Secrets in the Shallows (Book 1: The Monastery Murders) (55 page)

“I’ve lived in that building twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week for years. I hardly ever get out if it’s not related to church activities. Of course, any of my sisters would vouch for me, I’m sure. They’ve know where I was almost every moment of each day. They know I would not do anything to harm those boys.”

Feeling at a loss for words, Mr. Posey scratched his head as he thought to himself;
I’ve got to figure out a way to give her some hope.
“Is there anything else you can think of that may help your case?”

Charles continued, “The only thing that we have to stand on right now is the fact that you have served in the Catholic faith for over forty years. That is the one thing that is going to give us some hope of influencing the jury. The problem is that it isn’t good enough to counteract two murder charges. I believe you’re telling me the truth,” he said with determination, “but what worries me is there is so much evidence against you. We’ve got to find something else that can clear your name on this, or at least put enough doubt in the jury’s mind that you won’t be convicted.”

Mother Superior sat back in her chair, covered her face with her hands, and sobbed.

Mr. Posey thought for a moment, and then continued, “I do have one question for you. They said that the boys were killed by drowning after they were knocked unconscious. What is the maximum weight can you pick up, Mother?”

“I’m not a weakling, but I’m not a weightlifter either. Probably the most I could lift would be fifty pounds.”

Posey perked up. “And how much would you be able to drag across the ground like a sack of potatoes?”

“I may be able to drag seventy to eighty pounds at most; but it would be pretty hard to do across a bumpy ground.”

“Wait! Wasn’t there a bad snowstorm on the night Timmy disappeared?”

“Absolutely, Mr. Posey.”

Charles grinned. “Mother, I may have an idea. I didn’t hear of any sled type of tracks in the snow. I need to look at the autopsy reports to find out the exact weight measurements for both boys. I am pretty confident they both weighed much more than seventy pounds, and therefore would be too heavy for you to drag without some assistance. That could involve another person or something like a sled to make it easier to drag the bodies. There wasn’t any evidence like that, at least that I’ve heard; so we may have something in our favor.”

He continued, “Tom was murdered in the spring, so I doubt there was snow on the ground. I’ll study the photos closely, and see if there is any evidence of something being used to drag the bodies. If not, then we may have enough reasonable doubt to start with.”

“Will it be enough to convince a jury, Charles?” Mother Superior said, trying not to get her hopes up.

“It could be enough to help create a reasonable doubt in the jurors’ minds. That is, if we pair this with enough other information,” Charles answered. “I’m going to study those files and do some interviews for myself. I’ll even talk to the parents and other witnesses. Maybe I’ll come up with some other helpful information.”

“What are my chances of getting off of these charges, Mr. Posey?”

“I have to admit that I wouldn’t bet on a horse with those odds, Mother; but I’ll do my best to find the
needles
that we need,” Charles said. “Tonight, I’ll also listen to those CDs when I get home. I want to watch that survellance video closely also. Maybe I’ll get lucky and find something new. I’ll let you know if I find anything to help your case. Try to remember whatever you can, especially about the counseling sessions with Timmy and Tom, or even what happened with all the vandalism at the monastery. Sometimes the smallest things can be very helpful.”

“I’ll think hard on it,” Mother Superior replied.

Mr. Posey scribbled a bunch of notes on his legal pad before he stood up and headed toward the door. Opening the door, he turned back towards her and said, “Mother Superior, I’m going to do my best to help you. Please eat and take care of yourself in the mean time?”

“I’ll try to take better care of myself,” Mother Superior said.

“Good! Thank you, ma’am. I’ll talk to you again soon,” Charles said as he knocked on the door.

The interrogation door opened, and a female deputy walked in. The deputy replaced the handcuffs on Mother Superior before gently taking her by the forearm. She ordered, “Come on. Let’s go.”

Charles Posey walked through the doorway and down the hallway. Turning around, he watched Mother Superior walk out of the room, escorted by the guard. He shook his head as he walked towards the guard post to leave.

He thought to himself,
I hope that this little bit of information will help her case. Without a plea bargain, her fate will be in the hands of the jury, but I understand her reasoning. At least we don’t have the death penalty in Maine. I’ve got too much to do before her arraignment in the morning. I just wish I had more to work with. God, I really need a miracle. Please, help me with this case!

* * * *

The soft clicking of highly polished shoes could be heard down the hallway as Deputy Simms escorted Mother Superior towards her cell block. A profound heaviness draped over Mother Superior like a thick winter blanket. With every step, Mother’s chest heaved as she inhaled a deep breath. The closer she got to her cell, the faster her heart raced.

Several images flashed across her mind, as the reality of her situation began to sink in. She was overwhelmed by the faces of the sisters she loved, and those of the many children she had taught over the years. Once a vibrant woman, Mother Superior Mary Ellen had transformed into a lifeless shadow of the God fearing woman she had been. Now, she had no spark, no life, and only a little will to live.

Mother Superior felt as if she were standing before the portal to Hell, as the guard buzzed to open the gate. She felt the callous stares of many inmates while passing several cells on the way. Their cold eyes peered back at her without hope. Covering her ears, she tried to tune out the obscenities and insults hurled at her by the other inmates.

