The Prodigal Nun Page 3

  She pointed toward the alley. “Burglar, gray sweatshirt. Big guy.”

  “You okay?”

  “Yes, go! He’s getting away!”

  Tom sprinted across the yard, then around the garage.

  The sound of his footsteps soon faded, and by then she was on her feet, rubbing her aching shoulder. At least nothing was broken—except the glass on the back door.

  4

  SEEING A NEIGHBOR PEERING AT HER FROM A SIDE WINDOW, Sister Agatha waved frantically and hurried around the low wall to the identically styled pale green house on the next lot. Sheriff Green needed help, and she didn’t have the monastery’s cell phone with her.

  As Sister Agatha approached the neighbor’s porch, the door swung open. “Sister, what’s going on over at the Sanchezes’? I heard a loud bang, walked to the window for a look, and saw you on the ground. Did you fall off the porch?”

  “I was pushed. A man rushed out of the house and slammed into me. Unless Louis has grown a foot in height since I last saw him, I just surprised a burglar. Sheriff Green chased after him, but I’d like to call the police and get more help.”

  The woman nodded and pointed to the phone on the side table. Sister Agatha immediately called 911, but before she’d said more than a few words she learned that Tom had already called for backup. Deputies were on their way.

  “Thank God the Sanchezes weren’t home,” The woman said to Sister Agatha, her eyes big with concern. “But what were you and the sheriff doing there, Sister…?”

  “I’m Sister Agatha, and we were looking for Louis,” she said, then quickly added, “How do you know Louis isn’t home?”

  “I’m Betty Malone,” she said, introducing herself.

  “Louis usually leaves right after Jane goes to church. I haven’t seen him pass by, so I don’t think he’s back yet.”

  Sister Agatha looked out the living room window, praying that Betty was right. If Louis was at home, there was a chance he’d been hurt, even killed. She brushed the possibility out of her mind, finding it too horrible to contemplate. “Do you happen to know where Louis goes while Jane’s at Mass?”

  “Not really, Sister Agatha.”

  Before she could ask anything else, Sister Agatha saw Tom come around the corner, walking toward the house. He looked up, saw her, and shook his head.

  “They have just the one car,” Betty continued, unaware of the sheriff’s return. “After Jane leaves, Louis goes out on foot. He comes back an hour or two later, which is usually long before Jane gets back. She likes to run errands by herself on Sunday.”

  Betty joined Sister Agatha at the window and pointed farther down the street. “There’s Louis now. Right on time. And that must be the sheriff over there by the house,” she said, looking in the opposite direction. “Guess he didn’t catch the burglar. That’s too bad.”

  Sister Agatha looked at Louis, recognizing the overweight, middle-aged man with the slicked-back hair. He was obviously not the man who’d fled the Sanchez home. The burglar had been taller and less…robust.

  Catching Tom’s attention, she signaled to him and pointed. Tom caught on quickly and walked to meet Louis, who’d stopped to stare at Tom’s unmarked department vehicle.

  “Do you suppose that Jane talked Louis into taking those walks so he’d exercise?” she asked, heading to the door.

  Betty followed. “I really can’t say. It’s been a long time since Jane and I had time for anything more than a quick hello. She’s always rushing to her job during the week. On weekends, she’s got her hands full catching up on all the things she didn’t have time to do during the workweek. Louis usually has the car and drives her to work, so she’s stuck until he picks her up in the afternoons. I think that’s why she enjoys her Sunday errands so much.”

  “Thanks for letting me use your phone, Betty,” Sister Agatha said, walking out onto the porch.

  “Sister, I hope you don’t mind me asking, but it seems a little odd, you and Sheriff Green showing up out of the blue,” she said, waving at Tom. “How did you know that a man had broken into the Sanchez home?”

  Sister Agatha hesitated. Though Louis was bound to need the support of friends and neighbors, there was probably a connection between the break-in and Jane’s death. Not wanting to give too much away, she measured her words carefully.

  “The burglary attempt might have been unrelated to our business with him,” she finally answered. “We actually came to give him some very bad news. That’s all I can tell you, but I’m sure he’ll appreciate your visit later.”

