Authors: P. R. Garlick
"I'll say so!" Mary Catherine added. "They know all about me,
and Martin too."
"Yes, must be the computers." Liane shrugged. "Poor Martin,
he probably feels like he betrayed me. I'll have to let him know it's all
right
–
at least someday I will." Liane opened the door and glanced
outside, turning to look first up, then down the long corridor. "But not
now. I have to get out of here."
"Good luck, Liane," Mary Catherine said as her sister looked
back over her shoulder one more time and gave her a thumbs-up.
"All's clear to the stairs. I'll see ya later." With that Liane
stepped out of the room and headed straight for the stairs. Once
down, she didn't look back as she walked toward the large glass doors
leading outside. She could see two men in blue uniforms just ready to
step inside the hospital entrance.
"Oh you are very fast," she said approaching them. "I
appreciate that. I'd hate to stand and wait. I'm still very tired, and
after everything that's been happening . . ." She sighed and drooped
her shoulders in the pretense of exhaustion.
Both the officers looked at her strangely, before looking back
at each other. "We were supposed to see a patient here."
"Oh my goodness! Then you aren't the two officers Sergeant
Adams said would give me transportation to the police station?"
"When did he say that?" the older of the two officers asked.
"Only a moment ago, Corporal Rapchinski," she said as she
read the name plate he was wearing. "I spoke to him on the telephone.
I wanted to tell him I was being discharged and wanted to speak to
him about my sister. It seems she's wanted for questioning in some
kind of murder investigation. I have to explain that there must be
some mistake. Liane would never . . .!"
"Okay, just a minute," Corporal Rapchinski said before turning
to the younger man. "We probably missed the call, Al. You better
check."
Liane held her breath as they guided her toward their squad
car. She watched as the younger officer spoke into the radio.
"Step inside Miss . . .Sister," the young officer said as he
opened the car door for her. "We're to take you straight to the
station."
I
"But Sergeant Adams, I know my sister. She would never
take the life of another human being," Liane insisted within moments
of being seated by the sergeant's huge metal desk.
"Now, as I've been trying to explain, she is only wanted for
questioning," the kindly gray haired officer tried to reassure her. "She
is what's called a person of interest."
"But the news implied there are no other suspects."
"At the moment, the L.A. police can't rule anyone out," the
Sergeant explained.
"In that case, since you have no other suspects, Liane is the
number one suspect, as they say. Am I correct?"
The man left out a long tired breath, his pale eyes raised
toward the ceiling. Liane was tempted to remind him He was
probably more apt to listen to her, but thought better of it. That could
be over-acting just a bit.
"Yes Sister, she is the only
person of interest
," the Sergeant
finally admitted, though still carefully not using the word suspect.
"I'm sorry. I had hoped to spare you. I know how concerned you are
by the way you sounded on the phone."
"Of course I am, she's my sister! I only wish there was
something I could do to help her. But if she's hiding, and doesn't try
to contact me, I don't see how I can."
"Sister, the best thing you can do for your sister is to call us if
she does contact you."
"And tell you where she is?"
"Or better still . . " The Sergeant gave a weak smile. "talk her
into coming to us herself."
"I'll try that, Sir, if she calls me. Really I will. I can see the
sense in that."
The Sergeant looked relieved. "Now why don't I have
someone drive you back to the convent. You look like you could use
some rest."
"Thank you, but I really would rather be alone for a little
while. I may just stop at Saint Patrick's Cathedral on my way. There's
something about being there that helps rejuvenate my spirit and
restore my strength. I'm sure you understand."
"Yes, I understand, even though I'm not Catholic."
"Now, if you don't mind I'll be on my way."
"Of course, but are you certain you don't want a squad car to
drop you?"
"No thank you, Sir. I appreciate your kindness, but I do think
the fresh air and sunshine would be good for me."
Liane walked a little over a block before turning to make
certain there were no policemen in sight. Seeing it was safe, she
hailed the first passing taxi cab. She was anxious to get to her
apartment to see if the letter from her brother had arrived.
The bright yellow vehicle screeched to a halt, nearly passing
her as she stood on the curb.
