The Prodigal Nun (26 page)

They continued running the footage, stopping to view things at normal speed anytime a vehicle pulled in. Finally, nearly two hours of video time later, a pickup entered the lot. Slowing to normal play now, they saw McKay park his truck, climb out with his clubs, and hurry into the clubhouse, disappearing from view.

Tom stopped the image and zeroed in on the pickup. “I don’t see it anymore.”

“It’s there,” she said, knowing he meant the bicycle. “Run it back for a moment. Now play it at normal speed,” she said, then pointed to the screen. “It’s closer to the tailgate and partially blocked from view, but you can still see the handlebars, and part of the saddle is sticking up. There’s that section of rail or whatever you call that part of a man’s bike. See the red?”

Tom studied it, adjusted the focus, then finally nodded. “You’ve got good eyes.”

“Why would McKay need a bicycle to play golf that
Sunday—unless he planned to approach the monastery quietly and kill Jane? Taking the bike out of his truck farther down the ditch road meant nobody inside the chapel would hear him arrive. Silence was part of his plan. After he murdered Jane, he rode the bike back to his truck, returned to the golf course, and finished the last two holes. With the tall bed on that truck, only the high-angle camera could reveal he had a bicycle in there.”

“Unfortunately, all we can
prove
is that he had a bike in his pickup. I’ve got another theory, too, that could explain the events and requires a lot less imagination.”

“Go on.”

“It could be argued that Bennett hired McKay to murder his mother-in-law. Jane did everything she could to work against Gerry, and he has never reacted well to threats. McKay must have known how obsessed Jane was if she ended up following him by mistake one day. Then, once he knew that she’d taken incriminating photos of him, McKay saw a way to put a quick end to his problems. He’d also have leverage to keep Gerry from nailing him on the IA investigation.”

Before she could answer him, Tom’s cell phone rang. Tom spoke in single syllables, then hung up and summoned the security man who’d handed over the surveillance disk. “I’m taking this disk in as evidence. I’ll give you a receipt.”

The golf course employee gave him a hesitant look. “I can’t authorize that, Sheriff. I’ll need to check with my boss.”

“Make sure you let him know that I can get a warrant if he refuses to cooperate. The tribe will save themselves a lot of trouble and embarrassment, not to mention publicity, if you all play nice. You can burn a copy if you want, but I need the original.”

While the young man went to get his boss, Sheriff Green looked at Sister Agatha. “The call I took was from our lab. They were finally able to pick up more numbers from the gun, and we
got a hit. It looks like the weapon was purchased by a man we’d hauled in on a drug bust earlier this year.”

“Who were the arresting officers?” Sister Agatha asked.

“Gerald Bennett and Michael McKay.”

She considered the new information. “Maybe you’re right. In a warped way, it makes sense that Bennett would hire McKay to kill his mother-in-law. There’s a clean, simple motive there. The problem is that we’ve still got too many loose ends, Tom. Nothing really fits all the way.”

Sister Agatha placed a hand on Pax’s head, reviewed the possibilities, then looked up at Tom again. “I know how we can get to the truth.”

“I’m all ears.”

Sister Agatha stood near the monastery gates as Senator Holman and John Andrews pulled up.

“Senator, welcome back to our monastery,” Sister Agatha greeted him.

Holman was all smiles, though Andrews appeared pale and nervous, not knowing what to expect but obviously concerned about his own future.

“I’m happy to be here. The sisters at this monastery are part of my constituency, too. I wanted you to know that you have my full support,” he said, looking around. “Are we early?”

He’d been led to expect the press, so Sister Agatha wasn’t surprised. “A little,” she replied. Smiling and nodding to John, she tried to reassure him without words that he wasn’t her target this time.

“So when do you plan to have the memorial built for the victim?” Holman asked, looking toward the gates, obviously eager for the press to show up.

“That depends on how soon we can raise the funds. We wanted you to see our plans and hopefully help us find a way to get our project off the ground.” Sister Agatha looked around. “I don’t see any reporters here yet, so while Sister Bernarda shows Mr. Andrews where we plan to erect the memorial, why don’t we step out of the sun? We can talk comfortably inside the parlor.”

Sheriff Green arrived just as Andrews walked away with Sister Bernarda. After a brief handshake between the men, Sister Agatha urged Tom and Holman into the privacy of the parlor.

