The Innocent
“Shoot.”
“Do they know how Sister Mary Rose died?”
“They’re still running tests.”
Mother Katherine waited.
“That’s all I can tell you right now.”
“I understand.”
Now it was Loren who waited. When Mother Katherine turned away, Loren said, “You know more than you’re saying.”
“About?”
“About Sister Mary Rose. About what happened to her.”
“Have you learned her identity yet?”
“No. But we will. Before the end of the day, I’d bet.”
Mother Katherine straightened her back. “That would be a good start.”
“And there’s nothing else you want to tell me?”
“That’s correct, Loren.”
Loren waited a beat. The old woman was . . . lying would be too strong a word. But Loren could smell evasion. “Did you go through these calls, Mother?”
“I did. I had the five sisters who shared the phone with her go through them too. Most were to family members, of course. They called siblings, parents, some friends. There were some to local businesses. They order pizza sometimes. Chinese food.”
“I thought nuns had to eat, uh, convent food.”
“You thought wrong.”
“Fair enough,” Loren said. “Any numbers that stuck out?”
“Just one.”
Mother Katherine’s reading glasses dangled from a chain. She slid them onto the end of her nose and beckoned for the sheets. Loren handed them back to her. She studied the first page, licked her finger, moved to the second. She took out a pen and circled something.
“Here.”
She gave the sheet back to Loren. The number had a 973 area code. That would put it in New Jersey, no more than thirty miles from here. The call had been made three weeks ago. It lasted six minutes.
Probably nothing.
Loren spotted the computer on the credenza behind Mother Katherine’s desk. It was weird to think about, the Mother Superior surfing the Web, but it truly seemed as though there were very few holdouts anymore.
“May I borrow your computer?” Loren asked.
“Of course.”
Loren tried a simple Google search on the phone number. Nothing.
“Are you looking up the number?” Mother Katherine asked.
“I am.”
“According to the link on the Verizon Web page, the number is unlisted.”
Loren looked back at her. “You tried already?”
“I looked up all the numbers.”
“I see,” Loren said.
“Just to be certain nothing was overlooked.”
“That was very thorough of you.”
Mother Katherine nodded, kept her head high. “I assume that you have sources to track down unlisted numbers.”
“I do.”
“Would you like to see Sister Mary Rose’s quarters now?”
“Yes.”
The room was pretty much what you’d expect—small, stark, white walls of swirling concrete, one large cross above a single bed, one window. Very dormitory. The room had all the warmth and individuality of a Motel Six. There was almost nothing of a personal nature, nothing that told you anything about the room’s inhabitant, almost as if that were Sister Mary Rose’s goal.
“The crime-scene technicians will be here in about an hour,” Loren said. “They’ll need to dust for prints, check for hairs, that kind of thing.”
Mother Katherine’s hand went slowly to her mouth. “Then you do think Sister Mary Rose was . . . ?”
“Don’t read into it, okay?”
Her cell phone trilled. Loren picked it up. It was Eldon Teak.
“Yo, sweetums, you coming by today?” he asked.
“In an hour,” she said. “Why, what’s up?”
“I found the current owner of our silicone breast manufacturer. SurgiCo is now part of the Lockwood Corporation.”
“The huge one in Wilmington?”
“Somewhere in Delaware, yeah.”
“Did you give them a call?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“And it did not go well.”
“How’s that?”
“I told them we had a dead body, a serial number on a breast implant, and that we needed an ID.”
“And?”
“They won’t release the information.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t know. They blathered on and on and used the term ‘medical privacy’ a whole lot.”
“That’s bullsh—” Mother Katherine’s lips pursed. Loren caught herself. “I’ll get a court order.”
“They’re a big company.”
“They’ll cave on this. They just want legal protection.”
“It’ll take time.”
She thought about that. Eldon had a point. The Lockwood Corporation was out of state. She’d probably need a federal court judge to issue a subpoena.
“Something else,” Eldon said.
“What?”
“At first they seemed to have no problem with any of it. I called down, spoke to someone, she was going to look up the serial number for me. I’m not saying it’s routine, but it really shouldn’t be a big issue.”
“But?”
“But then some lawyer with a bigwig-sounding name called back and gave me a very terse no.”
Loren thought about it. “Wilmington’s only, what, two hours from here?”
“The way you drive, maybe fifteen minutes.”
“I’m thinking of testing out that theory. You have the name of Mr. Bigwig Lawyer?”
“I got it here somewhere. Oh, wait, yes, Randal Horne of Horne, Buckman and Pierce.”
“Call Mr. Horne. Tell him I’m driving down to serve his ass a subpoena.”
“You don’t have a subpoena.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Oh, right.”
She hung up and placed another call. A woman answered the phone. Loren said, “I need an unlisted number looked up.”
“Name and badge number, please.”
Loren gave it. Then she read the unlisted phone number Sister Mary Rose had called.
“Please hold,” the woman said.
Mother Katherine pretended to be busy. She looked in the air, then across the room. She fiddled with her prayer beads. Through the phone Loren heard fingers clacking a keyboard. Then: “Do you have a pen?”
Loren grabbed a stubby golf pencil from her pocket. She took a gas receipt and flipped it over. “Go ahead.”