He strode up to her, a scowl on his face. “Are you in charge here now?”
She nearly choked. “No, not hardly.” Her gaze fell on the men from the office of the medical examiner as they crouched by Father Anselm’s body.
“Who’s the head nun? Mother Superior?”
“Reverend Mother Margaret Mary is our abbess,” she answered.
“I need to interview her right now, and everyone else who was present at Mass.”
“The parishioners who attended Mass have already gone home. Father Anselm’s abrupt death frightened them and they left as soon as possible. I didn’t try to stop them because they were witnesses to a tragedy, not a crime.”
“Get Reverend Mother.”
She took a deep breath and tried to get her temper in check. “This is a monastery, Sheriff, and we are a cloistered order. Most of the nuns here don’t have contact with the outside world. You can’t just barge in here, order Reverend Mother about, and disrupt everything—”
“The priest’s death is responsible for the disruption, not me. I’m here to help put things back to normal. Now either bring the abbess here or take me to see her.”
As a nun, Sister Agatha should have been used to following orders, but it had always been one of her shortcomings. Right now she was feeling protective. This monastery was her home, the nuns her family. Reverend Mother, in particular, carried the weight of all temporal and spiritual matters that concerned the monastery. She didn’t need any additional burdens. She would do everything in her power to protect their abbess.
“You can’t enter the enclosure,” she said firmly. “You’ll have to go to the outer parlor, and she’ll come to the grille. You can speak to her there.”
“Like a jail, huh?”
She shot him a hard look, and he shrugged. As she started to leave the chapel, she saw Sister Mary Lazarus and Sister Bernarda come out of the hallway that led to the cloister, bucket and scrubbing brushes in hand. They were obviously intending to clean up the chapel—their usual task after Mass.
“Stop right there, Sisters,” Sheriff Green’s voice cracked through the air like a whip. “No one touches anything until I say so. Is that clear?”
“Tom,” Sister Agatha reached out and touched his arm lightly.
He glanced back at her and moved his arm away. “You’re Sister Agatha now, and I’m Sheriff Green. Don’t try to use our former friendship to manipulate me. I’m here on official business, and I have a job to do. Now go tell your superior I’ll need to speak to her in ten minutes. Then come back here. I have to get your statement, too.”
“All right. But get this through your thick head. If you intend to get any cooperation from this monastery, you’ll treat Reverend Mother with the respect she deserves.”
After Sister Agatha and the other extern nun, Sister Bernarda, described the events and their observations and actions leading up to the arrival of the primary response team, Sheriff Green went to speak to Reverend Mother.
The outer parlor was divided from the enclosure by a grid of vertical and horizontal metal rods that physically separated the two areas, though visibility was only slightly impaired. Sheriff Green stood before the grille and stared at the bars with distaste. “Mother Abbess, I’m here as a law enforcement official. I’d rather speak to you face-to-face.”
“We are face-to-face,” Reverend Mother answered softly, “and we can see each other well enough. You may ask me any questions you have, but our rules of enclosure dictate that it has to be done this way. I hope you’ll understand.”
“All right. If that’s the way it has to be.” Green took a breath and regarded her pensively. “The priest, Father An-selm, probably died from a heart attack, at least based on the information I’ve received so far. But until the medical investigator confirms that, I’ve got procedures to follow and I need to get some background information. Did you speak to the father today before Mass?”
“No. Sister Bernarda and Sister Agatha met him earlier this morning, when he came to deliver some donated supplies for our St. Francis’ Pantry. Our novice and postulant probably helped put food away too, and may have spoken to him. But you’ll have to get the details from Sister Agatha. As sacristan, she may also have seen him when he came to celebrate Mass for us.”
He glanced at Sister Agatha coldly. She was seated nearby as her duties as portress demanded. “You could have saved me some time and told me this before.”
“You didn’t ask,” she answered simply.
Reverend Mother spoke. “You may find it helpful to remember that, as a general rule, our cloistered sisters do not leave the enclosure except in grave emergencies. Father was allowed inside, of course. He made himself available to us for confession and counseling whenever we needed him.”
“Were there any confession or counseling sessions today?”
“No,” Reverend Mother responded. “And no one but Sister Agatha or Sister Bernarda could have spoken to him when he came to say Mass. The others were seated with me, within the enclosure, before he arrived.” She glanced at Sister Agatha, then back at the sheriff. “Please don’t hesitate to ask Sister Bernarda or Sister Agatha any further questions you may have. They’ll be glad to help you.”
“I can even reconstruct some of what Father did immediately prior to his heart attack, if you’d like. He spoke to me about his day,” Sister Agatha said.
“When I need your help, I’ll let you know,” Sheriff Green said abruptly.
His rudeness took her aback, but she didn’t say anything. Out of the corner of her eye, she noted Reverend Mother’s disapproving expression. Had she still been Mary Naughton,Sister Agatha would have cheerfully told him he had the manners of a pig, and showed him the door. As it was, however, she knew she should find a more charitable response. Perhaps she’d pray that Tom Green found a personality donor soon.