Senator Holman stood by the window, looking outside. “The reporters are bound to arrive soon. You’ll want to greet them out on the grounds, won’t you?” he asked, obviously ill at ease.

“Unfortunately, the reporters will be a bit delayed,” Tom said.

Holman’s expression stiffened, and his eyes narrowed. “I’m a busy man. What’s really going on, Sheriff?”

“I’m here to make you a onetime offer, Senator Holman. Provide me with enough evidence to bring Jane Sanchez’s killer to trial, and we’ll give you immunity on manslaughter, bribery, and conspiracy charges.”

“Manslaughter? Is this some kind of joke? Surely you don’t think I had anything to do with Mrs. Sanchez’s death!”

“No, not hers, at least not directly,” Sheriff Green answered, “though you might face conspiracy charges. I’m talking about Beatriz Griego. You were drinking that afternoon, and I now have a witness who’ll testify to that.”

“Then your witness is wrong, or flat-out lying. Your own deputy gave me a field sobriety test.”

“No, he didn’t, not according to my witness.”

“Are you calling your own deputy a liar? The fact is, there was only one other person there, and she was in this country illegally. Any court will believe one of your own officers over her, Sheriff. You’ve got nothing.”

“It’s difficult to keep a story like this under wraps,” Sister Agatha said with a deep sigh. “The press will go wild once they discover the connection between the phony alibi you gave Sergeant McKay, a suspect in a murder investigation, and the fact that he was the officer in charge at the scene of your car accident.”

“Even if we never get a conviction, your political career will go down in flames,” Sheriff Green added.

“Murder?
You think Sergeant McKay killed the Sanchez woman?” he asked, his voice rising an octave.

“She saw you two together, didn’t she? We finally got the memo,” Tom said.

“What memo? What are you talking about?” Holman asked, fear alive in his eyes.

“The one Jane Sanchez wrote, the one McKay
thought
he’d taken care of,” Tom said, getting into his face. “It turns out Jane caught you and McKay meeting after the story of the accident came out in the
Chronicle
. A few days after that she was killed. We’ve now recovered her cell phone photo of the two of you together—with time
and
date.”

Sister Agatha knew that wasn’t true but kept a neutral expression, recalling her days as a journalist when she’d used deception to loosen tongues.

“Okay, okay. That pain-in-the-ass woman thought McKay was Gerald Bennett when she poked her head in the window. She yelled out, ‘Gotcha!’ but when she realized it wasn’t Gerry with a girlfriend, she crumbled, apologized, and took off. McKay said not to worry, that he’d handle it. But I never thought…”

“She was a threat to him. We have evidence to suggest he listened in on the Sanchezes’ phone calls. He was afraid she’d spread the tale. And McKay knew
you
wouldn’t say a word if Jane ended up dead. You had too much to lose. You’d bribed him to save your butt on those DWI charges. So after he killed Jane Sanchez, he came to you and asked for a big favor in return—an alibi. That would keep both of you out of jail. So now you get to name your poison. Do you want to go to jail for bribery, or conspiracy to commit murder?”

“You can’t prove I paid anyone anything. Maybe I just forgot that McKay went back to the clubhouse that morning. People can forget…and so do the voters. I’ve got Mayor Garcia backing me, and he’s a powerful ally. All a photo proves is that we were talking together. So what?”

“You still don’t
see
that you’ve been set up, do you?” Tom pressed. “How are you going to explain that other secret meeting with McKay over on Calle de Elena, the one where he changed the vehicle number to make it look like you were meeting with Bennett? Did you know that McKay made a phony meal request using a made-up address on that street so the nun coming by to make the delivery would see you two together? And what
was
inside the envelope you gave him? More bribery money?”

His jaw fell as he realized the truth, but he still tried to recover. “What meeting, Sheriff? I didn’t meet McKay, or any of your officers, for that matter. Burden of proof. Ever heard of the concept?”

“The word of a nun still carries weight in this area,” Sister Agatha said. “You’ve got even bigger problems, though. McKay set you up that day, just like the sheriff said. Think about it. He knew about the Good News Meals Program and purposely arranged to have another pair of eyes on that meeting of yours.
That time it was supposed to look like you and Gerry Bennett were meeting.” She brought out the photograph of Sister Jo on the Harley and showed it to him. “McKay had a camera with him, remember? And there’s more.”