"Thank you," she said, unable to disguise her surprise. She
wondered if her sister always found it this easy to hail a cab. Most
New Yorkers agreed that getting a cab in this city was next to impossible and when one did pull to the curb it was like racing a herd
of thirsty cattle to the watering hole.
She was even more surprised when the cabby jumped out of
his side of the car and opened the door for her. This is unheard of.
"Ah Sister, get right in," the Cabby said with a heavy Spanish
accent. "Where would the good Sister like to go?" he asked after
returning behind the wheel.
She noted the grey streaks in the Puerto Rican driver's dark
hair, and the weary lines around his eyes. Yet the smile he gave her
was warm and genuine.
She gave him the address and listened quietly as the man
suddenly burst into an account of the problems in his life. Now she
knew why he had been so happy to give her the ride. If she
had been a priest, she supposed, she'd have gotten even faster service.
She must have seemed the next best thing to this troubled man.
"And Sister, if you could light a candle for my daughter,
Rosita," the man finally concluded. "Pray that she comes to her
senses and doesn't marry that free-loading bum. Please excuse the
description
–
but it is true. Ronaldo hasn't worked a day since he
moved in with us. I'm afraid if he marries my Rosita, I will have to
support him the rest of my life."
"I will say a prayer for you and your family," Liane promised,
hiding a smile. Then she handed him the fare with a slight tip,
knowing she may not be able to spare the extra money.
He hesitated a moment, as though deciding whether to keep
the tip, then smiled and thanked her.
"So much for the advantages of being M.C.," she said to
herself as she approached her building. "Oh well, from the sound of
it, that poor man needs the money."
Tipping the cabby had reminded her that money could be a
problem if she couldn't get into her apartment and get her debit card.
She never carried the money access card with her so she
wouldn't be tempted to withdraw cash on a whim. She knew using it
now could not be counted as a whim.
She smiled and nodded to the guard on duty as she
approached, hoping he was no better at his job than the man who
worked during the week. Often a familiar face was allowed through
the second set of doors without calling upstairs on the intercom first.
If he called for permission today she knew there would be no answer.
She clutched her key tightly as she entered the first set of
doors.
Third Half
–
P.R. Garlick
"Excuse me, Sister," the doorman said, stopping her. "I have
to call upstairs before you can enter." He looked apologetic. "It's the rule."
"I understand." She forced a smile, knowing under ordinary
circumstances she would be grateful for his efficiency.
"Who are you here to see?"
"Ms Spencer . . .Liane Spencer," she replied, then the moment
he returned to the glass-enclosed area where he'd make the call, she
turned quickly to the mailboxes behind her. At least she would have
time to check her mail.
Inserting the key, she opened the metal box, fumbling with the
letters inside. She found a letter from a girlfriend, two bills, and
another plain white envelope. The tiny, cramped script was quickly
recognized as her brother's handwriting and she could see that it had
been first sent to her old apartment. That explained the delay in
receiving it.
She stuffed the other letters back into the box and turned just
in time to see the Security Guard returning. "I'm sorry, there's no
answer," he said.
"No problem," she replied, knowing she had gotten part of
what she came for. Turning she started to leave, noting two men in
tailored suits stepping through the doorway and approaching the
doorman. She had never seen either of them before, but somehow she
knew instinctively they were there to see her.
Slipping the letter inside her blouse, and squaring her
shoulders she stepped past them as they spoke to the guard.
She passed through the doors and was halfway down the steps
when she heard swift footsteps behind her.
"Excuse me," one of the men said politely as he gently touched
her shoulder.
"Yes, are you speaking to me?" she asked, turning slowly to
face him.
"You're Sister Mary Catherine," he stated.
She noticed he hadn't asked. He already knew who she was, or
was supposed to be. "Yes, I am." She gave him a weak smile. "But
I'm afraid you have the advantage. I don't believe I know you." She
silently prayed that her sister didn't know this man. "How do you
know me?"