  Betty nodded, understanding reflected in her eyes. “I hear you.”

  Sister Agatha hurried to join Tom. After telling Louis about the intruder, Sister Agatha gave Tom the few details she remembered about the man. Soon they went inside. After Sheriff Green cautioned Louis not to touch anything, he and Sister Agatha followed Louis as he searched for anything that might be missing, but he didn’t notice anything.

  Louis led them into the kitchen, since it clearly hadn’t been disturbed by the burglar, and joined them at the table. The first thing that struck Sister Agatha was the host of handwritten memos in bright pink that were stuck on the refrigerator. Through the doorway, she could also see dozens more on a cork bulletin board above the desk in the living room.

  Louis stood and began to pace nervously. He was wearing neatly polished brown loafers, tan slacks, and a Hawaiian print shirt with a squared-off hem. He wasn’t wearing cologne—or maybe that was masked by the pronounced garlic scent on his breath.

  “What’s happening, Sheriff?” he asked, his words rushing out.

  “We didn’t come to catch a burglar,” Tom started, then looked at Sister Agatha.

  “I’m here for a different reason, Louis,” Sister Agatha answered. She broke the news to Louis as gently as she could.

  When she finished, Louis stared at her in shock and confusion. “Jane was shot? No, that can’t be right. She was heading to Mass, then she was going to drive to the Farmer’s Market in Alameda for some spaghetti squash. She’ll be turning into the driveway any minute now, you’ll see.”

  “There’s no mistake, Louis,” Sister Agatha said softly. “I’m so very sorry.”

  There was a sickly pallor on his face, and his eyes were brimming with tears. “Murdered? My Jane? I bet it was one of those gangs, wasn’t it? A drive-by and she got in the way! Then, since they knew she wouldn’t be at home, they sent someone to rob our house.” His voice rose sharply in anger, and he shook his head. “No. This isn’t happening.”

  “We don’t know who’s responsible yet, or if both incidents—the burglary and Jane’s murder—are related. I have to ask you some very tough questions now, so you have to try to focus,” Tom said, his voice firm. “First of all, your wife was apparently robbed. How much money did she usually carry?”

  “On Sundays, around a hundred dollars in cash. She buys some groceries after church. She also carries a credit card. Is that gone, too?” he asked, trying to keep his voice steady but failing.

  Tom shook his head. “The credit card was still there, but no money. I understand she usually carried a cell phone, too, but we didn’t find one. Do you know where it might be?”

  He shook his head. “She…always took it with her.”

  “We’ll check to see if anyone uses it. Can you give us the carrier and the phone number?” He handed Louis a small notebook and a pen, and Louis took a credit card out of his own wallet and wrote down the information.

  “Do you know if your wife had any enemies?” Tom continued.

  “Enemies?” Louis shook his head in confusion. “Jane ticks people off from time to time. She’s a strong woman with a mouth on her. But so what? Who’s perfect?”

  “Think,” Tom said. “Maybe there’s a neighbor who hates her, or someone at work.”

  Louis shook his head, bewildered.

  “Sister Agatha reca little nervous as she goteived a call from Jane a couple of days ago. Jane was troubled about something sh
e’d seen. Any idea what that was?” Tom pressed.

  “Jane seemed a little nervous as she got ready for church today, but I didn’t ask about it, because I didn’t want to get into another argument with her. She’s been upset about my health, and of course the fact that she doesn’t like our daughter’s husband at all.”

  Louis brushed a hand through his hair, a quiet desperation in his eyes. “Maybe I should have gone to church with her today. If I had, she might still be—” Horrified by the thought, he suddenly sagged back, his hands over his face. “Oh God, oh God,” he moaned, his face buried in his hands.

  To Sister Agatha’s surprise, Betty Malone suddenly appeared at the door. She walked over, sat beside Louis, and placed her hand on his shoulder.

  “You’ll get through this, Louis,” she said with absolute conviction. “You’re not alone. You’ve got family, friends, and neighbors who’ll be right here for you.”

  Betty looked at Sheriff Green, then at Sister Agatha, and shook her head. “I know you want answers, but he won’t be able to help anyone right now. He needs time. Maybe this afternoon.”

