Bad Samaritan (26 page)

“But to never have kids . . . that's got to leave a hole in your heart. Mine are grown, but they're everything to me.”

“That's the biggest sacrifice all the sisters are called to make, but He gives us another gift in return. I've found a center—an anchor—that sustains me no matter what. Even now, in the middle of changes I never thought I'd face, it keeps me grounded. I know who I serve, and I can feel His love within me.” She took a deep breath and let it out again. “I know it sounds lofty and idealistic, but what I've told you is as real to me as each sunrise. Besides, what I have can't be taken away from me. How many people can say that with absolute conviction?”

“I've never found the kind of love you're talking about. I envy you.”

“You've found your own special place in this life. Judy's Place is your dream—one you turned into a reality.”

Judy nodded and smiled. “You're right about that.”

A short time later, they arrived at the
Voice.
The woman behind the front desk, Miss Sutherland, was leafing through a women's magazine and talking on a cell phone as Sister Agatha and Judy approached.

According to plan, as Judy asked to see the advertising
manager, Sister Agatha dropped her folder, sending little bits of paper flying all across the office.

“I'm so sorry!” Sister Agatha said, reaching for the ones that had floated onto the woman's desk.

“Let me help you,” the receptionist said to her with a sigh. “Call you back in five,” she told the person she'd left on the phone, then ended the call.

As Miss Sutherland bent down to retrieve the papers scattered on the floor, Sister Agatha made a show of leaning over the top of the desk to reach several pieces on the far end. Glancing back to make sure that the receptionist's attention was diverted, and seeing Judy step between them, Sister Agatha quickly lifted the mouse pad. Memorizing the password—1voice2—she gathered up the papers.

“Sorry about all that,” Sister Agatha said as Miss Sutherland handed her the stack she'd gathered.

“That's okay, Mary. I'm a klutz, too,” Miss Sutherland said.

Not giving her a chance to focus on Sister Agatha's face, Judy forced the woman's attention back to her. “What's your advertising manager's name?”

“Joe Montoya. Let me ring his office for you.”

Soon they were shown to a small suite at the end of the hall. There, they were greeted by a harried-looking man who offered them a chair. As he began detailing advertising options, Sister Agatha quietly excused herself, leaving Montoya in Judy's care.

Alone, she hurried to the restroom and locked the door behind her. Hoping that Miss Sutherland had gone back to her telephone conversation and wouldn't notice, Sister Agatha logged on, using her password.

A quick search took her to the right image files, and she retrieved the entire folder, loading them onto Chuck's hard drive.
His laptop was fast, and she was done in three minutes. Exiting the
Voice
's local network, she shut down the laptop.

Moments after she returned to Montoya's office, Judy stood. “Thanks for the information, Joe. You've given me a lot to think about. I'll go over my options on the different packages you offered me and let you know what I decide.”

“A business like yours can benefit from advertising in our publication. Your regulars already know what you have to offer, but we can really bring up your walk-in and first-time customer numbers. Our newspaper caters to a generation on the go. We target the type of people who frequent small restaurants that cater to local tastes, like yours.”

“I agree. My assistant and I will do some number crunching, then get back to you.”

Montoya shook hands with both of them and saw them to the door. As they walked down the hallway, Travis Holbrook was coming out of one of the offices. He stepped back to let them pass, his gaze focusing on Sister Agatha.

Her heart hammering, Sister Agatha forced herself not to alter her pace and continued down the hall with Judy.

“That was a profitable meeting,” Judy said, loudly enough for him to hear easily. “I think the
Voice
is the best place for our advertising dollars.”

The second they reached Judy's car, Sister Agatha breathed again. “I thought we'd be busted for sure when Holbrook came out of that office,” she said.

“I think he was trying to place you,” Judy said. “That's why I ad-libbed that line about advertising bucks. I figured a conversation like that would be the last thing he'd equate with a nun.”

“It worked, too. I glanced back right before we reached the door, and his attention was already on something else. Thanks for the misdirection.”