"That's our job," the man responded as the other man joined
him. The two men reached into the breast pocket of their suits and
simultaneously pulled out small black cases. Opened, she saw their
identification. "We're with the Federal Bureau of Investigation's
Special Task Force. I'm Special Agent Steel; this is Special Agent
Knight."
"Is there someplace we can talk in private?" Agent Knight
asked.
"I don't seem to understand what you would like to speak to
me about."
"Your sister."
"Liane! Do you know where she is?"
"No, we thought maybe you might know that."
"I wish I did. Everyone seems interested in her whereabouts.
They all seem intent on hurting her. And now . . .now the FBI too!
Tell me, what are your reasons?"
"To help her."
She didn't have to feign a skeptical look as she cocked her
head to the side. "And how can you help her? "
"At the moment, we may be able to help her by just finding
her."
"As I said, many people are trying to do that."
"You realize she's only wanted for questioning?"
"Just a moment ago, I spoke to a New York Policeman who
seemed to give the impression it would be a bit more than
questioning. He called her a
person of interest.
"
"The police are pushing on this case. It seems that her
disappearance has made things look worse than they may really be."
"Sir, from her point-of-view, I'm sure things couldn't be any
worse. You see, she did go to see that man who was killed. She was
trying to locate our brother, and had no success. She called me after
speaking to him. She was leaving for home. I haven't heard from her
since."
Liane knew that everything she told them could easily be
verified, and besides, she was certain if the FBI was involved, there
was a good chance they already knew.
"When was this?"
"This afternoon," she replied, then continued her explanation.
"You see yesterday we went to our brother's home in Connecticut. He
was supposed to be there. We were looking forward to seeing him.
The people who look after his home said they didn't know what
happened, but that he would ordinarily call if he were delayed. It's not
like Jack to leave people wondering."
"Jack, your brother?"
"Yes, Jack Spencer. He's an entertainer and travels quite
extensively. But as I said, he was supposed to be home when we went
there."
"I see. Did anything else happen that would warrant your
sister flying all the way to Los Angeles to see your brother's agent?"
"Actually, we called Mr. Devereaux first. He insisted he
hadn't even heard of Jack. We both knew he was Jack's agent. We
couldn't understand why he would lie. I've been so upset, I don't
know what to do. And now this horrible murder investigation. First
Jack disappears, now Liane. It's all such a mess!"
"Calm down Sister," Agent Knight said softly, his grey eyes
showing true concern. He turned to his partner. "That producer said
she hasn't been well."
"All this is just too difficult to understand," Liane sobbed.
"Please forgive me. I guess I'm just letting my emotions get carried
away . . ." Then she looked up to judge the effect of her charade, and
was pleased to see both men looked worried.
"Did I hear you mention Mr. Sloane?" she asked, hoping to
learn more from them. "Have you spoken to him? He might know
where my sister is. He's been seeing her lately and I know she trusts
him."
"We spoke to him just after the police. It seems he doesn't
know where she is either. By the time we arrived at the hospital, you
were leaving with the police."
"And you followed me?"
"We are sometimes more thorough than they are, Sister. We
thought that maybe you'd tell us something you didn't tell them."
"I wish there was something I could tell you. I get the feeling
that you may be able to help my sister. And she does need someone
to help her."
"Believe us, Sister, we are on her side. In fact, we are also . . .
ah . . . will also help investigate your brother's disappearance."
"Oh, thank you . . .thank you so much," she said weakly,
wondering if he had been about to tell her they were already
investigating Jack's disappearance.
"Are you all right?" Agent Steel asked sympathetically.
"No . . .not really. I'm afraid this has all been such a strain on
me. I shouldn't have come to my sister's apartment looking for her. I
should have realized if the authorities haven't found her I certainly
wouldn't. But now I can worry a little less, knowing the FBI is
involved in this." She forced a grim smile, then suddenly moaned,
hoping she wasn't overdoing her performance.
Agent Knight went immediately to her side. "You really don't
look good, Sister."
"Actually, I could stand a drink of water. And maybe if I
could sit for a moment," she said, as she placed the back of her limp
hand to her forehead. "Perhaps . . .No, I doubt that you could."
"Could what?" Agent Knight asked.