Bad Samaritan (28 page)

“I don't know. I'm not getting a clear enough picture yet. There are too many possibilities. It could even have been someone else, like Mike Herrera. Mike's criminal record speaks for itself. He's attracted to Victoria, taught her how to shoot, and supplied her with a gun of the right caliber. A gun, I might add, that's still out there somewhere.”

“Victoria and Mike were my number one and two suspects
until now, so I agree—but we need more evidence. Call me the second you have answers I can print,” he said, climbing out of the sidecar and giving Pax one last pat on the head.

Sister Agatha drove directly to the station. As she went down the long hall toward Tom's office, now being used by Frank, Millie came out of the break room.

“Hi, Sister,” Millie greeted her. “Are you on your way to talk to Detective Marquez?”

“I sure am.”

“He's been in a lousy mood lately—just a heads-up,” she said in a whisper.

“What's happened?”

“Although he's come down hard on anyone connected with the Garcias, he's still having trouble getting straight answers. Al Russo, in particular, is giving him the runaround.”

Though their methods had been different, Sister Agatha suspected that Frank had come to the same conclusions she had.

As she neared his office, Frank came to the open door. “I thought I heard your voice out here. Let's talk,” he said, inviting her inside with a wave of his hand. “My bad mood is lightening a little,” he added, letting her know his hearing was still top-notch.

“That's good to know,” she said, weaving more than one meaning into his words.

He waved her to a chair. “I've got some photos of a badly bruised Victoria taken after one particularly nasty knock-down, drag-out fight between her and Robert. Turns out that the meter reader got busy using his cell phone camera a few of the times he was there. It's amazing what people fork over when you press them.”

“I have some new information, too,” she said.

Marquez closed the door and listened while Sister Agatha filled him in on what she'd recently learned about Al.

“What I'd like to do next is something that'll work best if both of us are on the same page,” Sister Agatha said. “Let me go talk to Victoria—I'll wear a wire, and you can hear everything. I think she'll cooperate once I point out that we know she was having an affair with Russo and we can put her at the scene of the crime. If she stonewalls, I'll try a bluff. I'll say that we have her son's DNA from a hair sample, and we intend to find out who Robert Jr.'s father really is.”

“That's a good plan,” he said, his voice thoughtful. “Considering we're hard-pressed for any actual physical evidence at the moment, we need to rattle the cage.”

“If we can persuade her to help us, evidence will be a lot easier to find. The district attorney could also use her testimony.”

“Yeah, but this sting will only work if we can prevent her from getting in touch with Russo.” He paused, then added, “I can have him hauled in here for questioning. That should do it.”

“There's one piece of evidence that'll prove who the killer was—
if
we could track it back,” she said slowly, thinking as she spoke. “I'm almost sure that Al took the signed baseball roster Robert had in his pocket when he died, then gave it back to RJ the day of the funeral. That roster will undoubtedly have trace evidence that may not readily appear to the naked eye but could be enough to convict Al of the shooting. We have a witness that saw the killer take it from Robert's pocket. That should be enough to convict Russo.”

“
If
we can pull all this off. Play it by ear, and stay sharp.”

Frank arranged to have a listening device placed on her. “You're a good detective, Sister Agatha. If you ever decide to leave the monastery, give police work a try. You're a natural.”

Sister Agatha smiled. “Thanks, but I'm exactly where I belong.”

. . .

Sister Agatha set out with Pax in the Harley a short time later. A passing squad car had already confirmed that Victoria and her son were at home. All she needed to do now was keep her cool and get the job done.

Sister Agatha pulled up the driveway and parked beside Victoria's car. As she removed her helmet, she was surprised to see Victoria and her son coming out the turquoise courtyard gate. Victoria was carrying a suitcase and an overnight case, and RJ had an Isotopes gym bag.

“Are you leaving?” Sister Agatha asked.

“Yes, but I'm not going far. I'll be putting this house up for sale, so we're moving to a new place a little at a time, beginning with tonight. I've decided to start fresh, Sister Agatha.”

