SISTER (ALTON RHODE MYSTERIES Book 4) (11 page)

CHAPTER 18 - DRESSED TO DIE

There seemed to be little more to learn in Windsor, so early the next morning I headed back to San Francisco and flew to Denver, to find out what I could about the murder of Jeanette LeFebvre, the young postulant.

I grabbed a coffee and an egg sandwich on rye in the Denver International terminal. I still had half my coffee in a cup and had just picked up my rental car when Alice called.

“How is it going?”

I told her.

“Another serial killer? Are you specializing? Perhaps you should put that on your business card.”

“It’s just a working hypothesis.”

“You will be careful, won’t you?”

“If he exists, I don’t think he is targeting agnostics.”

“They make exceptions, as you found out the last time.”

“I was blinded by her beauty.”

“I thought it was the soda bread.”

“I have more than one weakness. But I will be the soul of caution. I think I’m more at risk from jet lag than anything else. Cormac says I’ve become a Rhode more traveled.”

I heard her throaty laugh, a laugh that made me wish I was in Paris instead of Denver.

“Please tell him for me that’s terrible. But you do seem to be getting around more than ever.”

“You’re forgetting Afghanistan. And a few other charming tourist spots.”

“You were sent there. You had no choice.”

“Speaking of world travelers, when are you coming home?”

I hadn’t meant to say it like that.

“I mean, how is the Sorbonne?”

“I know what you mean, Alton. I miss you, too. The semester ends in June. Then I’m going to take a few weeks in England, visiting some friends I’ve made here. I can’t use my apartment until August 1st.”

Alice had sublet her Greenwich Village apartment to a pair of graduate students at N.Y.U.

“When you get back, you could always stay at my place until they leave.”

“I sense an ulterior motive behind that offer.”

“There’s nothing ulterior about it. I’ve been spending a lot of time in convents. Abstinence makes the heart grow fonder.”

“That was very good. Would I have to cook?”

“I thought you wanted me to avoid risking my life.”

“I suppose you will insist on having regular sex.”

“There is nothing regular about sex with you, Alice. I’m even thinking about having the bedroom soundproofed.”

“Only the bedroom?”

“You remembered.”

***

Although Jeanette LeFebvre was killed in Lafayette, a suburb about 25 miles north of Denver with its own police department, the local cops had asked for help from the Colorado Bureau of Investigation. I suspected I had something to do with that. Nothing gets peoples
’
attention like the phrase “serial killer.” The C.B.I. agent in charge of the investigation, a detective named Jack Delaney, had suggested we meet at the crime scene.

“The nuns aren’t used to strangers,” Delaney said when we shook hands outside the Convent of the Contemplative Sisters of Fatima. He was tall and lanky, and looked like he should be riding a horse with a badge on his vest and a lever-action Winchester sheathed on his saddle. “But they know me pretty well by now. Make your job a little easier.”

“I appreciate this, detective. I have to say I’m not used to this kind of cooperation.”

He laughed.

“I made a couple of calls. Some cops in Massachusetts and New York said you can make yourself useful. I’ve been at this too long to turn down any help. Especially on a hair-ball case like this. They said you were the one to connect the murders.”

“I had help with that.”

“They also said you have a personal stake in this.”

“The woman killed in Massachusetts was a friend of mine.”

“That sucks. Sorry. You learn anything in Sonoma?”

It didn’t take me long to tell him what I’d found out. Or, rather, what I didn’t.

“Like I said,” Delaney said. “A hair ball.” He looked at his watch. “Come on. Let’s go in. It’s 4. The nuns have an hour of free time now. I like to be punctual. They lead a very structured life. Everything is scheduled.”

Which might make it easier for a killer to pick a time and target, I thought.   

The convent was more modern than I expected. It looked something like a small ski lodge, but with more glass. I asked Delaney about it.

“Actually, you’re not far off. It was only built about 15 years ago by a guy who does ski lodges and chalets. A real religious guy, donated the land and the building to the order. They were in a much bigger building but didn’t need all the room. The money they made from the sale will keep them going for years. There aren’t that many nuns left in the order.”

“One less, now.”

“Yeah.”

Delaney rang the bell. The door was opened by a young Asian girl wearing a short-sleeved brown dress that fell just below her knees. She had on a small cap and veil. He told her that we had an appointment with Sister Teresa. The girl led us down a hallway. Inside, the place was more convent-like. Statues of saints, religious paintings and artifacts on the walls. Simple furniture.

“No ski racks,” I murmured to Delaney.

“Try to behave.”

“Please wait in here,” the girl said, pointing into a small library.

She closed the door behind her as she left. We both went to a window and looked out to a small courtyard where several nuns were sitting in Adirondack chairs, reading. Two others were engaged in a spirited game of badminton. Like the nuns in the chairs, they were wearing full habits, black, with large white cowls. Unlike the girl who answered the door, their skirts reached the ground. 

“I thought these sisters were cloistered,” I said.

“Cloistered doesn’t mean dead,” a voice behind us said. 

We turned. A middle-aged nun, dressed like the ones in the yard, stood in the middle of the room. We hadn’t heard her come in.

“It’s nice to see you again, Detective Delaney,” she said.

He made the introductions. Sister Teresa was the Prioress of the convent.

“I am also Director of Novitiates. We are shorthanded, so I am forced to wear two hats.” She smiled. “Or cowls, I guess. Please, sit.”

We arranged ourselves around a small table near the window.

