The Prodigal Nun

by Aimée Thurlo

  “No, he didn’t, not according to my witness.”

  “Are you calling your own deputy a liar? The fact is, there was only one other person there, and she was in this country illegally. Any court will believe one of your own officers over her, Sheriff. You’ve got nothing.”

  “It’s difficult to keep a story like this under wraps,” Sister Agatha said with a deep sigh. “The press will go wild once they discover the connection between the phony alibi you gave Sergeant McKay, a suspect in a murder investigation, and the fact that he was the officer in charge at the scene of your car accident.”

  “Even if we never get a conviction, your political career will go down in flames,” Sheriff Green added.

  “Murder? You think Sergeant McKay killed the Sanchez woman?” he asked, his voice rising an octave.

  “She saw you two together, didn’t she? We finally got the memo,” Tom said.

  “What memo? What are you talking about?” Holman asked, fear alive in his eyes.

  “The one Jane Sanchez wrote, the one McKay thought he’d taken care of,” Tom said, getting into his face. “It turns out Jane caught you and McKay meeting after the story of the accident came out in the Chronicle. A few days after that she was killed. We’ve now recovered her cell phone photo of the two of you together—with time and date.”

  Sister Agatha knew that wasn’t true but kept a neutral expression, recalling her days as a journalist when she’d used deception to loosen tongues.

  “Okay, okay. That pain-in-the-ass woman thought McKay was Gerald Bennett when she poked her head in the window. She yelled out, ‘Gotcha!’ but when she realized it wasn’t Gerry with a girlfriend, she crumbled, apologized, and took off. McKay said not to worry, that he’d handle it. But I never thought…”

  “She was a threat to him. We have evidence to suggest he listened in on the Sanchezes’ phone calls. He was afraid she’d spread the tale. And McKay knew you wouldn’t say a word if Jane ended up dead. You had too much to lose. You’d bribed him to save your butt on those DWI charges. So after he killed Jane Sanchez, he came to you and asked for a big favor in return—an alibi. That would keep both of you out of jail. So now you get to name your poison. Do you want to go to jail for bribery, or conspiracy to commit murder?”

  “You can’t prove I paid anyone anything. Maybe I just forgot that McKay went back to the clubhouse that morning. People can forget…and so do the voters. I’ve got Mayor Garcia backing me, and he’s a powerful ally. All a photo proves is that we were talking together. So what?”

  “You still don’t see that you’ve been set up, do you?” Tom pressed. “How are you going to explain that other secret meeting with McKay over on Calle de Elena, the one where he changed the vehicle number to make it look like you were meeting with Bennett? Did you know that McKay made a phony meal request using a made-up address on that street so the nun coming by to make the delivery would see you two together? And what was inside the envelope you gave him? More bribery money?”

  His jaw fell as he realized the truth, but he still tried to recover. “What meeting, Sheriff? I didn’t meet McKay, or any of your officers, for that matter. Burden of proof. Ever heard of the concept?”

  “The word of a nun still carries weight in this area,” Sister Agatha said. “You’ve got even bigger problems, though. McKay set you up that day, just like the sheriff said. Think about it. He knew about the Good News Meals Program and purposely arranged to have another pair of eyes on that meeting of yours. That time it was supposed to look like you and Gerry Bennett were meeting.” She brought out the photograph of Sister Jo on the Harley and showed it to him. “McKay had a camera with him, remember? And there’s more.”

  She reached behind the parlor desk and brought out a small white magnetic sign with the number 73 on it. The number was the same color as on the sheriff’s department vehicles. It wasn’t the one originally sold to McKay, but it would do.

  The ruse worked. When Holman’s eyes widened, she knew he’d recognized it. “I remember the camera and the sign, and I wondered about it at the time,” he admitted. “It wasn’t the regular number on McKay’s police cruiser. But you’re wrong about what happened that day. The envelope I gave him didn’t have money in it. It was just a copy of our legislative package regarding law enforcement. McKay had asked me for it earlier.”

