Devious - Lisa Jackson [110]
He’d been at the cemetery until after three, interviewing all the novices and nuns again, but Sister Charity and Father Paul were stonewalling him, putting up roadblocks. They’d outwardly cooperated, answering questions, allowing access to all the people who lived within the confines of St. Marguerite’s, but there had been several mentions of “talking to the archdiocese” and “keeping the bishop” informed. Montoya’s translation: Attorneys for the church were about to be called in, even though, as Sister Charity had said, “we will do everything in our power to help find the tortured soul who is doing this.”
Father Frank had been stunned, nearly apoplectic, to the point his face had faded to a sickly color of white and he’d held on to the wall so that his knees wouldn’t buckle. “No,” he’d whispered, and closed his eyes to say a silent prayer, his lips moving, no sound escaping from his throat.
Had the two dead novices been close?
No one could really say; they hadn’t seemed to hang out together any more than anyone else.
Had they both been involved with Father Frank? There had been no evidence of that, though a few of the nuns had blushed at the thought. Edwina, Devota, Charity, of course, and Maura had all nearly squirmed in their chairs.
This time Lucia was not alone when she found the body; Sister Edwina had been with her. Lucia had been awoken by something, not a noise she could or would name, and Edwina had said she’d gotten up to use the bathroom, though that story didn’t quite jive with Lucia’s.
He settled behind his desk while the sounds of the department buzzed around him. Phones were already jangling, voices rising, the antiquated air-conditioning system kicking on with a familiar growl. The wheels of the investigation were turning. More cops talking to anyone associated with Sister Asteria, her last few days scrutinized, any anomalies in her life noted, even the smallest connection to Sister Camille put under a microscope. The lab work was being done, collected evidence sorted and studied, Asteria’s body being prepared for the first incision of the autopsy. Two detectives had been sent to St. Elsinore’s, where Camille had worked, though it seemed Asteria’s daily routine didn’t include the orphanage on the other side of Lake Pontchartrain.
He thought of Asteria with her freckled face and red hair, and his gut twisted. Another short life cut off mercilessly. Hideously.
All he had to do was figure out who had gotten her into the old wedding dress, then overpowered her and garroted her, only to leave a pattern of blood drops at the neckline and ensure that her rosary was threaded through her fingers.
Sick prick.
He turned his attention to his computer screen and began checking his e-mail, hoping that the phone records for Camille Renard had been sent, when his office phone rang.
He snagged the receiver before the second blast. “Montoya.”
A female voice said, “This is Officer Joan Delmonte, SFPD. I’ve been looking for Lea De Luca, that novice who left St. Marguerite’s Convent a while back?”
The other nun supposedly involved with Frank O’Toole. “Right.”
“So here’s the problem. I can’t locate her. Checked all the nunneries around here and no one has heard of her. Even called the archdiocese but got nowhere there, too.”
“Wait a second.” He checked his notes, found the date, and offered it up.
“Yeah, I know. But I’m telling you, so far Sister Lea De Luca doesn’t exist, at least not anywhere in the Bay Area.”
Montoya felt his skin crinkle in apprehension.
“You got the name of any relatives? Someone we could talk to other than anyone connected with the church?” she asked.
“I’ll get it to you.”
“Be a big help, if this is that important.”
“It is,” Montoya assured her, his stomach twisting the way it did when things didn’t add up, when he felt that he was being manipulated. “Keep looking and go beyond the church, if you can. If she’s not a nun, she could be a layperson, a teacher maybe. I think she