  Sister Agatha knew that Sheriff Green couldn’t wait that long. Wanting to give him a chance to speak to Louis one-on-one, she motioned for Betty to step into the kitchen with her. Once there, Sister Agatha told her about Louis’s heart problems.

  Betty nodded. “I know all about that, and I’ll watch him, don’t worry. His daughter will be here shortly, too. I took the liberty of phoning her before I came over. She’d been staying away because of family issues, but I told her that her father needed her now. I’ll tell her the rest when she arrives.”

  When Sister Agatha returned to the living room, Tom looked at her, then focused back on Louis. “I’ll be back in a few hours, Louis, but before I go, I need to know where you were earlier today. You didn’t just go out for a walk, did you?”

  Louis blinked and stared at him, no sign of comprehension on his face. It was as if the sheriff had just spoken in Chinese. Tom repeated the question.

  “I usually catch a ride with my other neighbor, Christy White, when she goes to work Sunday mornings at Rio Casino. Afterward, I walk home.”

  “You go gambling every Sunday, then?” Tom asked. “Doesn’t that add to those family problems you mentioned?”

  Sister Agatha waited for Louis’s answer. Rio Casino was only a few miles away, just inside pueblo land.

  “Gamble?” Louis looked at Tom in confusion. “Gambling’s for rich people, not me.”

  “Then what do you do at Rio Casino? Socialize? Meet someone?” Tom pressed.

  “Meet who? Hell, no—excuse me, Sister—I go there to eat. All Jane lets me have around here is the low-fat, low-taste rabbit food she and my doctor keep harping about. Then she insists I ride a stupid bicycle up and down the street like some paper boy.” He rubbed his eyes, and when he looked up at last, love, grief, and even hate were mirrored there. “If God had intended me to eat alfalfa, he would have given me hooves. I like real food like lasagna, and steak and potatoes with thick gravy. The casino’s Sunday brunch is great, and it’s all you can eat for less than Jane puts in the offering basket.” His jaw fell open as he realized what he’d just said. “Not that I cared how much she donates…donated,” Louis added, his voice catching.

  “So you’ve been sneaking out on Sunday just to eat?” Sister Agatha confirmed.

  He nodded. “I go while she’s at church, then work some of it off by walking back.”

  “How many people know that your house is empty for a few hours every Sunday morning?” Sheriff Green asked next.

  “I’m not sure. I guess anyone in the neighborhood who has seen me walking back.”

  “The man who knocked Sister Agatha down was a big guy. How many men in the neighborhood fit that description?”

  “None of the men. Miss Herring, a block down, is about six foot two, but she’s a retired math teacher who’s around sixty years old. Anyway, none of my neighbors would break into my house. You think the burglar might be the same man who killed my wife?”

  “I can’t rule that out, not yet,” Sheriff Green replied. “A deputy will be by shortly to check your home for trace evidence and examine the back door for fingerprints.”

  “Gloves, Sheriff,” Sister Agatha suddenly interrupted. “I just remembered catching a glimpse of brown work gloves on the man’s hands.”

  “Then fingerprints are out. There’s one more thing, Mr. Sanchez. You mentioned owning a bicycle?” the sheriff asked.

  He nodded miserably. “Jane bought me one so I’d exercise. It’s got big, knobby tires—one of those mountain bikes. I hate the danged thing. I got lucky when someone stole it a few days ago. I didn’t report it missing’ cause I’m hoping it doesn’t find its way back.”

  “Thanks for your help, Louis, and I’m truly sorry for your loss,” Sheriff Green said, standing.

  As they walked to the car, a sheriff’s department vehicle pulled up behind Tom’s vehicle. Tom took a few minutes to speak to the deputy, then joined Sister Agatha.

  “The casinos have cameras all over the place, and they’re bound to have picked up Louis Sanchez in that flashy shirt of his. I’ll be able to verify his alibi easily enough,” Tom said as he drove down the street. “For a while there, after he told us he was sneaking out, I was sure we were about to uncover a motive. Then it went up in a puff of smoke.”

  “No man could have wanted to eat pasta badly enough to take out a contract on his wife, Tom,” Sister Agatha said. “Louis’s grief is real.”