  “Maybe it was, maybe it wasn’t,” Tom said. “Either way, Sergeant McKay was posing as Bennett—at least from a distance—and he wanted a witness while he made it look as if you were passing Bennett money, maybe to cover up for that DWI. That gave Sergeant McKay something extra to hold over you. To the nun who’d become his eyewitness, the one who drove by on the motorcycle, you were involved.”

  He paused for several seconds, letting the knowledge sink in. “McKay would give you up in a second if it meant getting a murder charge reduced—or, even better, getting himself off the hook. I want him a lot more than I want you, but it’s your call, Senator. Do we go after him, or do I settle for you?”

  Holman mulled it over for several long moments. “I’ll help you,” he said at last, “but I want a few guarantees in return.”

  “Specify,” Tom responded.

  “Drop all bribery and conspiracy charges, and don’t have any comments for the press when my people put a different spin on things. My story will be that I helped you catch a murderer. By the time I’m finished, I’ll come out smelling like a rose.”

  Tom’s eyebrows shot up. “You’re quick with a plan.”

  “I’m used to working under pressure,” he answered.

  “Deal—if the DA agrees. But you have to get me enough to nail McKay for the murder of Jane Sanchez. And one more thing. You resign as state senator.”

  Holman thought about it for an agonizing minute. “Okay, but sooner or later I’ll be back in the political arena. You know it and I know it.”

  Tom nodded once, aware that he had no other choice.

  Holman suggested he meet with McKay, wearing a wire, and try to get a confession or admission of guilt from him.

  “I’m not sure that’ll work,” Tom said. “He’s not a fool. He’s been playing you, Officer Bennett, and us for days now.”

  “How about if instead of setting up a formal meeting you ask him to come here?” Sister Agatha suggested. “Tell him the nuns will be planting a special climbing rose as a memorial to Jane Sanchez and that the local newspapers will be on hand to record the event. Say you think a photo of him and you together will show your support for local law enforcement and also help him careerwise.”

  “Are you sure you want this to go down here?” Tom asked Sister Agatha.

  “Yes. Let the murderer face justice where his victim fell.”

  23

  AFTER GETTING TOM’S OKAY, SISTER AGATHA CALLED Chuck. Although she couldn’t give him any details, she asked him to bring his camera and trust her. She owed him that much for all the help he’d given her.

  Sister Agatha stood by Sister Bernarda, who was making a show out of digging a hole where the memorial rose would be planted. The rosebush had already been picked up at the nursery.

  As Chuck waited for the unfolding story, he helped them make the ruse look good by taking photos while they worked.

  Sheriff Green had remained in the parlor, which was off-limits to everyone else right now. From there, he’d listen in and record Holman’s conversation with McKay. The off-duty sergeant had come over right away in response to Holman’s phone call.

  “It’s happening,” Sister Bernarda said as Holman looked sincere for Chuck’s camera and then walked off with Sergeant McKay, who’d arrived in uniform.

  Sister Agatha was determined not to look up or even glance in the direction of Holman and McKay, but the temptation was great.

  “If you get caught watching them, you’ll give yourself away,” Sister Bernarda cautioned, guessing her thoughts. “Just keep fiddling with the soil or pretend to be pulling weeds.”

  Sister Agatha did so, but she
could feel the tension thrumming through her body. She was acutely aware of every breath she took and each beat of her heart. She felt like a watch that had been wound too tight.

  Her hand shaking now, she reached up and gingerly touched her small earpiece. It was directly beneath her veil, but Tom had assured her that she’d be able to listen in without any problem.

  It was then she heard Sister Bernarda’s gasp.

  “What is it?” she asked her fellow extern quickly, her gaze on the soil.

  “I was praying…needing assurance, you know, not asking. But I didn’t expect…” Sister Bernarda stopped talking and pointed.

  The sun was filtering through the leaves of the giant cottonwood as it usually did this time of day. On the ground before the massive tree, they could both see the outline of a giant angel. Sister Agatha could almost make out flowing locks of hair around an oval face, and near the waist, light and shadow melded together to form what appeared to be a sword.