“I hope you aren't planning to leave town.”

“No, not at all. I'm moving into a rental property about a mile and a half from here. Robert Jr. and I need a place of our own—a new home where we can relax and feel free to be ourselves. A team of Realtors is scheduled to come in later today.” She smiled at RJ, then glanced back at Sister Agatha. “Is there something I can help you with? As you see, I was on my way out . . .”

“You and I need to talk. It won't take long.”

Victoria glanced at RJ. “You can leave your gym bag on the front porch if you want, son, but let's go back inside. It's cooler there.” She then gave Sister Agatha a hard look. “Please keep in mind that I don't have all day, Sister.”

“Mom, can I stay outside and play with the dog?” RJ asked.

Victoria looked over at Sister Agatha, who nodded, then handed him the leash. “Don't go out of the courtyard.”

“How about if we go through the house to the back and play ball on the lawn. That okay?”

“Sure, go ahead,” Sister Agatha answered.

Victoria and Sister Agatha stepped aside to let Pax and the boy go ahead of them, then walked on into the great room and sat down side by side on the sofa.

Once RJ and Pax had gone out the patio door, Victoria glanced over. “So what can I do for you, Sister?”

“I know about you and Al,” she said without preamble.

Alarm flashed over Victoria's features. Then, before Sister Agatha could offer any reassuring words, the fear in her eyes faded and was replaced by an unnatural calm.

That told Sister Agatha clearly what she needed to do next. “Hair samples taken from your son will prove that Robert isn't RJ's biological father, am I right?”

“Do something like that and I'll sue,” Victoria said, leaning forward and holding her gaze. “I'll win, too, and the sisters will lose
everything
.”

“Law enforcement agencies would be the ones with the authority to order any tests, not me or the monastery. So I have nothing to fear from you. Even if you choose to sue the county or the state police, the damage would still be done. How important is it for you to hide the truth?”

“It's not a matter of hiding anything. My son stands to inherit a fortune from the only dad he's ever known, and I won't allow
anyone
to cheat him out of that. The Garcias owe him a future. RJ's gone through more than any child ever should. Do you know how difficult it is for a kid to see his mother getting beat up by his father? It would break my heart every time he'd try to stick up for me.”

“I'm sorry—”

“Save it. The test stuff? That's all
your
doing. Marquez isn't that devious,” Victoria interrupted. “Here's the way it is,” she added, venom in her gaze. “If you ruin RJ's chances to get what's
rightfully his from the Garcias, I'll find a way to take it from your hide, the monastery, and the archdiocese. The stink I'll make about your snooping will impact on the Church and everything else you hold dear. Think about
that
for a while.”

Sister Agatha had her answer—and a measure of Victoria's desperation. What she needed to get now was Victoria's cooperation.

“What happened the night of the Fourth in the park? Someone saw you at the scene of the crime wearing one of the red campaign caps,” she said, adding credibility to what was just a bluff. Scout wouldn't testify, even if she could find him again.

“I didn't drug either man, if that's what you're really asking me,” Victoria shot back. “I didn't shoot my husband, either. I ended up there because I was following someone else, and when I left to go check on RJ, my husband was still alive and on his feet.”

“You were at the crime scene long enough to see someone else—Al,” Sister Agatha pressed. “A witness has come forward.”

Victoria took a long, deep breath but didn't answer right away. Sister Agatha knew that her mind was working overtime, wondering what to say next, or, more to the point, what not to say.

“I don't believe you killed Robert, Victoria, but you know who did. If you don't come forward, an innocent man could end up in jail for a very long time.”

Victoria shook her head. “You're wrong. Sheriff Tom Green has a lot of friends in this town. I read the papers and have heard enough to know he was drugged, too. That's a matter of record. Coupled with his long history of public service and a good attorney, he'll get off,” she said firmly. “By trying to pin this on either me or Al—and we're not guilty—all you'll be doing is ruining a child's life. My son's.”

