Authors: Robert W. Walker
"Where did you go, Lucas Stonecoat?" Meredyth asked. She'd quietly studied his strong features and iron eyes, a beautiful brown with specks of green and incredible depths she could easily lose herself in. "Where were you just now?" she repeated when he did not answer.
"Bad times."
'Tell me about these bad times."
He shared his thoughts on the history of lost Native American children who had grown up a generation of lost adults. "My father had been one of them," he confessed, "and he died the ignoble death of a drunken Indian, drowning in a mud puddle on the Coushatta Reservation, thousands of miles from the lost ancestral home where his fathers were born, lived, died, and joined the netherworld."
"I'm sorry, Lucas, very sorry for your pain, but...but you can't compare what the Bureau of Indian Affairs did from the nineteenth century through nineteen-thirties and nineteen-forties to what we tried to do in the nineteen- eighties. Our intentions were good and honorable."
"So were those of the missionaries. The road to hell is paved with good intentions. Isn't that what Anglos say?"
"I'll see you at the car," she said to this, standing and starting away.
He grabbed her wrist, saying, "I'm not saying it's the same thing, but it brings back bad memories, that's all."
She pulled away. "I need a moment alone."
Lucas sighed heavily, finished his coffee, and tossed down a tip for the hardworking busboy. He glanced out the window to where Meredyth sat in the car, pensively waiting for him.
He noticed the quiet that had come over the cafe, the music gone, replaced by an ad man touting a debt-free existence, the arguing couple with the infant now cuddling one another, the young man having come around to her side of the booth, the infant between them. They now presented a picture of peace and tranquility.
Lucas wanted an excuse to punch something, but nothing presented itself as the target he needed. Instead, he found his cell phone and called Mother Elizabeth Portsmith, the lady in charge at Our Lady of Miracles, to inform her of his and Meredyth's delay, but promising to be there within ten minutes. A cheery feminine response told him they anxiously awaited his arrival.
As he went for the exit, Lucas's boots made a slapping noise against the tiles that made the couple look up from a kiss to stare after him.
Lucas hoped the clue of the convent school, the connection to Lourdes, and the connection to Meredyth would lead them quickly to the maniac behind the abduction- murder case they worked.
He stopped short, looked up into the falling rain, allowing it to cool his face, and wondering if his getting intimately involved again with Meredyth Sanger was not a fool's errand. How much had her change of heart toward him had to do with this case, her running scared, her confused vortex of swirling emotions... her temporary desperation? Once the case was solved, he wondered if she'd throw up real roadblocks to their being together, go running back to her previous lifestyle that included such as Byron Priestly, men who asked little of her, the way she liked it.
He climbed into the car beside her, forced a smile, and asked if she was okay.
"Fine... drive. Let's get this over with."
CHAPTER 10
A CONTINUING LIGHT drizzle dampened Lucas's windshield under the gunmetal-gray sky that had encircled the city since he'd exited the Starbucks cafe. The convent orphan home emerged from the smudged-gray overcast distance, prompting Lucas to point and say, "Damn, there it is. Man, this place looks bleak."
She agreed, staring ahead. "Dour, like something out of a Dickens novel."
Our Lady of Miracles stood in stark contrast to the other structures in the residential and commercial area, as if it silently claimed special historical status, attested to by its cornerstone, dated 1914. Its light gray stone walls had been planted here before Houston's urban sprawl had engulfed it, as if the urban blight had mushroomed around its ivy- covered walls.
On all sides of Our Lady's gated grounds, the noisy, busy streets crisscrossed one another while seeming to divert around the convent church. East, west, north, south, all the streets were filled with traffic and low-rent, high-rise apartments, duplexes, brownstones, and gray-stones in need of upgrading and repair. Trash, bottles, cans, fast-food bags, crushed containers, scattered cups, careworn, bruised automobiles with flat tires and broken windows, all littered the area as one cancerous blight.
The convent itself appeared neat, orderly, and clean, but its gates had captured a lot of the debris, clinging to the black wrought-iron stays that separated Our Lady of Miracles from the community.