“For now, I’m going back to the scene. I’m expecting the district medical investigator, Jim Brown, to arrive shortly. I’ll know more once I talk to him.”
“Then what you need is medical confirmation that Father had a heart attack?” Reverend Mother asked.
“If that’s what it was. If his death wasn’t from natural causes, that’ll pose a whole new set of problems, and I’ll need a list of everyone who was here today.”
“Sister Bernarda can supply that for you. She was portress and would have been outside the chapel doors greeting those who came to Mass today,” Sister Agatha said. “She’s probably in the chapel now, standing by in case she’s needed as your people do their work.”
That was the most diplomatic way of putting it, Sister Agatha mused. Their chapel was open to the public, so the main reason Sister Bernarda would remain there until they were gone was to make sure no one broached their enclosure.
“How long will it take you to get the answers you need?” Reverend Mother asked.
“I don’t know yet. I’ll have to let you know.”
Muttering a quick thank-you, Sheriff Green strode to the door, apparently heading back to the chapel to meet with his men. Sister Agatha glanced back at Reverend Mother and saw she was standing.
“Come see me in my office.”
Sister Agatha nodded, and locked the parlor doors since no otter portress was available now, and hurried to Mother’s office. Taking a deep breath and bracing herself, Sister Agatha opened the door to Reverend Mother’s office. “Praised be Jesus Christ,” she said, as was customary.
“Now and forever,” came Reverend Mother’s reply.
The sparsely finished room had an austere feel. There were two straight-backed wooden chairs before an oak desk that one of the businesses in town had donated to the monastery.A tall storage cabinet stood against one wall and a statue of the Blessed Virgin had been placed on a stand in the far corner. The only adornment on the white stucco walls was a large wooden cross.
“Sit down, child.”
Reverend Mother called everyone child as was their monastic custom. Even elderly Sister Clothil
de, who was reputedly in her eighties—no one knew for sure—was “child” to Mother, who was in her late fifties.
“I couldn’t help but notice the sheriff’s attitude toward you. He came across as a man with little regard for our monastery. If that’s due to some history between you, I need to know. Father Anselm’s passing was a tragedy, but I have no intention of letting the police turn this monastery upside down. Our Lady of Hope is dedicated to prayer and I won’t allow anything to interfere with our duty to God.”
“Sheriff Green and I knew each other a lifetime ago, Mother. We’ve been friends since we were kids and our relationship grew even closer after high school. We lived together our last two years in college. But after graduation, we both knew it was time to call it quits. Our outlooks on just about everything were totally different. We had a huge fight one day and Tom packed up and left.”
“So your relationship ended after college?”
“Not quite. We never lived together again, but during the years my brother was sick, Tom would visit us often. I think he always hoped that we’d get back together someday. But our lives had already gone in two separate directions. When I told him I was entering the monastery, he was furious with me. He accused me of everything from being crazy to leading him on.” She paused, then shook her head. “That was twelve years ago, but he still seems to bear a grudge.”
“He probably thinks we took you away from him.”
“But that’s not the way it was. The truth of it is that by the time Kevin died, my entire life had changed. During Kevin’s illness, I learned to rely on God. He was there and He filled my heart in a way nothing ever had before. Joining the order was the only step that made sense to me after that.”
“Did the sheriff know all that?”
“I explained it to him, Mother, but he was too angry to listen. Yet none of this should matter now. He’s married. I saw the ring on his hand.”
“Do you think Sister Bernarda should be the one to deal with him until this is over?”
“I doubt that’ll make any difference. Sheriff Green apparently sees me as part of the monastery and the monastery as a part of me,” she said. “And, in that respect, he’s right.”
Reverend Mother leaned back in her chair. “I want this matter settled, and the police gone. We can’t use our chapel for prayer or to chant the liturgy of the hours with those men in there. We’ve already missed Sext. That has never happened before.”
“I’ll do my best to see that they’re out of here as soon as possible, Mother.”
“Come to me immediately if you encounter any problems.”
“Yes, Mother.”
As Sister Agatha left Reverend Mother’s office and walked down the corridor, she could hear men’s voices coming from chapel. The sound was jarring.
The devil had brought chaos into the midst of them, but she intended to fight him. Taking a deep breath, she strode out into the chapel, and saw Sheriff Green going into the sacristy where Father Anselm had vested.
“One moment please,” she snapped, using her college professor tone.
He turned his head, but continued walking.
“I don’t care what you think about me personally, Sheriff, but there are rules in this monastery. Half of that sacristy is considered cloister, and you may not enter that half. You also need to be escorted into any area outside the chapel. Unless you and your men respect that, I’m prepared to file a complaint and go all the way to the governor’s office if I have to. And he’s Catholic.”
The smile he gave her was cold. “Rules didn’t used to worry you so much. But not everything about you has changed. I see you’ve still got that temper. And you know what? It still doesn’t impress me.” He entered the priest’s side of the sacristy and began to study the two-way drawers.