Upon reaching Mother Superior’s cell, the deputy called out to the pod supervisor, “Bust number four.”

There was a loud click and rattling as the gate unlocked and trundled to the right. With little concern for the new charge, Deputy Simms droned in a firm, dull voice, “This one’s yours. Home, sweet home.”

“Where are my things?” Mother asked softly.

“Trustees are gathering them up right now. They’ll be brought over shortly. Time to face the facts, and just do as you’re told,” Simms replied. “Playtime is over, Sister. Here’s a word of advice. The fewer ripples you make, the easier your sailing will be.”

Mother Superior resigned herself to obedience, and walked into her new abode. With a loud clacking sound, the bars slid closed, barricading her inside. After placing her hands inside the cold metal box on the door, the guard removed the handcuffs and replaced them on her utility belt.

Grasping the bars, Mother Superior watched silently as the guard left. A single tear slowly streamed down her face. Dripping off of her cheek, it landed on the concrete floor below as the guard’s footsteps faded away. Silently, she prayed.
Will I ever have my life back again, Lord?
Although she deeply wanted to hear an answer of hope, the only response she received was a loud buzzing noise and the clang of the large metal gate closing behind the guard.

E
PILOGUE

With only the glow from a corner lamp to light the room, a shadowy figure held up a nun’s habit and laid it across the bed. Looking at the draped clothing, the figure used gloved hands to methodically flatten the dress so that no wrinkles emerged. Once finished, the freshly laundered outfit was spread out like angels wings across the quilted comforter.

Unlocking the latch of a large, ornately handcrafted cedar chest at the end of the bed, the mysterious person opened the lid and looked within. Nestled on a thick wool blanket, a expertly wrapped rope lay waiting for use. Thin lips smiled as the pitiless eyes stared at a large, maple box inside the chest.

In the other hand, the silent assassin picked up a large ax from a table. It had been thoroughly cleaned so that the victims’ blood no longer screamed from to the horrific acts it had been used for. With a sinister smile, the killer held it up and beheld the reflection in the shiny blade. The disturbed perpetrator touched the sharp edge and whispered to it,
“The ropes worked perfectly, but I really miss using you. I can’t see the look in their eyes as their life slips away into the abyss.”

Wrapping the ax with a light afghan, it was placed against the back panel of the chest. Peering down at it, the mysterious person whispered,
“Until next time.”

The assassin’s attention was diverted back to the maple box. Smiling once again, the gloved hands reached for it and opened the lid. To the killer, the box was filled with morbid trophies; personal reminders of every kill. With these prizes, the killer could relive those experiences over and over. Thin lips curled into a cruel smile, as an almost giddy laugh burst forth; showing a brief glimpse of the madness that lie within.

Smiling in triumph while retrieving a gold ring, worn and dulled from many years of use, the dark figure whispered,
“You’re all mine.”

Returning the ring to its designated place, the murderer picked up a watch. Looking inside the watchband, the engraved words could easily be read:
To Timothy ~ Happy 15
^th
Birthday! Love, Dad and Mom.
Admiring it, the killer carefully rubbed the beveled glass and then held it to an ear, listening to the ticking rhythm inside. Placing it back in the box, sadistic eyes stared at the remaining items.

One by one, each trophy represented its own tale of horror: a tightly-folded, burgundy habit headpiece; a slightly scuffed baseball signed by an ‘All Star’ player, a dainty gold bracelet, and several others. The voices of those murdered had long been silenced, yet these trinkets screamed for their revenge.

“Strike three! You’re out, Tom Green!”

Staring out from the shadows, vacant eyes watched their killer coddle the trophies. Whispering pleas for justice, their spirits begged to be heard.
We never will forget what you did. You will never find peace.

Pausing to gaze at a long lock of graying hair pulled from their roots, the murderer smiled and said, “Sorry, Mother. You caused this.”

After closing the box, the killer set the highly-prized treasure back in its proper place inside the chest. Picking up a notebook with newspaper clippings, incident reports and other important paperwork, the murderer flipped through it, page by page. The dark memories that filled the killer’s mind came crashing back to the forefront.
Oh, I think I’m ready to find another victim once this all dies down.
Laughing at the pun, the wicked killer closed the notebook, put it away, and then closed the chest.

Standing up, the shadowed figure noticed a large crease in the bed’s quilt had been caused by folding the habit. Running gloved hands over every wrinkle, the assailant made sure that all trace of disarray was purged. After fluffing the pillow, the sadistic murderer smiled once more, and then turned to walk out of the room. The door slightly creaked and rattled as it closed and latched.

Silently watching their killer leave, the spirits of three young men crouched around a woman with long blonde hair. Overcome with the pain of loss, the woman’s spirit was drawn to the habit spread out on the bed. Reaching down, her ghostly fingers tried unsuccessfully to grasp the garment. Unable to pick it up, anger and frustration filled her soul. Falling on her knees beside the bed, she buried her face in her hands. Her agonizing wails echoed throughout the house as the killer’s footsteps faded down the hallway into the darkness.

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