The convent was also encircled by billboards and an array of mind-numbing signs touting establishments ranging from McDonald's to strip clubs. The old convent church looked besieged, surrounded as it was by storefront establishments—a pizza parlor, a Blockbuster, a beer hall, a coffee shop, an insurance firm, and a carpet-and-tile outlet. Sitting squarely in the middle of all the hubbub of the teeming city, Our Lady's ancient stones and spiraling pinnacles, the solid, gray shape of its bell tower some three stories high, stood behind its locked iron gate. Attached to the church itself stood a long, meandering orphanage, a building for housing, boarding, feeding, and schooling the young women who called this place home.
Lucas next saw a short, heavy set nun in a black habit struggling to keep an umbrella over the head of a taller woman in a white habit, the mother superior. Sister Elizabeth Portsmith, no doubt. Portsmith raised a single hand to acknowledge the car at the gate, her features half masked by the black umbrella. She seemed to be directing traffic, telling the shorter, stouter, and younger woman what to do. The younger nun struggled to keep her mother superior dry with one hand while getting the gate open with a jammed handheld electronic device. Finally, the gates opened inward on a small square of fieldstones that made up a parking lot and driveway.
Meredyth traced the enormous pinnacles of the church skyward, the gray stones streaked from the rain. The drizzle had not worsened, but the darkening sky had become nearly black by the time Lucas found a comfortable parking spot alongside a convent van. The little lot was tight and difficult to maneuver in, but finally he switched off the engine.
Climbing from the car, Lucas and Meredyth saw that the mother superior and her assistant had made their way to a doorway alongside the church parking lot, and both the assistant and Portsmith were motioning Lucas and Meredyth to enter at this cottage like entrance where a red door stood. Mother Superior Elizabeth appeared quite aged and winded, as if the short time she had spent out at the gate had been too much for her, Lucas thought. He wondered at her age, at the number of years she'd spent here and elsewhere in service to her faith.
She appeared the obvious mainstay of her small citadel, stem, stoic, accepting that at such times as this, she must allow her bastion to be compromised, allowing a nonbeliever like Lucas inside. He guessed that if she could have her way, Mother Elizabeth would keep them out like the clutter plastered against her gate.
"She look in good health and happiness to you?" Lucas whispered in Meredyth's ear, referring to the mother superior, whose face appeared dusted with flour.
"Careful, Lucas. She could kick your red butt."
By now the shorter, sprier nun had disappeared into the church ahead of Mother Elizabeth. After introductions, Mother Elizabeth, looking even older than before, guided them through a winding, semi darkened corridor to her expansive, mahogany-lined, ornate office. Inside, the walls were lined with oak-wood shelves filled with books and religious objects. Once seated behind her massive, shimmering dark wood desk. Mother Elizabeth finally asked, "Now precisely how can we at Our Lady of Miracles possibly help the Houston Police Department in a homicide investigation, Lieutenant Stonecoat, Dr. Sanger?" Mother Superior seemed to stress every other word. She radiated gravity, solemnity, grace.
Lucas outlined all that had occurred, the story causing Portsmith to gasp more than once. He brought the horror of the Post-it Ripper back to her doorstep, explaining that the package sent to his home had Our Lady as its return address.
"Such cruelty in mankind," she muttered. "But to think anyone here could possibly have anything to do with such horrors, no. No, it must be a ruse," she instantly suggested, her right hand holding down her left on the desk before them. "It can't possibly have anything to do with our home here."
"There's another connection to here," Lucas added, "two, in fact. One, my landlord, who took the parcel, said it was delivered by a young woman dressed in a Catholic school uniform. Two, your convent school is not far from where I live."
"It's impossible," she automatically replied. "Only a handful of our girls are considered trustworthy enough to go beyond the gates of Our Lady, and none of our girls could possibly involve herself in such a soulless crime." The mother's hackles rose up now, the hair on her neck alert, her very skin bristling, her eyes and ears like those of a hunting dog alerting on a kill. She gritted her teeth behind a firmly set jaw and searched Lucas's face, and then Meredyth's, for some sign that they must know they were in the wrong place and wasting not only their time but hers.
