Chapter Twenty

Father Fortis rushed to the edge of the pit and stared down at Worthy. The scene below him, his friend lying beneath Victor Martinez’s outstretched body, seemed to be out of a nightmare. The smell of the exposed corpse knocked Father Fortis backwards, and he fought an urge to vomit. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Sera trembling as she hovered at the edge of the grave.

Both jumped into the pit at the same time to attend to Worthy, still unconscious and lying in the hole left by the cross.

Not this way, not this way,” Sera moaned. “Oh, God, not this way. The poor mother ….”

We shouldn’t lift him,” Father Fortis cautioned as he noted the strange angle of his friend’s arm. He could hear the policewoman’s teeth chattering.

We’ll take care of him,” a voice said from behind. As the two were helped out of the pit, two others in uniform knelt at Worthy’s side. The first raised one of his eyelids while the other took his pulse.

Father Fortis and Sera watched helplessly as the cross, still holding Victor’s body, twisted like a mobile above Worthy’s unconscious body. With each swing of the cross, the smell of death wafted over those nearest the pit. A stretcher was passed down into the pit, and Worthy’s limp body was lifted from the grave.

As the stretcher made its way through the crowd, Worthy regained consciousness and lifted his head. “But she’s here. She has to be. The unicorn …,” he moaned, before passing out again.

Sera huddled like a trembling bird beside Father Fortis. “I have to tell Victor’s mother. I have to go now,” she muttered. Father Fortis edged her toward the spot where he’d left Father Linus. But where was the old monk?

Man down!” a voice shouted ahead of him. “Need medical!”

Father Fortis and Sera ran toward a group huddled over someone on the ground. A ball of fear rose in Father Fortis’s belly as he sensed, even before he saw, that it was Father Linus.

The old monk lay prone on the ground, his legs twitching violently as he clutched at his chest.

Cardiac, cardiac!” someone called out. “Get the cart!”

Sera weaved as she stumbled back toward Father Fortis. “His poor mother,” she muttered again.

We need a blanket here,” Father Fortis called to one of the men running by.

What the hell for? Oh, sorry, Father.”

I think she’s going into shock.”

Shock over here!”

Personnel split into tight circles of action, as if the group had come under attack. Off to the side was the only still figure, Lieutenant Choi, conferring with a fellow officer.

Out of nowhere, a uniformed woman appeared with a blanket and covered Sera’s shoulders before leading her away toward one of the vans. The ambulance holding Worthy and Father Linus already had its lights flashing. Father Fortis stood alone in the horror of the day and in the beauty of the evening light. He said a prayer for the dead boy, for the boy’s family, for Sister Anna, for Father Linus, and finally for Worthy. My God, he thought, the evil of this case is going to swallow us all.

At the far end of the canyon the moon was rising like a balloon freed from a child’s arms. Fiery contrails of airplanes crisscrossed in the deep blue sky above. He thought of the people flying high above in those planes, perhaps munching pretzels and sipping complimentary sodas as they looked down on the scene.

They probably think we’re a small town, Father Fortis pondered, or a Little League game being played underneath the lights. They wouldn’t hear of the strange story of the crucified boy until the morning papers arrived.

A crucified boy, he thought. I can’t believe it. Victor Martinez had died a horrible death, and judging from the state of the body, not recently.

Father Fortis sat on a rock and felt the heat of the day still radiating from it. His friend Worthy had pictured the boy as crazy, roaming the hills for moradas, vandalizing and then finally killing. All that had been wrong. No, he corrected himself, not completely wrong. Based on what he knew, Worthy had predicted what they’d find at an abandoned morada, and he’d been right.

Yes, something had been right in the theory, even if the body was the wrong one. La Muerte, the death figure found with the body, proved Worthy’s point—there was a link between the vandalism, Sister’s Anna’s murder, and now the boy’s horrible death.

An officer approached him, explaining the logistics of getting him back to the monastery. Father Fortis stared at the sandwiches and water bottle left for him. Was there nothing for him to do but eat sandwiches and wait for a ride? He glanced around at the flurry of activity. Victor’s body, still attached to the cross, was being carried as if in an ancient procession, while others were tearing down the equipment. No, there would be nothing for an outsider to do but sit and try to make sense of it all.

He thought of something Worthy had told him once, back in Ohio. He’d asked Worthy the question that had haunted him ever since they first met. “Why would anyone want to work on homicide cases?”

