Sister O'Marie - A Novena for Murder

It was then she spotted Tony coming down the path toward her. He was wearing mud-spattered work clothes and dragging a rusty shovel. A small cloud of dust followed him. He was on her list. She should talk to him. Find out what he knew. But this afternoon she just didn’t feel like it. She wanted to be alone on her hillside, thinking her own thoughts. She didn’t want to talk about murder or motives or alibis. She didn’t even want to be polite. Fortunately, she didn’t have to be.

“What are you doing here, Sister?” Tony asked, rather gruffly, she thought.

None of your business ! was the first retort that popped into her mind. “Going to the clearing,” she said mildly, pointing toward it with her plastic-covered book.

“Oh,” he said, apparently not knowing what to say next. Mary Helen thought she smelled alcohol on his breath. They stood, looking at each other, waiting for the other to make the first move.

His eyes were glazed. For a moment Mary Helen said nothing, just met his stare with a well-practiced, school-marm stare of her own.

Tony took a step toward her. Then she was sure she smelled it: the acrid and unmistakable odor of stale wine.

Gripping the handle of his shovel, he steadied himself. Mary Helen was annoyed. All she needed to complete her day was an obnoxious drunk!

“If you’ll excuse me now,” Mary Helen said, primly edging to Tony’s left. With one unsteady step he blocked her way, beginning to raise his shovel.

“Is there something you wish to discuss?” She struggled to keep the quaver out of her voice.

Suddenly, from several yards below, Kate Murphy’s voice called, “Tony! Is that you?”

Mary Helen listened to the slap of four footsteps coming toward them. There went her knees again. This time they felt like spaghetti. Kate and Inspector Gallagher rounded the corner. Thank goodness.

Tony dropped the shovel. “Yeah. Who wants to know?” He took two or three staggering steps toward them.

“Police,” Gallagher barked, jerking his badge from his back pocket.

“Look who’s here,” Kate smiled when she saw Mary Helen. “I hope you’re not doing our work for us.”

Sister Mary Helen’s hand shook as she grabbed Kate’s arm and pulled her to the side. “Thank God, you’re here,” she whispered, trying to keep her voice from quaking. “That young man is very intoxicated and very angry. You don’t suppose he could be our murderer, do you? There’s something in his eyes…”

Kate looked amused. “Negative,” she whispered back, cutting into the middle of Mary Helen’s sentence. “Remember-I told you he had an alibi for the night the professor was killed. I checked. He was in a bar in Santa Clara with dozens of other Portuguese who’ll swear to it, not to mention the bartender. In the trade, we call that airtight!”

“Airtight? Are you sure?”

Kate nodded. “Sorry, Sister.”

Mary Helen frowned over at Tony. Unless there were two murderers, she thought.

Gallagher fired questions which the young man answered in monosyllables.

Kate returned to her first question. “What are you up to?”

Mary Helen took a long deep breath. If I had any sense at all, I’d go straight to my room and lock the door and lie down, she thought. But I’ll be switched if I’ll let one ugly scene with one ugly man intimidate me!

“I’m going to that favorite spot of mine to sit for a while,” she said, indicating her book.

“Pray for us while you’re there.” Kate patted her arm. Mary Helen didn’t have the energy to explain about her plastic cover. Later.

“And, Sister, by the way. How about dinner tonight? Jack enjoyed you so much. Besides, I’d like to talk to you about the two-murderer theory. We’ll have something simple. Maybe pick up Chinese.” Kate seemed genuinely eager.

“I’d love that,” Mary Helen said.

“Good. We’ll question this guy. Go downtown to do the paper work and then I’ll pick you up. Around six.”

Mary Helen settled comfortably on the cold stone bench. It took several minutes for her breathing and heartbeat to return to normal and a little longer for her knees to lose that shaky feeling.

Closing her eyes, she bundled her Aran knit sweater around her and pulled the thick collar over her ears. The sun was warm on her legs. When she’d started up the path, she’d been tired; after her little encounter, she was exhausted. She needed a nap. Not here, not now. She should think. Put this whole thing together. Yet her entire body felt drugged; her energy sapped; her limbs weary. She fought to stay awake. Suddenly, she felt all of seventy, or was it seventy… Within minutes, the old nun had fallen into a sound sleep.

“Our friend Tony was really into his cups.” Inspector Gallagher followed Kate down the campus driveway into the parking lot.

“It didn’t seem to loosen his tongue nor improve his disposition.” Kate leaned against the fender of the Plymouth. “What do you make of this afternoon, Denny?”

“That little guy. Luis. He may be innocent, but he knows something. And he’s scared shitless to tell it. I’d wager it has something to do with the professor and this Sebastiao business. Agreed?”

“Agreed,” Kate said. “And he may be our best bet. Not used to lying. Did you notice?”

“Yep.” Gallagher fumbled in his jacket pocket for a brand new cigar.

“Wish we could locate those two nephews of Senhora Rubiero’s. And the two missing Manuels-Noia and Sousa. They might be able to tell us something that would wind this case up.” Kate did not relish going through the entire Rubiero address book.

Watching a small group of chattering students cross the asphalt, Kate felt a momentary twinge of envy as they laughed, piled into a tiny Volkswagen, and squealed out of the parking lot. Saturday night, and they could have cared less about murders and murderers and solving cases.

“Do you think there may be something to this two-murderer theory?” she asked, watching the Volkswagen taillights disappear down the driveway.

“Now you want two murderers?”

“Just a feeling.”

“Don’t give me that women’s intuition crap.” Gallagher rummaged through his pants pockets for a match.

Kate chose not to take up the gauntlet. “We can’t seem to find one suspect who could have committed both crimes,” she said evenly.

Gallagher grunted. “Maybe we haven’t found the right suspect,” he said. “Or maybe you’re right, and this two-killer theory is the way to go. One guy could have killed the professor, and a second guy could have killed the girl.”

“Why guy ?”

“I don’t know.” Gallagher shrugged. “I guess a strong gal could have hit that hard. But the only woman even near either scene was that cute little secretary, Marina, with the innocent eyes. She hardly seems the type.”

“Don’t give me that chauvinistic crap.” Tit for tat, Kate thought. “What is the type?” she asked, watching Gallagher get his cigar and match together. She was always relieved when he finally made contact.

“Now that clown, Tony. He’s the type. An obnoxious bastard. But we already know he has an airtight alibi for one of the nights in question. I can see why the bartender remembers him.”

“But maybe not for the day Joanna was killed.”

“Right. We’ll get on that Monday, too.”

“I think Sister Mary Helen was genuinely frightened of Tony. Said there was something in his eyes. Maybe she had a point.”

“For crissake, Kate, she said Leonel had nice eyes and, therefore, couldn’t be a killer. Now there’s something wrong with this guy’s eyes that says he can be. You’ve just run across a real eye nut! And eyes are not admissible evidence in a murder case.”