Rick Mofina - Perfect Grave

“This is not the time, Denise.”

“The other sisters have a right to know who she was. That she also made mistakes in her youth, whatever they were.”

“Sister, I remind you to keep this information confidential. It is private and the journal is property of the Order.”

“We should share it with the police. They’ve asked for our help about her past.”

“You don’t understand. We must do all we can to take care of her memory.”

“I understand.”

“I don’t think you do.”

“I had my hands in her blood, Vivian! I understand!”

“Lower your voice.” Vivian saw Sister Ruth coming. “This discussion is over. I’ll consider your concerns.”

After Denise left, Sister Ruth touched Vivian’s arm, then pointed to two uniformed cops who were talking to people taking notes.

“The officers want to talk to you.”

Vivian nodded. “First, I need to talk to Father Mercer in the office. I’ll be out in a few minutes.”

On her way back to her post at the serving table, Denise was approached by a small group of kindly parishioners who placed envelopes in her hand containing cash donations.

“Thank you. God bless you.”

Denise headed for the office, to put the donations in a safe place. She saw the door was open a crack and overheard Vivian talking to Father Mercer.

“Jeb, any luck on finding out who screened her? She wrote here…” Denise couldn’t believe her eyes. Vivian was showing Mercer the journal. “…she wrote Sister M.”

“May I see that and the date?” After consulting it, Mercer said, “That would be Marie when she was in Paris.”

“Is she still living?”

“I believe so. In Montana, or Canada, the western part, Calgary, I think. I’ll keep going through my personal files and make some calls.”

“I want to know more about Anne’s past and if it has anything to do with these cryptic writings in her journal, her agonizing over sins she’d committed. Was there something that was missed when she was screened?”

“Oh Viv, when young women want to enter the Order, they often overdramatize their lives, you know that.”

“In Anne’s case we don’t know what she confided to her screener.”

“Do you think it’s a factor in her death?”

“Only God knows.”

“And the person who killed her,” Father Mercer said. “Such a cold-blooded, vile act. May I take Anne’s journal with me to read tonight? I’ll return it to you before I fly back to Maine tomorrow morning.”

“Absolutely.”

Mercer flipped the pages.

“I vaguely recall Marie telling me that there was something a little disconcerting about Anne Braxton’s history prior to her taking her vows.”

“Jeb, it’s my duty to find out as much information as we can, so I can determine what we should do.”

Denise jumped when a hand grabbed her shoulder. She turned to see Paula and caught her breath. Paula passed her a copy of the Mirror. The nuns had been so busy, none of them had seen the papers this morning.

“Look at this,” Paula said.

“Goodness.” Denise devoured the article and said, “My Lord.”

“There’s a rumor going around that police arrested Cooper just as the service was ending,” Paula said.

“To talk to him, probably. He likely saw something.”

“No. People who saw him get arrested are saying the police were acting like Coop was a suspect.”

Denise began shaking her head.

“No, no way. Cooper adored her, he would never touch a hair on her head.”

“Our people say police are calling him a prime suspect.”

“No, not Cooper. Oh no!”

J ason’s stomach churned with the sick feeling every reporter dreads.

He was missing the story.

They’d arrested somebody at Sister Anne’s funeral but he didn’t know who and he didn’t know why. Was it Cooper? Were they questioning him about the stranger he’d seen arguing with Sister Anne, the guy who stole the knife from the shelter?

Jason didn’t know.

No one would tell him anything and not knowing was killing him. He glanced at the clock in the Mirror ’s cafeteria, resisting the aroma of frying bacon, burgers, and fries. Grabbing only a coffee for his dinner, to go with a plate of adrenaline and fear, he apologized to the early night crews inching their trays toward the cash register.

He jumped the queue and left two crumpled bills without waiting for change.

He had no time.

He had to find out what happened at the funeral. He’d called every source he had, except Detective Grace Garner. He’d burned a bridge there. At this point, his best hope was his old man.

He took a hit of coffee and felt a pang of guilt.

His dad had enough crap on his mind. Having to carry a gun again had resurrected the pain of seeing his partner’s suicide. Blowing his brains out before his eyes. It explained all the turmoil in their lives and why his mother walked out on them all those years ago.

Man oh man.

Jason made a mental promise to talk about it all with his dad. But later, after he had his story under control. Until then, he needed his father to pump his old friends inside the Seattle PD for information.

Jason stepped aside, reached for his cell phone and made the call.

“Hey Dad. You get anything?”

“Not much, I’m afraid.”

“Damn.”

“You know that earlier they’d developed a list of ex-cons, parolees who are regulars at the shelter.”

“Yeah.”

“Creeps with violent pasts.”

“Yeah, yeah, like the usual suspects.”

“All of them have been eliminated, cleared.”

“So what happened at the funeral today?”

“I wish I knew. I asked about that.”

“Did you push hard?”

“I’ve got to be careful, Jay, I can’t risk my license.”

“I know. Sorry.”

“Of course I pushed, but none of my guys would breathe a word.”

“Which means that whatever happened is huge. I don’t like this.”

“I’ll do my best, son.”

“Dad, it’s fine, thanks. How’re you doing? With everything, I mean?”

“I’m doing the best I can. Look, I’d like to talk to you just as soon as you can manage it, son.”

“Absolutely. We’ll talk once I get a handle on this story. I’m really sorry, but I’ve got to go. Call me if you get something, okay, Dad?”

Jason headed for the stairs. They would get him to the newsroom faster. He still had some time. Glimpsing a copy of today’s front page with his exclusive story on Cooper, Jason thought that this was starting to be a replay of last night. Find a story. Pull it out of the fire. Eldon was pleased with his Cooper story, but it was dead news now.

What you got for tomorrow’s paper?

Concentrating on what he could try next, Jason made a beeline for his desk, hoping to avoid Eldon Reep. He failed. Reep was at Vic Beale’s desk, where they were huddled with Cassie Appleton, when he spotted Jason.

“Wade! Get over here!”

Cassie had her notebook open, flipping pages filled with her notes. Jason didn’t like the air here. Beale and Reep looked pissed off. His stomach tightened.

“Enlighten us,” Reep said. “What happened at the funeral today?”

“They arrested somebody.”

“Who?”

“I’m trying to confirm it.”

“Oh you’re trying to confirm it? Well, did you think about maybe getting your ass on the street? Maybe visiting your buddy Cooper, see if he’s home under I-5?”

“I’ve been doing a lot of things.”

“So has Cassie here. Inform our all-star here what you’ve learned.”

“After you left, I talked to people. Seems all the street people had a sudden memory loss. Nobody knew who was arrested, or saw much. It happened fast. I just got off the phone with Butch Ettersly. He’s a camera- man with WKKR. Turns out I know his sister from my hometown. Apparently it all went down right in front of Butch. He says KKR is the only news team to get it all.”