He would never forget his friend’s unexpected response. “Murder is a lot like falling madly in love,” Worthy had said. “Two people traveling on their own separate journeys bump into each other. There’s a passionate meeting, an encounter, except with murder something goes horribly wrong. You see, Nick,” he said, “when I kneel down over a body, I’m standing at a kind of intersection. People—sometimes my own captain—think my first job is to find the killer. But how can I do that until I know what led the victim to that spot, that meeting? Once I understand why the victim was there, I usually have a clue as to why a killer met them at the same spot at the same time. That’s my job, and I won’t apologize for enjoying the challenge.”

Yes, two bizarre paths led to this place, Father Fortis thought, looking back on the morada. Nine months before, Victor Martinez had accepted a college scholarship and left this world behind. At college, his path had crossed that of a very rich, but fragile, girl. The death of a friend had rocked Victor and brought him home, but the peace he so desperately searched for had eluded him. Worthy’s conviction that Victor had drifted from Colorado to Chimayó searching for forgiveness still made sense. From there, the boy had come to this lonely morada and met his end on a cross. That was one journey.

But what of the other journey? Sister Anna’s killer had intersected with Victor Martinez at this morada and killed him. Similar ritualistic signatures had been left at both murders. Didn’t it all add up to the killer being a Penitente or a group of them? Father Linus’s nightmare had come true. No wonder his heart failed when he saw the boy on the cross.

Father Fortis unwrapped the sandwich and saw that it was cheese. The bread was cold from refrigeration, and he pressed it to his eyes.

He pictured Father Linus sitting next to him, defending his beloved Brotherhood. Was there still a chance the old monk was right? If the killer wasn’t a Penitente, it would have to be someone who knew the Brotherhood’s secret rituals and haunts. But why would an outsider hate a group of pious old men? Hadn’t someone recently told him that the Brotherhood would probably expire on its own in a few years?

He took a long drink from the bottle. Who’d told him that? It took him a moment to remember that Father Bernard had been overheard saying those words to Brother Andrew. But the killer seemed unable to wait for these old brothers and their moradas to simply fade away. Whoever he was, the killer seemed to be in a hurry, as if time were running out.

In the fading light, he saw movement on the ground and looked down to watch ants swarm over his food wrapper. We’re like these ants, he thought, each of us on our separate journeys, bumping into one another, trying to find some way home. What a sorrowful lot we must be to God as He watches all the misery we put ourselves through.

An officer called from the road and motioned him toward one of the cars. Father Fortis’s feet and legs began to cramp, no doubt from standing on rocky ground for over six hours.

Stars were just beginning to peek through the band of turquoise in the western sky. Out here somewhere, in these darkening hills and canyons, Father Fortis prayed, Ellie VanBruskman was still alive and waiting for someone to find her.

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Worthy hobbled sheepishly across the hospital parking lot toward the waiting car.

Get in, lefty,” Sera called from the driver’s seat.

Easing himself into the passenger seat, Worthy carefully arranged the seatbelt over the sling. “I didn’t expect to see you. Someone told me you went into shock,” he said. “You okay?”

Better than you. What do they say about your shoulder?”

It’s just dislocated, nothing broken. They kept me overnight and worked on it this afternoon. I’m to give it a rest and have it checked again back in Detroit. Just don’t make any sudden stops.”

No, I think we’ve had enough surprises,” she agreed as she pulled away from the hospital.

Worthy sat quietly, wondering if he needed to apologize. He’d been so sure about Victor and Ellie. So sure and yet so wrong. He’d warned Sera at Acoma about the other side of his reputation, about his being a “flake.” Maybe now she’d believe him.

As if to counter his thoughts, Sera said, “Cortini and Choi are pretty jazzed about yesterday.”

Jazzed? You mean entertained, don’t you?”

No, I mean impressed. Of course, they didn’t have to drive out to Acoma to tell Victor’s family. God, that was awful.”

It must have been,” Worthy said, feeling somehow at fault. But why would Cortini and Choi be impressed? “Jeez, you have no idea how stupid I feel,” he muttered, adjusting the strap on his sling and sending a twinge down his arm.

Why stupid? Come on, Chris, think about it. You predicted that we’d find a body at an abandoned morada, and you also said the body would link Victor with the nun’s murder. Cortini is calling you a genius.”

It’s kind of him not to mention that we found the wrong body and that I have no idea where Ellie VanBruskman is.”