“There are levels of cloistering, Mr. Rhode,” Sister Teresa said. “Some insist on strict silence and isolation from the world. The sisters who belong to such orders rarely see anyone outside their convent, including their families. Their lives are devoted to prayer. We, here at Fatima, are considered contemplative. We spend much of our day in prayer, of course, but we do have some interaction with the community. And even the most cloistered orders provide outlets for free time, play and exercise. Here, our sisters have access to a wide range of activities. Our grounds are quite large. We even have a pond where some of the sisters like to fish.”

“I guess I was a little surprised to see nuns playing badminton in full habits,” I said. “I presume the girl who let us in was a postulant, like Jeanette LeFebvre.”

“Yes.”

“And postulants dress differently than you do.”

“Yes. This calling, as you might guess, isn’t for everyone. There is a long period of instruction.” Sister Teresa smiled again. “I believe you called it a religious boot camp, Detective Delaney. Colorful, but quite accurate. The first step toward taking permanent vows is postulancy, Mr. Rhode. Aspirants begin to live with us. They receive a Miraculous Medal, which they will wear their entire lives, and a brown dress with a short veil. They are taught basic doctrinal principles, and then the ropes, so to speak, of day-to-day living. After a year or so, if their calling is real and they want to commit fully to God, they will be admitted as a novice and be permitted to wear the full habit right up until their full investiture and, finally, the perpetual vows that make them full members of the order. The whole process may take years.” She paused. “We want to be sure. We want them to be sure. We are not looking for women who just want to escape life. We are looking for women who want to embrace life. A life in the service of God.” She looked out the window. “Of course, that doesn’t preclude badminton. I’m a pretty good player, myself.”

“Do postulants have specific jobs?”

Everyone in the community works, Mr. Rhode. We do our own cooking, cleaning and the like. We have a gardener, and a service comes in to maintain the grounds and the building, but we grow produce in our own vegetable garden. Postulants are typically assigned to work there, especially if they have a knack for it.”

“Did Jeanette LeFebvre have the knack?”

“Oh, yes. She loved it. I believe she came from a farming family. A wonderful girl. We are all still stunned by her death.” She looked at Delaney. “Any progress in solving her murder, Detective?’

He looked at me.

“It will be public knowledge soon,” I said. “
USA Today
already broke the story.”

He nodded.

“It looks like there may be a serial killer involved, Sister. There have been other similar killings. Of clergy.”

She absorbed that, then shook her head sadly.

“Are the other crimes local? Should we be taking precautions.”

“The other murders took place across the country,” I said. “Whoever is responsible probably picked your convent, and Jeanette, at random. We don’t know his motive, but I don’t think you have anything to worry about any more. Of course, until he’s caught, it wouldn’t hurt to be vigilant. Perhaps not let anyone work alone in the outlying areas. Detective Delaney can guide you on what to do.”

“We have already instituted that policy, Mr. Rhode.”

“The Lafayette police have increased patrols in the area,” Delaney said. “But I think Mr. Rhode is right. The danger here is minimal, Sister.”

“Would it be possible to visit the place where Jeanette died?” I asked.

“Of course. Detective Delaney can show you.” She stood, and so did we. “If you don’t mind, I won’t accompany you. But if you need me further, I am at your disposal.”

The Prioress walked to the door, then turned.

“This is supposed to be a house of peace. All Jeanette wanted was to serve God and her fellow man. But sinners, like the poor, are always with us. I will pray that you are successful in catching whoever is doing these horrible things. And I will pray for the both of you.”

I might not be making much progress in catching a killer, but I had at least two nuns praying for me. Something told me I needed all the prayers I could get.

***

“You didn’t ask her many questions,” Delaney said as we walked to the vegetable garden on the far side of the property.

“What would be the point? I’m sure you and the local cops covered all the relevant ground in your initial investigation. Cleared family, friends and locals. Who found the body, by the way?”

“One of the other postulants, who was sent looking for her when she didn’t show up for one of the prayer gigs. Poor kid got the shock of her life.”

“Sister Teresa mentioned a gardener and a landscape service.”

“None of them were here that day. All had alibis.”

We reached the garden. Parts if it wound around a small copse of trees and were far enough from the main convent complex to make it possible a killer could have approached LeFebvre without attracting notice. The large plot, about a half-acre in size, looked well-tended. In addition to vegetables that included cabbage, carrots, corn, eggplant, squash, potatoes and tomatoes, there was one small corner patch where flowers bloomed around a small cross. In memory of the dead girl, I presumed.

A bumblebee the size of a C.I.A. drone rose from one of the flowers and flew off. I’d read an article written by some scientists who proved it was aerodynamically impossible for bumblebees to fly. I’d also read another article written by other scientists who said that was bunk. I wondered how much grant money went into both studies. Bumblebees couldn’t read and continued to fly. And there was still no cure for cancer.

I looked through the woods bordering the plot. I could see traffic on nearby roads, maybe 50 yards away. I walked into the brush. It was easy going and I was soon on a residential street. I looked back. I could see Delaney.

“That’s what we figured,” Delaney said when I returned. “Guy parked on the road. Walked in, stabbed her and walked back out. Five minutes, tops. He could see her working in the garden from the road.”

“Her clothes would have made her stand out even more,” I said. “That’s what he wanted. Didn’t have to be LeFebvre. Any postulant would do, because of the outfit.”

“I don’t get it. Is that why you asked those questions about what LeFebvre was wearing?”

“The postulants wear simpler garb. More like a dress. It would be damn hard to hit someone’s heart exactly in the right spot if that person was dressed in a full nun’s habit. That’s why he chose a postulant.”

“Why here? Or the other places?”

I thought about that.