Rick Mofina - Perfect Grave

“Probably.”

“We’ll go back to setting up the story like this: She was murdered by someone she tried to help, but the question is why? By all accounts, everyone at the shelter loved her.”

“Except for the guy who killed her.”

“Okay, somebody flipped out.”

“I don’t know. There’s something different here. He did it in her apartment. There’s an indication he confronted her at the shelter, that he knew her, had upset her about something. That he followed her or was waiting for her. Maybe she had a history with the guy. We don’t know much about her life.”

“All right, you and Cassie go back to the shelter, go back to the nuns, keep pushing, because somebody’s going to bust this thing wide open and we’re not going to let our guard down. Understand?”

“Excuse me, Jason,” a news assistant stood at the door. “Reception says there’s a woman here to see you.”

“Who?”

“The person won’t give her name, but reception’s pretty sure it’s a nun.”

Sister Denise twisted her bag’s strap as she waited in the reception area.

The more time that passed, the more she doubted herself.

Was this the right thing to do?

Yes, it was. She had to do this. They had to find the truth, she thought, as a reporter approached. He had an earring, a few days’ stubble, and a nice smile.

“I’m Jason Wade,” he held out his right hand. “I recognize you from the shelter and the town house, but I didn’t get your name.”

She kept her voice low, “Denise.”

Jason sensed her unease.

“Would you like to go somewhere private?”

“That would be preferable, yes.”

They went to the seventh-floor news editors’ boardroom. It had high-backed leather executive chairs around a massive table. Mounted on the walls were the stories and news photos that had earned the Mirror its Pulitzer Prizes over the years. Dramatic photos of forest fires, war zones, a child rescued from a burning building. They were alone and Jason shut the door.

“Would you like a coffee, tea, or anything?”

“No, thank you.”

Jason set his notebook down, flipped to a clear page.

“Okay, Sister, what can I do for you?”

“Please, this must be strictly confidential. You protect sources?”

“I do. You’re one of the nuns from the Order?”

“My name is Sister Denise Taylor but you must not print it.”

“I understand, Sister. Please, try to relax. Let’s start by talking about why you’re here.”

She twisted the strap of her bag, then her cross.

“I’m a friend of Sister Anne’s. Sorry. This is difficult.”

“It’s all right.”

“I don’t know where to start. The last few days have been so awful for us.”

“Well, start at the beginning. What brought you here? It must be something that you felt was important.”

She nodded.

“After Anne was killed, I was cleaning her room.”

“Hold on.” Jason produced a small recorder. “I just want to get things down right, okay?”

“But you can’t use my name. Please give me your word. I need to know that I can trust you.”

Jason’s pulse kicked up when he glimpsed the envelope peeking from her bag. His instincts told him to play this right.

“I’ll give you my word. I won’t print your name, or indicate that we’ve talked, unless you agree to be named, or we negotiate something that puts you at ease.”

Denise absorbed what he said before nodding and glancing at the tiny red light on his machine, indicating that he was recording. Jason twisted his pen.

“After Anne was killed I was cleaning her room and found that she’d hidden a private journal. None of us knew of its existence. It was hidden under the floorboards of her closet.”

“Really?” Jason noted that.

“I know it’s a private thing but I believe it might hold clues to her past that might point to her killer.”

Jason sat up and took careful notes.

“Excuse me, have you gone to any other news organizations with this?”

“My Lord, no. I could barely walk into your building this morning.”

“Do the police know about this?”

“No. Let me explain. The contents are cryptic and don’t have many facts, but they’re clearly self-recriminatory for the way she’d lived her life before she became a nun.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s a bit tricky to explain. As lay women, we all had previous lives before we’re accepted into the order. We all came from somewhere, we all had families, mothers, fathers, brothers, sisters. We all have shared that divine moment when we realized we wanted to dedicate ourselves to God by living a religious life.”

“So where’s Sister Anne from? Where’s her family?”

“That’s just it, no one knows. She was traveling through Europe as a young woman when she realized she wanted to dedicate herself to serving God.”

“And before that? Was she from Seattle?”

“We don’t know, but her journal offers some indications that she was tormented by her previous life almost until her death.”

“And you think this is a factor in her murder?”

“I think that it could be, yes.”

“So why not go to the police?”

“This is complicated for me. I passed the journal to my superior and I know that the Order is deciding on whether to go to the detectives with it, but there’s another aspect.”

“What’s that?”

“Before being accepted as a candidate for the Order, you must be screened. The objective of the process is to study your personal history, your health, your psychology, moral standing, family background, everything to assess your acceptability.”

“So everything should be in some file somewhere?”

“Not quite. What I understand is that the person who oversaw the process for Sister Anne is a retired hermit nun living in the Canadian Rockies.”

“A hermit nun?”

“Old school. Pre-Vatican II, adhering to the monastic code that brings one closer to God.”

“So what has the Order found out from its hermit nun?”

“Nothing yet, they’ve only connected her to Anne and located her a day or so ago. They thought she’d passed away.”

“How old is she?”

“Ninety, or ninety-two. Something like that.”

“Wow, so you’re telling me this old hermit nun holds the key to Sister Anne’s past, which might shed some light on who killed her, is that right?”

“Yes, that is my belief.”

“So why come to the Mirror?”

“I think the Order first wants to privately determine what her past might entail and how it might reflect on the organization before informing the police or anyone.”

“Really, in light of abuses and scandals, they’d still play it that way?”

“I’m sure you’re aware that institutions always protect themselves first, Jason.”

“Right. Even news organizations.”

“And there’s more. It’s just a feeling I have. Shortly before she was killed, she confided to me that she’d done a horrible thing in her youth. Something about destroying lives.”

“What did she mean?”

“She never elaborated. I brushed it off, thinking that she’d meant she’d broken a young man’s heart. When women leave their secular lives for the church, they often break a young man’s heart.”

“So why is this a factor now, after all these years?”

“After I found her journal, her comment took on a different meaning for me. It’s complicated. I’m sorry this is so confusing and I could be wrong-but I got the sense that she felt something from her past was catching up to her.”

Jason stared at her, absorbing everything.

“So what are you proposing, Sister?”

“Here,” she produced a photocopy of Anne’s journal, and the information on Sister Marie in Canada. “I’ll give this information to you with the hope that you’ll locate Sister Marie, and determine the truth, whatever it may be. I’ll give you three or four days, then I’ll be passing this to police.”