I might have a chain in the trunk that you can whip yourself with,” she said.

Sorry. I’m not very good company.”

Then stop it. We’re here,” she announced, as she turned off in an alley and parked behind a small cement block building next to some railroad tracks.

Which is where?”

Believe it or not, Chris, I’m taking you to one of the best restaurants in Santa Fe,” she said. “It’s not the kind in the fancy guidebooks, which makes it even better.”

They walked into a crowded and noisy anteroom, where parents stood guard over small children playing on the floor. Sera excused herself to wend her way toward the hostess in another room, leaving Worthy alone. Several children stopped playing to stare up at his sling. Streams of Spanish flowed around him, and he realized as he looked into a far room of tables that he was one of only two or three Anglos in the place.

Did a bad man shoot you?” a voice called from the floor. He looked down to a boy no taller than his knee, with eyes as black as Sera’s. A woman said something to the boy in Spanish, but he continued to stare up at Worthy.

Worthy bent down. “No, I slipped and fell into a hole.”

The boy bent down and pulled up his pant leg. “I fell down and skinned my knee. Want to see?”

Ouch. That must have hurt.”

He stood up and saw Sera’s smiling face. “It looks like the two of us have something in common. We’ve both fallen,” he explained. “He hurt his knee, while I mainly hurt my pride.”

His shoulder started to throb, and he thought about the pain pills in his pocket. “How long is the wait?”

We get the next table.”

Worthy winced. “That should make us popular.”

They won’t mind,” she said, rising to her feet. “They can see you’re injured.”

In less than two minutes, Sera’s name was called, and Worthy excused himself repeatedly as he threaded his way through those waiting. No one gave him the icy stare he’d have received in Detroit.

They were seated at a small table near a corner fireplace. The air, thick with the smell of chili peppers and deep-frying, made Worthy’s mouth water. On the walls hung soccer banners from Mexico.

I have some big news,” Sera said as she sat down. The table wobbled on one leg, and she folded several napkins in half and reached down to steady it. “Choi is sending me to Colorado.”

Why?” he asked, but he could guess.

To find out what we can about Victor. You know, where he stayed when he was up there, that sort of thing.”

When he met his angel,” Worthy added. “I’d assumed that was all an hallucination, like the devil he said was chasing him in Detroit. A devil and then an angel. I don’t suppose they could have been the same person.”

She shrugged. “I don’t see how. This angel seems to have been the opposite of whoever was chasing him back at the college.”

He looked into the fire. “So, the two of us won’t be looking for Ellie.”

Sorry, Chris, I can’t. We’re more than a little short-handed right now. Choi has everyone else headed south. The way he figures it, the killer is moving down the state. The first vandalism was up north across the border, the nun died near the monastery, and then Victor’s body was found farther south. He’s got everybody checking the known moradas south of here.”

How long will you be gone?”

I’d say two or three days. Not so long. What will you do?”

Go back to Chimayó, I guess.”

She stared at him. “Chimayó? Why?”

It was the last place Ellie visited. I’ll take the new photos, the ones with the black hair, and ask around. But I’ll need your car.”

My car?”

I can’t drive St. Mary’s Jeep with this arm. I need an automatic.”

Welcome to La Choza,” the waiter said. “Great food but shaky tables, as I see you’ve discovered. We blame the trains. Are you ready to order, or do you need more time?”

The waiter looked college age, clean-cut, and cheery.

Sera blushed. “Sorry, I guess we’re not quite ready. Could we have a minute?”

No, that’s okay,” Worthy interrupted. “You order for both of us.”

Sera cleared her throat. “Hot or mild?”

You decide,” he said.

Okay. You heard him,” she said to the waiter, switching to Spanish to order.

To Worthy’s relief, they managed to eat the chicken enchiladas, refried beans, and Spanish rice without ever mentioning Victor Martinez or Ellie VanBruskman.

It wasn’t too hot?” she asked, as they walked out to the restaurant.

It was hot, but I got used to it.” He wondered if the same could be true of New Mexico in general. Detroit and its urban landscape now seemed a miserable second to Santa Fe and its surrounding scenery.

As they strolled toward her car, Worthy said, “The kid who waited on us reminded me of Victor, at least as I’ve imagined him. They must have been about the same age. I like to think Victor was that confident and outgoing when he started college.”

Before things fell apart,” Sera added.