  “That’s your sign, the one you didn’t dare ask for but received anyway,” Sister Agatha whispered. “You’re—we’re—being protected.”

  Sister Bernarda crossed herself.

  Following their gazes, Chuck, with a sharp intake of breath, brought his camera up. Suddenly a gust of wind rustled the distant leaves, and the image disappeared. “Rats! That sure looked like an angel, didn’t it?”

  “Yes, it did,” Sister Bernarda responded in a whisper.

  “Wish I’d have been quicker with the camera,” Chuck replied. He aimed it at the rose, which was still in its peat pot. “Your mark’s looking over here. We better make it look good.”

  Sister Agatha got busy helping Sister Bernarda mix sand and potting soil in a big washbasin. As Holman began speaking to McKay, she heard him clearly.

  “You’ve put me in a tough situation, McKay,” Holman said. “Sheriff Green thinks you had something to do with Jane Sanchez’s murder and has been pressuring me to poke holes in your story about being on the golf course that day. So you and I are cutting a new deal. I’ll protect your alibi and make sure my aides keep their mouths shut. You stop demanding money to keep quiet about my accident. You’ve got more to lose than me, McKay, so I’d take the deal if I were you.”

  McKay didn’t answer, so Holman continued. “You’re already being investigated, McKay, and neither one of us wants to get arrested. And just so you know, Deputy Bennett’s been on my tail, too. He’s contacted me at least twice, pushing to find out if I bribed you not to give me a Breathalyzer test that afternoon. He’s still pissed that you took over the accident scene. If he finds the passenger who was in the car that night and she swears you never gave me a field sobriety test, you’re screwed. Bottom line—you’ve got at least two people gunning for you, and they’re motivated, trust me.”

  When McKay still didn’t say a word, Sister Agatha looked up at Sister Bernarda. “Reach for that trowel and sneak a look at McKay and Holman. I want to know what McKay’s doing.”

  While Sister Agatha kept her back to the men, Sister Bernarda walked over to the wheelbarrow they were using to haul the tools and materials and reached for the hand trowel. As she turned around to head back, she glanced off to the side surreptitiously, not turning her head.

  “McKay’s not doing much of anything. From what I’m seeing he’s just looking around. He glanced over at the deputy across the street, the one assigned to protect us, and is now looking around the grounds. If you want to take a quick look for yourself, go right ahead.”

  As Sister Agatha pretended to brush off her habit, she spotted a piece of amber taillight on the parking lot gravel just behind her, outside the garden ring. Undoubtedly it had been left there from the time last year when the fugitive had crashed through their gate in a stolen car.

  As she picked it up, she looked to the side, glancing at McKay. She was sure that something about Holman’s attitude or demeanor must have given him away. McKay smelled a setup.

  Holman continued to press. “Bennett was there the day I had the accident. When you pulled rank on him and took over, I’m sure he smelled a rat. If nothing else, he must have put things together when you failed to show up for court and they had to drop all charges. I think he’s looking for payback.”

  “You talk too much,” McKay said at last.

  “You told me not to worry about Mrs. Sanchez seeing us in the car and taking that photo of me handing you that wad of bills. Now I know why. You killed her, then tried to frame Bennett—the most believable suspect. He was investigating you, and that was your way of getting him off your back. Wake up, McKay. Bennett knows and is out for blood.”

  “Bennett and I are buds. Gerry’d never turn me in for some bogus charges. We go way back. What have you been smoking, Holman?”

  “You’re just going to kiss me off, is that it? Well, don’t expect any more payoffs. You’re on your own, and if you go down, don’t think you can take me with you. I’ve got more clout around here than you realize.”

  McKay laughed. “With who, that lightweight Mayor Garcia? I’m shaking in my boots.”

  Continuing to play it cool, McKay walked away, joining the other reporters who’d finally turned up to hear Holman’s promised speech.

  It was time for plan B. Taking the small piece of amber tail-light she’d found, Sister Agatha placed it in her pocket and slipped away. She needed to talk to Tom as quickly as possible.