  “I’m guessing you’re right about that, but I’m still going to have to confirm his alibi. Jane may have thought he was having an affair—and maybe he was, and not just with the potatoes and gravy. That could explain why she was worried about something she’d seen and why she didn’t want to discuss it on the phone.”

  “It’s possible, but I think someone was after Jane,” Sister Agatha said. “That person studied her habits and was able to make the hit at just the right time. I think the killer rushed over to burglarize Jane’s home, knowing Louis wasn’t home and she wasn’t coming back. The break-in today is just too coincidental.”

  “The killer was probably searching for something specific—something Jane left behind that was important to him. He tried searching through her purse after he killed her, then covered for it by trying to make it look like a simple robbery.”

  Sister Agatha nodded. “Jane was going to tell me something but was afraid of being overheard. That opens up a lot of options now that I think of it, like maybe even phone taps.”

  “I thought of that, too, and told the deputy to look around the house for bugs. Maybe she planted them herself to keep tabs on her husband and didn’t want her conversation with you to be recorded.” Tom paused, then added, “Did you notice all the bright pink memos stuck on the refrigerator and on the corkboard?”

  She nodded. “Jane always kept a memo pad with her, the brightly colored sticky kind. She sometimes used them to mark places in her prayer book. I’ve even seen her taking notes in church during the epistle.” She had a sudden thought. “Did you find a memo pad in her purse?”

  “No. There wasn’t even a grocery list, which I’d expect to find if she was going shopping after church. I didn’t see any padson the counter, the tabletops, or the desk at their home either. So what happened to her memo pad? Did Jane just run out, or did the killer take it with him? Was that what the burglar came to retrieve?” Tom muttered, not expecting an answer.

  “Jane would have written down a reminder to herself to come talk to me, and maybe even what she intended to say,” Sister Agatha said. “And there would have been a grocery list in her purse. She wrote everything down.”

  “I’ll double-check with the crime scene team and see if they found the missing notepad. I’ll have the deputy at the Sanchez home search for one as well.”

  She nodded.

  Tom called it in, then continued, “Let’s be careful about making premature assumpti
ons, too. I keep thinking of the message scratched on the Antichrysler. It’s possible that we’re dealing with a psycho.”

  A shiver touched her spine. The danger hadn’t passed. She could feel it surrounding them, drawing closer. What she needed to do more than ever now was trust God completely. Perfect charity casteth out fear. St. John had said so. She was all too human, though, and fear came with the territory.

  5

  WHEN SHERIFF GREEN AND SISTER AGATHA RETURNED to the monastery, the crime scene team was still working. Sister Agatha relieved Sister Bernarda, who’d been outside observing the monastery’s law enforcement visitors.

  Since the mayor’s aide had already left, Sister Agatha felt less pressured to hold back. Knowing that the sisters had a personal stake in finding the killer’s identity—they’d been threatened as well—gave her all the impetus she needed. She drew closer to the officers and listened.

  Tom was reading a report when one of the crime scene techs came up to him.

  “We found some footprints, Sheriff, from a size eleven running shoe,” the officer said. “Once we’re back at the lab, we’ll try to get a brand from the imprint. One last thing, the bicycle tracks led to a trail that goes along the river.”

  “How far were you able to follow the tracks?” Tom asked the man.

  “A half mile south. There were two sets, one coming, the other going. They ended just past the stand of cottonwoods near the Rio Grande Conservancy marker. I found vehicle tracks, and the overlapping pattern indicates that the killer left his pickup parked there while he rode here on the bike. After the shooting, he returned to his vehicle, loaded up the bike, and drove off.”

  “What can you tell me about the vehicle’s tire tracks?” Tom asked.

  “The pattern isn’t too clear, but the size indicates a big pickup or an SUV.”

  As the deputy walked away, Sister Agatha glanced at Tom and said, “It’s too bad you don’t have access to Louis’s bike. A tread comparison would have been helpful.”

  “Maybe we can find some around his home,” Tom answered. “Are you sure you never heard a scream or a shout of any kind while Mass was going on? One of the reports I just skimmed suggests the shot was taken at nearly contact range.”