He stood by the door of the car. “When I rolled into the grave and realized it was Victor, I thought I’d never get that image out of my mind. But maybe I was wrong. Maybe for Victor it wasn’t … I don’t know. Maybe it wasn’t so bad.”

They both got into the car but Sera didn’t start the engine. “What do you mean?”

Well, more than anything Victor wanted to be put on a cross, and in the end—”

The shocked look on her face silenced him.

Oh, please finish,” she said acidly.

Worthy felt the old chasm open between them. What did she think he meant? He was trying to say that Victor wasn’t crazy. He was saying he had nothing but pity for how the boy had died. So why couldn’t she see his point?

Sera looked straight ahead at the train tracks. “You were going to say that in the end, Victor got what he wanted. Right? God, Chris, Victor didn’t want to die! He wanted to be forgiven.”

That’s what I meant.”

She turned completely toward him. “Oh, really? Chris, if you ever expect to understand people like Victor Martinez, you’ll have to start with one very basic fact. Victor wanted that cross so that he could live again, not die! Have you considered for one moment that if Victor had found a willing Brotherhood, none of this would’ve happened? He’d probably be helping us look for Ellie right now.”

Her face was flushed, her eyes flashing.

What can I say? I’m s-sorry,” he stammered, adding, “It seems we can’t get through a meal without me upsetting you.”

But Sera looked as if she hadn’t heard him. She stared directly into his eyes and said nothing.

I don’t know why I’m bothering, but I want you to hear a story.” She looked down at her hands. “When I was ten years old, I walked over to see my grandfather one day. He was in his tool shed making keys. It must have been in August because the day was like an oven. He didn’t have a shirt on. I remember seeing his huge arms, and then he reached down for a tool and turned his back to me. That was the first time I had ever seen the scars, the two perfectly parallel slits between his shoulder blades. I knew enough not to ask him about them, but my mother told me later they were his initiation marks.”

Sera’s hand rubbed the upholstery of the seat as if she were tracing the marks on her grandfather’s skin. “Do you know what an hermano mayor is, Chris?”

The head honcho of the Brotherhood?”

She nodded. “He uses flint to cut the skin of the men willing to bear the cross on Good Friday,” she said quietly. “Not the Christo, because my grandfather had done something too bad for that. But he carried the cross for Christo.

What had he done?” Worthy asked.

Sera turned away, tears welling in her eyes. “He was a boxer, even a professional for a few years. But then he was just a fighter that other guys bet on. You know, illegal matches? One day—I must have been about seven or eight—he fought a big guy from another factory. No problem. My grandpa had the other guy in trouble right away. Unfortunately, the guy wouldn’t go down, even when one eye was swollen shut. They didn’t stop the fight until he lost consciousness. The next day, he died.”

Sera wiped away a tear and cleared her throat. “That’s when my grandfather started drinking really hard, so things got pretty bad for the rest of us. My dad had died a couple of years before, and the family needed my grandpa. The Brotherhood pulled him out of the bars and gave him a whip. Yes, a whip. My mother told me the hermano mayor sat with him every night for a month and sang Penitente songs to him while he whipped himself. Sometimes some of the other men would take him to their morada, and they’d all whip themselves. They said it was his penance for what had happened. My grandfather never drank after that, and he never fought again. The next Holy Friday, he carried the cross. He said it was the proudest day of his life.” She paused for a moment. “The Brotherhood saved his life, and they saved ours.”

Worthy didn’t say anything.

You probably think the whip and those scars are barbaric. But guilt is real, Chris, as real as the mountains or the river down there. In an hour, it’s going to be so dark that we won’t be able to see those mountains. But that doesn’t mean they’re not there. Look in any bar around here, and you’ll know how guilt can pull a whole family into a grave.”

Worthy nodded. “And Victor was like your grandfather, is that what you’re saying?”

Guilt had done a number on both of them. That’s all I’m saying.”

So that’s why you fought me so hard when I said he must have killed the nun and Ellie.”

Sera wiped the tears off her cheek. “You had this picture of Victor all worked out. He’d come home from college disturbed about something,” she said. “I had no problem with that, but from that point on, you and I were like two people pulling Victor in opposite directions.”

I already said I was wrong. I thought I had all the pieces of the puzzle, but I didn’t. ”

Sera shook her head slowly. “No, Chris, you still don’t get it. I’m not talking about right and wrong. I’m talking about different ways of looking at the world. If a boy from Detroit wanted to be crucified, I would see it exactly the way you did. But Victor Martinez was from here.”