  While everyone’s attention was focused on Dwight Holman, who was now making his speech, Sister Agatha found Pax and, with the dog at heel but unleashed, headed to McKay’s truck. McKay, off duty despite the uniform, had driven his personal vehicle.

  After looking around to verify she and Pax were alone, Sister Agatha pulled down the tailgate and climbed into the pickup. Pax remained at stay on the ground.

  With the amber glass still cupped in the hollow of her palm, she began examining the bed of the truck, hoping that some traces of the bicycle’s red paint had rubbed off on McKay’s new finish. A link like that would go a long way to establishing McKay’s involvement in the Sanchez murder. Suddenly she heard soft footsteps behind her, and Pax growled softly.

  “What are you doing?” came the deep male voice.

  Sister Agatha knew it was McKay without having to turn around. Her heart began beating overtime. Holman had bluffed and gotten nowhere. Maybe there was no substitute for a little courage and the truth.

  “Whoever killed Jane rode up on a red bike,” Sister Agatha said. “It was stolen the day before from her husband, Louis Sanchez. A neighbor saw a man in a hooded sweatshirt riding it away. That bike has been recovered and is in the evidence room. I decided to look for telltale scratches that could have been made when you transported the bicycle that morning.”

  He burst out laughing. “Knock yourself out, Sister.”

  “The killer knew a lot about evidence and didn’t leave much behind. He’s human, though, and humans make mistakes.”

  “Are you saying I’m the killer?” It wasn’t a question as much as it was a challenge.

  Pax growled softly again. In response McKay placed his hand on the dog’s head, calming him, and smiled at Sister Agatha. “Love this dog,” he added pleasantly.

  “Look at it another way, Sergeant. I’m just trying to eliminate you from the list of possible suspects.”

  He laughed loudly. “Sister, you’re something else! You’ve already made up your mind that I’m the killer, haven’t you? Well, you go right ahead and snoop all you want. But I should tell you I was playing golf over at the pueblo’s course Sunday for about three hours during the time of the murder, I believe.”

  “Las Palomas,” she said with a nod, then continued to search. “Funny thing. I’ve been talking to people here and there and discovered that you left as your foursome was teeing off at the third hole, and you didn’t return until the sixteenth hole. That leaves a big gap in your alibi.”

  His eyes darkened. “Satisfied now that no paint rubbed off onto my truck?” he asked after a beat.


  “No paint smudges, but I think I’ve just spotted the link I was looking for. The stolen bike was missing a piece off the reflector, and they couldn’t find it in that trash bin anywhere. I guess the reflector broke when you tossed the bike into the back of this pickup. You were undoubtedly in a rush to get back to the golf course before they finished the round. A partial alibi is better than none.”

  She crawled over the hard surface of the bed, the metal ridges digging painfully into her knees. Then she put her hand into the left corner, the spot closest to the driver’s door, and pretended to retrieve the small piece of taillight she’d palmed earlier.

  Sister Agatha held it out and showed it to him. “Interesting, don’t you think? I wonder if this’ll fit into the broken spot on the reflector.”

  He sat on the tailgate, blocking her exit. “Give me what you’ve found,” he said, holding out his hand and keeping his voice soft for Pax’s benefit. “You and I both know that there’s no way that could be part of the bicycle’s reflector. I used a power washer and hosed this truck down completely last Sunday afternoon.”

  Sister Agatha saw the rage in his eyes. He didn’t really want the small piece of worthless plastic. He wanted her to be afraid. Every one of his threats to the externs had been designed to generate fear and uncertainty.

  “You don’t scare me,” she said flatly. “My life is in God’s hands, not yours.”

  “Who says we’re talking about your life? There’s a saying that a running man with a knife can slice a thousand throats in one night. You have no defenses here, except that dog, and I’ve already shown how I can take him out in the blink of an eye—or a little spark. If you value the lives of the nuns who live here, you’ll hand that over and keep your mouth shut. I make a very bad enemy, Sister Agatha. Believe that.”

  This time Pax’s growl was much more pronounced, but McKay placed his hand on the dog and gave him the command to settle. Pax obeyed. McKay’s years of working with police dogs were paying off for him now.