later, Sister Agatha was walking across the grounds. Seeing her, Pax came running up. Sister Agatha crouched down and patted the dog. “Not this time, Pax. You’re needed here to take care of the monastery.”

  Almost as if he’d understood, the dog ambled off and lay down at the bottom of the shaded steps leading to the parlor.

  Sister Agatha joined Sheriff Green, then glanced back at Pax. “He’s really a great dog.”

  “As a monastery pet, he’s perfect. As a police dog, he drove his handlers crazy. He has a mind of his own.”

  As soon as they were under way, Sheriff Green turned to her and asked, “Is there anything else you’ve remembered about the victim? Maybe something about that last conversation you had with her? I’d really like to get some insight into this woman.”

  “We really didn’t speak that often. She asked me to pray for her and Louis a few times, but that’s about it.”

  “Yet she called to confide in you?”

  “It’s not that surprising. As an extern, I’m one of the nuns she sees most, and people in trouble often find it easier to talk to a nun,” she said, then with a sigh added, “I just wish I’d done more to help her.” She’d be praying for forgiveness for a long time on this.

  They arrived at a modest residential neighborhood in northern Bernalillo a short time later. The midsized pueblo-style houses dated back to the fifties and sixties. Cars and pickups, most of them older mode
ls with faded paint and small dings, filled the driveways. Several of the low block walls around the houses had been spray-painted with graffiti, painted over, then vandalized a second or third time. The owners were obviously unable to keep up with the taggers.

  “A working-class neighborhood,” Sister Agatha said, mirroring what she was sure he was thinking.

  “Help me out. I’m looking for 4432 Calle de Lupe. The street numbers defy logic in this old development.”

  “I think it’s the white stucco house with the Taos blue trim,” she said, pointing ahead. “Sister Bernarda came to visit a few months ago, and I remember her mentioning the Taos blue paint.”

  “So Sister Bernarda knows them?”

  “Yes, but she hasn’t spoken to Jane as much as I have. As I recall, she only stopped by that one time to deliver a prayer book to them.”

  They parked in the empty driveway, and Tom went up to the front door, Sister Agatha a few steps behind him. Tom knocked hard, but there was no answer. He tried the doorbell, too, but it didn’t seem to work.

  “I’ll check out back. It’s a warm day. Maybe he’s on the patio,” she said.

  Stepping off the porch, she walked around the corner. The backyard had an elliptical terra-cotta concrete patio, a gas barbecue, and a small café table with four metal chairs—but no Louis.

  Sister Agatha stepped up onto the porch and knocked on the metal and glass screen door. She could make out someone moving through the kitchen.

  “Louis?” she called.

  Suddenly the door flew open, catching her hard on the left shoulder.

  “Help!” she cried out, tumbling off the porch. As she fell, the man raced past her, and she caught the strong smell of sweat. A figure in a gray hooded sweatshirt and sunglasses raced around the corner of the detached garage and disappeared down the alley.

  “Tom!” Sister Agatha struggled to untangle her legs from the folds of her habit and scramble to her feet.

  Tom came rushing around the corner of the house. “What the…?”