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Father Fortis had spent most of the next two days at the hospital by Father Linus’s bed. The old monk had, in fact, suffered a heart attack, but quick intervention at the scene had limited the damage. Father Linus was intermittently and groggily conscious, one minute insisting that the Brotherhood was innocent, the next dozing off. In one of those dozing moments, Father Fortis had made his escape and returned to the monastery. It was just as he was pulling into the parking lot and hoping for a quiet nap that Brother Bartholomew approached with another note.

Now what? he thought. But when he saw the name at the bottom of the note, he relaxed.

Are you free for the next two or three days? Please call. Lieutenant Sera Lacey.

He took the back way around the chapel to avoid the monastery’s sudden rush of visitors. If a Trappist monastery could be so described, then St. Mary’s was buzzing. The morning’s headlines, “Boy Found Nailed to Cross Near San Ignacio,” had brought the reporters and cameras back. Even now, he could see beyond the chapel to where Abbot Timothy was squinting into the lights of the cameras. As he quietly proceeded toward the dormitory, he heard the abbot promise that the community would be praying for Victor and his family. Abbot Timothy also pleaded with the killer or killers to come forward.

Not likely, Father Fortis thought. The killer was becoming bolder—or more desperate. The attacks had escalated in ferocity, bringing Father Fortis back to his question: what is this killer trying to accomplish?

In his room, Father Fortis closed the door and lay down on the bed before calling the policewoman’s number. He was surprised when Sera explained her request.

You want me to go to Colorado with you? Why?” he asked.

Victor was up there before he came back and was killed. Somebody has to remember him. And I have directions to the morada near where some of his family still lives. I thought you might like to go along, and besides, I’d like some company.”

As much as he wanted to sleep, Father Fortis had to admit that it would be good to get away from this media circus.

What about Christopher?”

There was a momentary pause on the other end of the line. “Chris is going back to Chimayó. He’s hoping he can pick up Ellie’s trail again.”

Of course, he thought. Victor’s decayed body meant that Worthy was back where he started. No, worse than where he started. From the VanBruskmans’ point of view, nearly two weeks had been wasted on finding the wrong person. Two weeks for Ellie’s trail to grow even colder.

When would we be leaving?” he asked.

I can pick you up in two hours. What do you say?”

I’d like to get permission from the abbot, but that shouldn’t be a problem. With Father Linus laid up, I can’t very well work on my research.”

He’s going to be okay?”

He had a heart attack, but it wasn’t too serious.”

Thank God,” Sera said. “So, I’ll see you soon.”

Father Fortis dragged himself out of bed and headed for the abbot’s office, forgetting until he knocked where he’d last seen him.

A different voice answered from within the office. “Come in.”

Father Fortis entered and saw Father Bernard standing by the window, looking out toward the rock face.

Sorry, I was looking for Abbot Timothy.”

And you caught me hiding from the media,” Father Bernard replied with a sheepish smile.

Or trying out your new office, Father Fortis thought.

Is there anything I can tell Abbot Timothy?” Father Bernard asked.

Father Fortis weighed the question. On an impulse, he explained his plans and the purpose of the trip.

Father Bernard caught Father Fortis’s eye and held it. Father Fortis noticed something new in the gaze, an eagerness and intensity.

I’d like to come along,” he said.

I beg your pardon?”

I’m asking to come along.”

Father Fortis pondered not just the request but also his discomfort with it. Was it just that he was looking forward to some time away from St. Mary’s and in the company of an attractive woman?

May I ask why?” Father Fortis asked.

Father Bernard folded his arms across his chest. “I can think of three reasons. One, the two of us haven’t had a chance to talk about Sister Anna’s journal. Two, from what the reporters are saying, the boy’s murder is linked to Sister Anna’s.” He looked down at the floor. “I feel a kind of responsibility to her to see what develops. And three, I used to have a parish up in southern Colorado, just across the border. The roads can be pretty confusing, so maybe I can be of some help.”

Father Fortis hesitated, but in the end could think of no good reason to decline the offer. “We’d have to ask the abbot.”

Father Bernard turned back to the window. “Of course.”

Thirty minutes later, Father Fortis had his answer. The abbot did indeed agree. But more surprising was Father Linus’s response when Father Fortis called him at the hospital. Claiming to feel much stronger, the old monk demanded to accompany them, especially if they were going to visit old moradas.