Driving back north through Bernalillo, Judy relaxed behind the wheel. “So, did you get what you needed?”

“I think so. The images were together in a file, so I downloaded the entire folder, or whatever you call it, into the laptop. Now, with God's help, I'll finally get some answers.”

S
ISTER AGATHA WAS ALREADY WIDE-AWAKE BY THE TIME
the Maria bell rang at 4:30
A.M.
She hadn't slept much, thinking about the duty she'd have to carry out this morning. Today, and, in fact, as soon as possible, she'd have to tell Reverend Mother about the planned editorial in the
Voice.

The Great Silence wasn't broken, except in grave emergencies, until after Morning Prayers, shortly after eight. It was then that Sister Agatha went to speak to Reverend Mother.

As she stepped inside Mother's office, she could see that it had been a while since Reverend Mother had enjoyed a full night's sleep, too. Though the day was just beginning, she looked nearly exhausted. Sister Agatha would have given anything not to have to burden her with the news she brought, but there was no turning back.

Figuring that in this case quick was better than slow, Sister Agatha didn't draw it out. After she'd finished, she added, “Mother,
they make their living twisting things, and this was their way of selling newspapers. That's all it is.”

“But there's something so vicious about an editorial like that. We'll sue!”

“Mother, please don't let this upset you. The fact is, we're leaving our home, so they can't really hurt us no matter how hard they try.”

“Child, it's what we'll be leaving behind for the archdiocese that worries me. They've had their share of trouble over the years. Another scandal . . .”

“Nothing that anyone can say or do can harm us or His Church, Mother. The foundation that sustains us is beyond the world's reach. Our Lord's at the center of everything we are, and He's already proven that nothing can destroy what belongs to the Father and to Him.”

Reverend Mother blinked back tears. “You're right, child. It's my own lack of faith . . .”

“No, Mother, what you lack is
sleep,
” Sister Agatha said with a gentle smile.

“That, too,” Mother admitted with a sigh. “Are you getting any closer to finding Robert Garcia's killer?”

“I believe I am, even though the devil tries to block me at every turn.”

“Evil won't be able to overwhelm you if you try hard to see Christ in everyone you meet. You'll be surprised how this rule transforms everything and helps you.” She gazed at the empty spot where the statue of the Blessed Mother had been. “We need to trust in God's goodness, now more than ever. Hope is rooted in that.”

“Thank you, Mother,” Sister Agatha said, then knelt to receive a blessing.

After leaving Mother's office, Sister Agatha set out to town
with Pax. The cool morning felt heavenly. “Lord, help me make the most out of all the opportunities you send our way today.”

When she pulled into the
Chronicle
's parking area a short time later, she found Chuck just getting out of his beat-up old car.

“Good morning, Sister. Did you hear the good news?” he asked, a big smile on his face.

“What good news is that? May the Lord forgive me, but did the
Voice
burn down last night?”

“Not that good, but, according to my friend, their editor, Holbrook, decided not to run that editorial. There was a staff meeting with lawyers, and they decided that while they never identified the sheriff's wife by name in that photo and the sheriff's a public figure,
you
were about to be slandered, and you could sue.”

“That
is
great news! Maybe the Garcias decided they'd look even worse if they attacked a nun.” She breathed a sigh of relief. “Did Sherry Haines's story run? We don't have a TV at the monastery, so I wasn't able to check things out.”

He nodded. “Two Albuquerque stations and the Albuquerque paper ran it last night, but they were careful to protect themselves, too. They had excerpts from Haines's interview, then clearly stated that Garcia's involvement couldn't be confirmed, though the description that she had given the officers after the accident matched Robert Garcia,” he said. “They ran the artist's rendition of her description beside one of his campaign photos. Talk about a match.”

“Interesting. It looks like the situation evened itself out again, don't you think?”

Chuck shrugged. “Opinions aren't likely to change very much, because both parties in this have taken hits.”

“It's the killer who needs to start taking some hits,” Sister Agatha replied.