She explained the system to him without waiting to be asked.
“I’ll need to collect and examine the clothing the priest wore when he came in, and whatever else he left in here.”
She’d been a reporter long enough to have that request send a warning signal to her brain. “What’s going on? Did you discover something new concerning Father’s death?”
“I spoke to the medical investigator. The symptoms apparently don’t match a heart attack—at least not exactly. The MI’s preliminary ruling is death by an unknown cause—but I think he suspects foul play. The body is being transported to Albuquerque for an autopsy.”
Tom Green turned and walked out of the sacristy.
Sister Agatha felt as if his words had suddenly sucked all the oxygen from the room. Murder, here, under their roof? She remembered following police cases as a reporter, then later with her journalism students. If there was one thing she remembered it was that an investigation of this nature left no one untouched. The delicate, orderly ebb and flow of their life at the monastery would be under siege now.
She saw Sister Bernarda in the doorway. “We’re in trouble, aren’t we, Sister?”
Sister Bernarda’s military bark was strangely absent now, and she could understand why. The death of their chaplain had left all of them in shock. But neither of them could indulge their feelings now. She and Sister Bernarda were the monastery’s first line of defense.
“We’re about to face an invading army, Sister, and I see no way to stop it.”
“I overheard someone say murdeŕ… is that true? Was Father murdered?” Sister Bernarda’s tone grew stronger, but she was still pale.
“They don’t know yet, but apparently there’s enough evidence to make the law suspect something other than an accident or natural causes.”
Sister Agatha saw Sheriff Green walking in their direction with a man in civilian clothes and a blue jacket. He had an ID badge clipped to his pocket.
“Sister Agatha, Sister Bernarda, this is Jim Brown, the medical investigator. He has a few questions for Sister Ber-narda.” Not giving either woman a chance to reply, the sheriff motioned to Brown, who led Sister Bernarda away to a nearby pew.
Questioning people separately was standard procedure, she knew that from her journalism days, but having these protocols enforced here filled her with dread for what lay ahead. To the police, they were all suspects now—no matter how far-fetched that seemed to her. She and Sister Bernarda were accustomed to interacting with the world outside the monastery. That was part of their duties. But the cloistered sisters would find contact with the police dismaying, to say the least
“Okay, Sister Agatha, let’s get back on track over here. Who else besides you saw Father this morning?” Green brought out a pen and small black notebook.
“He spoke to Sister Bernarda, who was portress at the time. She rang the bell notifying us that he was here. Then there was our postulant, Celia, and our novice, Sister Mary Lazarus.”
“No one else? You’re sure? Think about it a moment before you answer.”
“It’s not impossible that he might have seen someone else, because he was already out of the pickup by the time we came to greet him. But as far as I know, it was just us. The cloistered sisters don’t come out to the front of our grounds.” She met his gaze. “I think you already know that none of us here would have harmed Father. Do you have to treat us like criminals?”
“I’m not treating anyone like a criminal yet. If I were, the lot of you would be trooping down to the station house. I’m treating everyone like a witness to a suspicious death, possibly murder.”
“You’re showing very little respect for the nuns here, and not an ounce for me. Do you really hate me so much?”
“I don’t hate you. Not at all. I’m married, and have my own life. And you’ve got yours—such as it is.”
“Your sweet disposition is well hidden today, then.”
“I’m doing my job.”
“So am I. What other information do you need?” she added coldly. “I have other responsibilities.”
“Look, Mary… Sister Agatha. I’m not the enemy.”
“Then stop acting like one.” Seeing two depu
ties taking the altar cloth and placing it in a large paper bag, Sister Agatha immediately shifted her attention to them. “What do you think you’re doing?”
They looked at her, then at the sheriff, who stood behind her, then resumed sealing and labeling the sack.
“Evidence has to be examined and interpreted. I’m trying to cut you some slack, so chill out,” Sheriff Green said, shifting until he stood between her and the deputies. “You’re going to need to use the chapel, right? Nuns have church all the time. The moment this place is cleaned up, any evidence that’s here will be compromised. I don’t want to risk that until I know for sure how and why Father Anselm died. If you’d rather, I can tape off the chapel for the next few days to preserve what may be a crime scene, and bar anyone from coming in at all. All things considered, I figured you’d prefer to have us take what we may need as evidence and free the scene for ordinary use as soon as possible.”
“All right Remove what you need to examine, but I really don’t think you’re going to find anything.”
“We’ll just have to wait and see. Now think back again. Did the father eat or drink anything while he was here, either right before Mass or earlier today? Did he get an injection or take a pill in the infirmary, or anything like that at all?”
“All I know is that he drank a glass of iced tea this morning when we were working in the food pantry—the monas-tery’s special blend.”
“Okay. Now, what about the sacramental wine and the communion wafer?”
“He was about to consecrate them when he became ill. So the answer is no, he never got to that part of the Mass.”
Bad Faith Page 3