“Tell the police what you saw that day, Victoria. If you withhold information in a murder case, sooner or later you'll find yourself facing charges. Your son needs you more than ever now. How much are you willing to risk?”

“I saw nothing that can help the police.”

“I know you were there, and the police will soon reach that same conclusion. I came to offer you some hope and give you the opportunity to come forward on your own terms. Robert Jr. doesn't have to be brought into this.” Seeing the stubborn set of Victoria's jaw, Sister Agatha continued. “Once the police establish your presence at the scene, you'll move to the top of their suspect list—if you're not there already. Seven figures of life insurance is a very good motive.”

Her eyes widened. “I did
not
kill him, Sister Agatha, but stupid accusations like those can do a lot of damage to me and my son. I've paid my dues for years, and RJ and I deserve the chance to make a new start.”

“Then make a new start. Settle the past. This is your chance,” Sister Agatha said.

Victoria walked to the window. By the time she turned to answer Sister Agatha, her expression had changed from anger to cold calculation. Her eyes narrowed slightly as she spoke. “Robert taught me that the best kind of deal is one where everyone comes out ahead. With that in mind, I've got a proposition for you, Sister Agatha. The insurance check I'll be getting soon will set me up for life—with plenty left over. If you'll stop making waves—just go home and mind your own business—I can turn things around for you. I know that the monastery is about to close down from lack of funds. You now have it in your power to save the home
you
love. What do you say?”

For a moment Sister Agatha couldn't find her voice. Had she not been wearing a wire, would she have accepted the offer? She
would have liked to think that she would have taken the high road and declined, but deep down she wasn't so sure. “I can't . . .”

Victoria waited, then, when Sister Agatha said nothing more, shrugged. “You had your chance, Sister. I certainly hope you can live with the choice you made.” She remained silent for several seconds before she added, in a voice that held the echoes of fear and desperation, “I stayed with Robert because I had to, but let me be clear about something. My husband would have killed me one day. Of that, I'm sure.” She reached into her purse and brought out a small tape recorder. After checking that her son was still outside with Pax, she returned to the couch. “I want you to listen to something.”

Victoria switched on the player, and the first thing Sister Agatha heard was a loud crash. It sounded like wooden furniture being slammed into something and then splintering. That was followed by another resounding crash, then soft whimpers. Robert's voice came through loud and clear as he brought name calling to a new low. Although the insults were in Spanish, they were easily recognizable to anyone who'd lived in New Mexico for as long as Sister Agatha had.

Sister Agatha heard a slap, then a moan followed by a gurgling sound. “If I squeezed your throat just a little tighter . . .” she heard a man say.

Gasps, shallow coughs, and a desperate wheeze that tore at her heart followed.

“Robert, stop!” a faint but recognizable voice cried out.

Suddenly there was a loud thud and a man's deep groan. That was immediately followed by running footsteps. “Leave me alone,” Victoria screamed, then a door slammed shut.

Robert retched, then cleared his throat. His voice came through next as a whisper, and the coldness of it made a chill run up Sister Agatha's spine. “You're bought and paid for,
puta
.
Your life is mine, and you'll pay a thousand times over for what you've done.”

As the tape ended, Sister Agatha looked at Victoria in shock. “Al is RJ's dad, and Robert
knew
.”

“Yes and no. There's more to the story.” Victoria took a shaky breath, then continued in a slow, weary voice. “Robert was injured in college, playing rugby or some dumb thing, and doctors told him that he'd never father a child. I always thought we'd adopt, but after we got married Robert decided he didn't want to do that. He said he didn't want someone else's cast-off kid.”

Sister Agatha's heart went out to her. A woman who wanted to have a child yet couldn't . . . for whatever the reason. She could understand that particular form of anguish far better than most.

“That's why I . . . went to Al,” Victoria said in a whisper-thin voice. “Once I got pregnant I figured I'd tell Robert that a miracle had happened and that he and I were going to have a baby. Knowing him and his ego, I was sure he'd want to believe that, and wouldn't question it so long as I remained by his side.”