“So, because you're here early, I'm figuring you pulled off something big yesterday afternoon. Am I right? Do you have a big story for me?”

Sister Agatha smiled. “I don't know how big it is, but I've got something,” she said. She handed him his computer and filled him in on what she'd done, leaving Judy's name out of it.

It didn't take long for Chuck to download the file. “Holbrook was right, Sister. If this is the way it came in, the e-mail is impossible to trace.”

Chuck opened a new file and showcased the photos, which were thumbnail images. “I can enlarge any of them.”

“Start with number one, and we'll work our way down,” Sister Agatha said.

“Good shot of Coach Brady,” Chuck said with a nod after a moment. “No wonder the
Voice
distorted the image of his face. After winning the state basketball championship last winter, Coach is more popular in this community than . . . well, I can't think of anyone even close, except maybe Father Rick.”

“Yeah, and they were out to hurt Tom Green, not get sued or run out of town. From these uncropped photos, it's clear they were taken from a city street—public territory. See the street sign?” She pointed it out.

“The photographer, whoever he was, took a lot of care shooting these,” Chuck said. “Even though the ones reprinted in the
Voice
were grainy because of the cheap materials and processes they use—not to mention the fact that they've been enlarged to quadruple their size—the originals are clear. Look, you can even see the pattern of the curtains in the motel room.”

“They didn't run this one in the paper, but Gloria takes a good photo even in profile. What's that reflected on the window
behind her?” Sister Agatha pointed to the screen. “There's some kind of figure in that dark spot.”

“Let me lighten up the photo,” Chuck said, clicking the mouse and manipulating the sharpness of the image. “It's someone holding a camera—”

“It's the photographer's reflection! Lighten it up some more,” she said quickly.

A few seconds later, they could both make out the image of a small, high-end pocket camera—and, more importantly, that of the photographer using it. The angle of the glass mirroring his reflection had captured part of his face.

“Do you realize who that is?” Chuck asked, surprised.

“Al Russo,” she answered quietly, stunned by the revelation.

“He's supposed to be a quality guy. What's he doing following Gloria Green and taking cheesy photos like these?”

“I'll be sure to ask when I see him,” Sister Agatha said.

“Come to think of it, maybe it's just part of the politics involved in a campaign. Campaigns can get rough, and in that game winning is the only thing.”

The fact that Russo had supplied the photos Robert had shown Tom revealed that Al had been part of the blackmail scheme all along. He'd also been the first to arrive at the crime scene and had used that opportunity to remove his own handiwork. Now she'd have to figure out what else he'd been involved in besides blackmail and tampering with evidence.

“There's a lot more to Al than I'd realized,” she said.

“Sister, no politician's hands are ever really clean.”

As Sister Agatha sat still, trying to figure out what to do next, the
Chronicle
's cleaning woman came into the office from a back room where she'd been working.

“Hi, Claire,” Chuck greeted her absently. Then, hearing someone at the front door, he stood. “Be right back, Sister.”

Sister Agatha remained where she was, lost in thought. Hearing a bump, she focused on Claire and saw her struggling to move a corner table so she could clean behind it. Remembering Mother's advice to see Christ in everyone, she immediately went to help.

“Thanks, Sister,” Claire said, once they'd finished. “I couldn't help but hear you mention Al Russo. He's more than the cold businessman most people see, did you know that?”

“No, I didn't,” she answered, then waited. Claire didn't disappoint.

“I go on walks along the bosque trails with my boy, Kevin, every Thursday morning. One day we went past the horse jumps, deeper into the bosque, and saw Mr. Russo, Mrs. Garcia, and her son, RJ. They had a blanket spread out and were having a picnic—a real special treat, too, judging by the white bags with the red
JP
on the sides. The sandwiches came from Judy's Place, and those big babies are
expensive,
” she said, then added with a chuckle, “Mr. Russo was playing around, roughhousing with Robert Jr., and you could just see how much he loves that boy. The cold businessman we all know from around town was nowhere in sight that day.”