Linus, we both know that’s impossible, but I do need to ask you something. And please speak candidly. Father Bernard wants to come along. Apparently, he used to be a priest up there.”

And?”

Was it possible Father Linus didn’t know of Bernard’s comments about the Penitentes? “I’m asking if you think it’s a good idea.”

Nicholas, if you won’t let me tag along, then Father Bernard is the perfect person to go.”

Father Fortis packed a small bag of toiletries and underwear, pondering the old monk’s response. Father Bernard, St. Mary’s spiritual director, was proving harder to understand every day.

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As promised, Sera, driving a police van, picked up the two monks by early afternoon. She seemed surprised by the addition of a second person, but then Father Bernard seemed equally surprised to see that the police officer was a woman. When Sera revealed that her normal assignment wasn’t homicide, but child protection, Father Bernard grew even quieter. He listened from the front passenger seat as the two others chatted easily.

For Father Bernard’s benefit, Father Fortis asked Sera to explain the purpose of the trip.

It’s really Choi’s idea, although I suppose I got him thinking about it. He’s convinced the killer is south of here, and he’s probably right. But we still need to know more about Victor’s time up north.”

Sera, why would someone up in Colorado encourage Victor to head back down this way?” Father Fortis posed.

I’m guessing some old Penitente brother took pity on him. Victor was obviously in pain, but no morada would let a stranger just barge in and play the role of Christo.” Sera paused to catch a windswept lock of hair and thread it behind her ear. “So I’m thinking one of the old guys told Victor about a few of the more traditional moradas down by Santa Fe and Albuquerque. Anyway, my hope is that we can track down at least one person who remembers Victor. If I’m going to dream big, I hope we find the person Victor was traveling with.”

Father Bernard turned abruptly in his seat. “You can’t mean the girl. I read that the boy was dead long before she got here.”

From the van’s second seat, Father Fortis studied the monk’s face, his piercing eyes and set mouth. Father Bernard ignored a line of perspiration running down from his mop of hair toward his eyebrow. This is a different face than I’ve seen before, Father Fortis thought. Father Bernard seemed on edge, no longer the calm spiritual advisor he’d talked to days before.

The challenge in Father Bernard’s voice brought an air of tension into the van. Father Fortis knew from his own experience the trouble some monks had relating to women. But Father Bernard had been Sister Anna’s confessor and had clearly liked her. And by his own admission, he’d served as a parish priest in Colorado. So why the new tone?

Father, I’m not talking about Ellie VanBruskman,” Sera patiently explained. “According to his uncle, Victor didn’t drive. He must have hitchhiked north to visit his family’s graves and their morada. At least, that’s my theory about why he made the trip. And that’s why I brought along Victor’s mother’s directions to the cemetery. If we’re lucky, we’ll find someone who met him. From that person, maybe a Penitente brother, we might get a description of the guy or the type of vehicle that gave him a lift south. If we can track that person down, we’ll find out where he dropped Victor. We’ll just keep going, doing our best to follow his trail south.”

But if he was hitchhiking along a road like this,” Father Bernard countered, “wouldn’t his rides have come from people just passing through?”

Sera shot Father Fortis a quick glance in the rearview mirror. It had been a mistake to let him come along, he realized. So why had he agreed? Simply because he thought it selfish to imagine that Sera wanted only his company? No, it had been more than that. It was Father Linus’s assurance that Father Bernard would be the perfect one to go in his place. This is perfect?

Sera’s eyes remained on the road ahead. “I’m not disagreeing. Of course it’s probably a stranger who gave him a lift south,” she said, slowly, as if explaining to a child, “but even if we uncover only one or two of Victor’s contacts, we’ll learn something about his state of mind. Don’t forget, whoever we find is going to be one of the last persons Victor talked to before he died.”

Father Bernard sat silently for a moment, looking out his window at the grasslands and sage bushes. But Father Fortis sensed that the man wasn’t through.

So, in the end, you agree with your superior,” Father Bernard said. “The killer is in the opposite direction from where we’re headed.” His words were clipped, the West Texas drawl nearly buried in some inexplicable frustration.

Look, Father,” Sera replied curtly, “You somehow got the wrong idea about this trip. We’re up here to fill in background. That’s all.”

Father Bernard ran a hand through his wiry hair. “The vandalizing of the morada, didn’t that happen in Colorado?”

