Third Half (5 page)

             
"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.