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.