Yes, but even if those incidents are connected to the murders, we’re talking about something that happened four or five months ago. Let’s say the killer or killers were responsible, although no one is sure of that. Where’d they go next? Down to St. Mary’s where they killed Sister Anna. And Victor’s body was found south of there.”

Father Fortis could see Sera’s neck turning red. He leaned forward and addressed his fellow monk. “Father Bernard, we’ve both met Lieutenant Choi, and I think we’d agree that he’s clearly competent. If he’s concentrating on the moradas farther south, I trust his judgment.” And why don’t you? he wanted to add.

Fine, fine,” Father Bernard replied. And with that, he pulled out his breviary and began his afternoon prayers. Ten minutes later, he leaned his head against the window, closed his eyes, and soon was snoring softly.

Why had he been so eager to come along? In the abbot’s office, he’d promised to help. He claimed he wanted to talk about Sister Anna’s journal. But now it seemed he’d tagged along for some other reason. Was it to play detective? Father Fortis of all people could understand the desire, but why was Father Bernard being so hard on Sera?

From his back window, Father Fortis looked down into a canyon lying hundreds of feet below the road. It would have been better to have Father Linus, even with his dogged defense of the Penitentes.

Sera caught his eye again in the rearview mirror. “I couldn’t help noticing that our jolly friend was saying his prayers. Do you need to say yours, Father, or can we talk?”

He leaned forward on the back of her seat. “Please call me Nick. No, as I tell them at St. Mary’s, we Orthodox say our prayers on Eastern time. Listen, my dear, I’m truly sorry. If I knew Father Bernard better, I’d apologize for him. But this isn’t the man I spoke with back at St. Mary’s.”

It’s okay. I think I know what’s going on. He’s not the first man to doubt my abilities. Tell me, Nick, how convincing was I with your friend?”

About what?”

That I know what’s up ahead in Colorado,” she said, catching his eye again.

Father Bernard snorted and shifted in the passenger seat.

Are you sure he’s asleep?” she whispered.

Father Fortis leaned over the seat and studied the monk’s face. “He’s drooling a bit.”

Sera laughed lightly. “The truth is, this is the first time I’ve worked a homicide. My usual job is to track down living people, children in trouble. Our sleeping friend’s grilling really rattled me.”

Father Fortis laid a hand on her shoulder. “Well, it didn’t show, my dear.”

Thanks, but what he said is pretty close to what I’ve been asking myself all morning.”

What’s your fear? Do you think we’re headed into some danger?”

Not really, but then I don’t exactly have the training to know. Logically, everything points to the action being down south, just as I told him. And my head knows that if there was any chance Victor’s killer is up in Colorado, Choi wouldn’t have sent me. He certainly wouldn’t have let me take two civilians along.”

Father Fortis gazed out the window and spotted a wooden cross high on a hill. Father Linus had explained that such markers were Penitente stopping places used on processions to a morada or graveyard. Inexplicably, a chill ran down his spine.

It’s perfectly normal to be afraid,” he offered, perhaps as much to himself as the policewoman. “I see nothing that you need to confess in that.”

It’s not my fear, Father, but what you priests call pride.”

Pride?”

Do you remember when I said a while back, about this trip being my idea? I hinted to Choi that Colorado might help us understand Victor better. I got that idea from something Chris told me on our way back from Acoma, something I hadn’t considered before. He said that most problems on a case are caused by the investigation devoting too little time to what brought the victim to the place where he died.”

And few people ask witnesses what the victim was worried about the day and week before,” Father Fortis added.

I see he’s told you his theory, too.”

Yes, and I’ve seen how accurate it can be in some cases. But how is that pride on your part?”

Sera gripped the steering wheel tighter. “Because after Choi agreed to my plan, he encouraged me to invite Chris to come along. And I didn’t.”

Oh, I see.”

Sera nodded. “When I told Chris about my coming, I had the perfect chance to invite him, but I wanted to do this on my own. It didn’t seem difficult or dangerous at the time.”

Father Fortis could feel the transmission lag as the van started its ascent. Ahead, vast horizons of piñon forests ran up toward snowcapped mountains, forming a perfect photo for a brochure. But today, the mountains seemed more like a wall.

He sat back in his seat and pondered Sera’s confession. The most logical way to see the trip was from Choi’s perspective. And wouldn’t Worthy, if he’d sensed any danger, have insisted on coming along? Father Fortis couldn’t deny that he wished for a fourth passenger in the van, one who had some experience when life suddenly left logic behind.