"From an investigative standpoint, Mother Elizabeth," replied Lucas, "it's good news that you can narrow down the number of young ladies here who enjoy the freedom to come and go."
"It'll save us a great deal of time," agreed Meredyth.
"I'm not so sure I should simply turn my girls over to be interrogated by police. Should I call in Carver?"
"Carver?"
"The convent lawyer."
"That will only complicate things," Lucas replied.
"For you perhaps."
Meredyth waved her hands. "We only want to speak to the children to determine if one among them delivered the package, possibly for money, Mother Elizabeth. We don't think the girl in question knew what was in the parcel."
"I still think I should call Mr. Carver. I am not well versed in any law other than ecclesiastical law. And while his expertise is property and investments, I know his first question to me will be did you two display a warrant to question my girls, minors most of them." She lifted her phone, making Lucas groan. She glared at him. "I am a simple woman and need guidance."
Lucas looked her firmly in the eyes. "Carver will only cost you more hours, Mother Elizabeth, and isn't time your most valuable commodity, aside from your flock here, I mean? If we have to go and come back with a court order, it'll only mean more disruption of your schedule here."
Mother Elizabeth had only to punch her speed dial for Carver. She held the phone in a moment of silence, her eyes closed as if in prayer. Finally, she calmly placed the phone back on its cradle. "All right, but you realize if one or more of the girls refuse to talk to you, she has the sanctuary of these walls, and therefore the right of refusal. If you have a problem with that, then perhaps I should call Carver."
Lucas opened his palms to her. "Refusing to talk to police? We get that all the time, Mother. It's called the Fourth Amendment."
"Sanctuary predates the U.S. Constitution, Detective."
Meredyth grabbed him and huddled heads with him, whispering, "Don't try to match wits with this woman."
Meredyth then straightened in her seat and addressed the mother superior. "We accept any conditions necessary to speak to the girls," Meredyth added.
"All right, Dr. Sanger, Detective."
"But before you begin piling on more conditions, ma'am," Lucas said, "I want you to know what we have. Fact, a twenty-eight-year-old young woman, abducted and brutally murdered, her head severed with an ax, two"—he held up his fingers—"two whacks with a dull blade, and some fiend sent her head in a UPS box to us. If one of your girls can give us a description of the man who she acted for, then we may stop this satanic individual from harming his next victim, who quite possibly could be one of your girls, if she's spending time with him."
Meredyth added, "The Lourdes woman's family deserves some closure, Mother Superior. Surely, you can understand our need to act quickly before another part of this woman is mailed to someone, perhaps her mother and father."
The mother superior relaxed her gaze and relented. "Well...I suspect our Mr. Carver has enough on his plate. All right. I'll have the trustworthy girls we allow to interface with the community called up to my office, and you may speak with them, but I must be present during any...inquisitioning."
"In-what?" asked Lucas.
"During interrogations, Lucas," explained Meredyth.
"Your presence could make them hesitant to talk freely," Lucas pointed out.
"Those are my terms. Take them or...or we call in Mr. Carver, and you can deal with him."
"No, no. Your being present actually may spur the truth from your girls, I suspect," said Lucas.
"Are there any other girls who you suspect capable of finding their way off the grounds other than your trustees?" asked Meredyth.
"None. We run a very taut ship here. Now, I'll have Sister Audrey call each of the girls to come out of their classes. There's a room to your left where you can question each."
"I'd also like to examine your records," added Meredyth, who had stiffened somewhat in her seat, her eyes roaming about the convent office. "I'm particularly interested in newborns turned over to your care in 1984."
"And the significance of that year has to do with your case?" she asked, her forehead creasing below the line of her habit.
"A third connection to the convent orphanage. Mother Superior," said Lucas.
"I was involved as an intern at the time with Child and Family Protective Services—it was called then, placing children in the care of various orphanages in and around Harris County and Houston, including yours." Meredyth took a deep breath. "We may be far off here, but there may be some connection between the killer's interest in your convent and my short association with your orphanage, Mother Elizabeth."