She reached behind the parlor desk and brought out a small white magnetic sign with the number 73 on it. The number was the same color as on the sheriff’s department vehicles. It wasn’t the one originally sold to McKay, but it would do.

The ruse worked. When Holman’s eyes widened, she knew he’d recognized it. “I remember the camera and the sign, and I wondered about it at the time,” he admitted. “It wasn’t the regular number on McKay’s police cruiser. But you’re wrong about what happened that day. The envelope I gave him didn’t have money in it. It was just a copy of our legislative package regarding law enforcement. McKay had asked me for it earlier.”

“Maybe it was, maybe it wasn’t,” Tom said. “Either way, Sergeant McKay was posing as Bennett—at least from a distance—and he wanted a witness while he made it look as if
you
were passing Bennett money, maybe to cover up for that DWI. That gave Sergeant McKay something extra to hold over you. To the nun who’d become his eyewitness, the one who drove by on the motorcycle,
you
were involved.”

He paused for several seconds, letting the knowledge sink in. “McKay would give you up in a second if it meant getting a murder charge reduced—or, even better, getting himself off the hook. I want him a lot more than I want you, but it’s your call, Senator. Do we go after him, or do I settle for you?”

Holman mulled it over for several long moments. “I’ll help you,” he said at last, “but I want a few guarantees in return.”

“Specify,” Tom responded.

“Drop all bribery and conspiracy charges, and don’t have any comments for the press when my people put a different spin
on things. My story will be that I helped you catch a murderer. By the time I’m finished, I’ll come out smelling like a rose.”

Tom’s eyebrows shot up. “You’re quick with a plan.”

“I’m used to working under pressure,” he answered.

“Deal—if the DA agrees. But you have to get me enough to nail McKay for the murder of Jane Sanchez. And one more thing. You resign as state senator.”

Holman thought about it for an agonizing minute. “Okay, but sooner or later I’ll be back in the political arena. You know it and I know it.”

Tom nodded once, aware that he had no other choice.

Holman suggested he meet with McKay, wearing a wire, and try to get a confession or admission of guilt from him.

“I’m not sure that’ll work,” Tom said. “He’s not a fool. He’s been playing you, Officer Bennett, and us for days now.”

“How about if instead of setting up a formal meeting you ask him to come here?” Sister Agatha suggested. “Tell him the nuns will be planting a special climbing rose as a memorial to Jane Sanchez and that the local newspapers will be on hand to record the event. Say you think a photo of him and you together will show your support for local law enforcement and also help him careerwise.”

“Are you sure you want this to go down here?” Tom asked Sister Agatha.

“Yes. Let the murderer face justice where his victim fell.”

A
FTER GETTING TOM’S OKAY, SISTER AGATHA CALLED
Chuck. Although she couldn’t give him any details, she asked him to bring his camera and trust her. She owed him that much for all the help he’d given her.

Sister Agatha stood by Sister Bernarda, who was making a show out of digging a hole where the memorial rose would be planted. The rosebush had already been picked up at the nursery.

As Chuck waited for the unfolding story, he helped them make the ruse look good by taking photos while they worked.

Sheriff Green had remained in the parlor, which was off-limits to everyone else right now. From there, he’d listen in and record Holman’s conversation with McKay. The off-duty sergeant had come over right away in response to Holman’s phone call.

“It’s happening,” Sister Bernarda said as Holman looked sincere for Chuck’s camera and then walked off with Sergeant McKay, who’d arrived in uniform.

Sister Agatha was determined not to look up or even glance in the direction of Holman and McKay, but the temptation was great.

“If you get caught watching them, you’ll give yourself away,” Sister Bernarda cautioned, guessing her thoughts. “Just keep fiddling with the soil or pretend to be pulling weeds.”

Sister Agatha did so, but she could feel the tension thrumming through her body. She was acutely aware of every breath she took and each beat of her heart. She felt like a watch that had been wound too tight.

Her hand shaking now, she reached up and gingerly touched her small earpiece. It was directly beneath her veil, but Tom had assured her that she’d be able to listen in without any problem.