A Perfect Grave Part 26

Anne had come to her in a dream, standing at the foot of her bed, resplendent in the light of grace and the fragrance of roses.

Oh Anne, why did your blood point me to your journal? What should I do?

Ease your worried heart, for you will know.

Was that a dream? Or an apparition? A message? Or was it grief? Denise wondered, for she'd asked the same questions during her private morning prayers.

But no answers came.

Maybe they would come during morning prayer with the others, she thought, setting the paper on the kitchen table and starting the kettle. Denise made tea, squeezing in a bit of lemon and a few drips of milk. She took solace in the quiet as the Seattle Mirror Seattle Mirror's front-page headlines blared at her.

Homeless Man Held in Nun's Murder: Arrested at Funeral Sister Anne Braxton Remembered As the Saint of Seattle

The papers used that lovely picture of Anne laughing among the children, and there were photos of the crowds entering the shelter. There was also a photograph, an old one of John Cooper, looking much younger, clean-cut. Looked like his military service picture.

The story on Cooper said detectives had subjected him to a lie-detector test and collected forensic evidence. His lawyer said police were treating him as a "convenient suspect."

Denise shook her head in disbelief. Not Cooper. No, they were wrong to think that he might have hurt her. Denise studied every word of every article about Sister Anne. Nothing about her past. Police don't know about her journal and they should know.

What should I do?

Denise heard a gentle knock at the door. Through the front window, she saw the Seattle police car parked out front. The officer was talking to the driver of a taxi that had stopped.

Denise recognized Father Mercer at the door, and opened it. He was leaning on his cane and offered her a kind smile.

"Good morning Sister. My apologies for calling at this hour. I'm on my way to catch an early flight. I have to get back to Maine. Our bishop's not doing too well, I'm afraid."

"Yes, Father."

"I don't imagine Sister Vivian is up?"

"No, Father." Denise saw that he had a large envelope in his hand.

"Could you please ensure she receives this confidentially? Advise her it contains some information sent to me last night by fax, care of the Archdiocese."

He pa.s.sed the plain brown padded envelope to Denise.

"Is this Sister Anne's material?"

His eyebrows rose.

"How did you know? This is a confidential matter for the Order."

"I'm the one who discovered her journal, Father. While cleaning her-" Denise couldn't speak the words. "While cleaning."

He leaned on his cane and raised his chin slowly.

"Ahh. Then I trust it will remain confidential until Sister Vivian decides how best to proceed?"

"Of course."

"You'll give me your word that will hand-deliver this to her personally."

"My word, Father."

Satisfied, Father Mercer closed his eyes momentarily and smiled.

"G.o.d be with you, Sister."

"And with you, Father. Have a safe trip."

After watching Father Mercer's cab disappear around the corner, Sister Denise went to the small office of the town house. Locking the door behind her, she put the envelope on the desk, thrust her face into her hands, and stared at it.

She listened for any noises of anyone stirring.

All remained silent.

The envelope was not sealed with a moistened or sticky adhesive. It had a flap with string tie and b.u.t.ton closure. Denise knew exactly what she was going to do next, for she believed that morally she was part owner of this material.

G.o.d forgive me, but I feel in my heart this is what Anne wants.

Denise opened the envelope to the original journal. Affixed to it was a short note, handwritten with a fountain pen, from Father Mercer.

"Sister Marie Clermont was the nun who oversaw Sister Anne Braxton's screening when she first approached the Order as a candidate in Europe. Although Sister Marie was thought to have pa.s.sed away in Brazil, we have now confirmed that she is alive. The information is attached."

The second page was a fax from St. Helen of Mercies Catholic Church in Cardston, Alberta, Canada.

Denise read the information, which was in response to Father Mercer's request, which had been channeled through various levels of church bureaucracy.

"...We can confirm Sister Marie Clermont is living in the foothills of the Canadian Rockies near Pincher Creek in Southern Alberta. Only last month she reached her 92nd birthday. She is very alert and lucid. A paris.h.i.+oner in the oil industry donated a small cabin where she lives alone, pa.s.sing her days gardening, painting, and communing with G.o.d. Directions are provided below."

A hermit nun.

Denise had read of retired sisters who retreated into a spiritual life of solitude. But would Sister Marie recall anything of Sister Anne as a young candidate and postulant? Would she know what moved her to join the Order as a young woman traveling through Europe? Would she know about her past life?

Age 92. Alert and lucid.

Maybe.

Denise looked at the journal and the doc.u.ments. Then she looked at the photocopier next to the desk. Reflecting on how everything had unfolded, she was convinced that she'd received the guidance she had sought. She pressed a b.u.t.ton and the photocopier began humming. Once it was ready she began making a copy of everything.

Next to the machine, she'd noticed several copies of earlier editions of the Seattle Times Seattle Times and the and the Seattle Mirror. Seattle Mirror. Her attention went to the reporter's name, the one she saw most frequently. Jason Wade. The same reporter who'd come here, looking for information. He'd left his card. Her attention went to the reporter's name, the one she saw most frequently. Jason Wade. The same reporter who'd come here, looking for information. He'd left his card.

At that moment, Denise heard the sounds of movement from the room directly above the office. It was Sister Anne's room. Sister Vivian was coming.

Hurry, please hurry, Denise told the photocopier.

Chapter Thirty-Seven.

Jason positioned his Falcon in the early morning line at a twenty-four-hour donut shop drive-thru in Fremont. As he eased up to the order board, his cell phone rang.

It was Eldon Reep.

"This is what we're doing today, we're going big on how the Mirror Mirror first tracked him after breaking the story on the murder weapon, etcetera. You give me a first-person on 'the killer's lair under the Interstate,' and use every ounce of color that didn't go into your news story." first tracked him after breaking the story on the murder weapon, etcetera. You give me a first-person on 'the killer's lair under the Interstate,' and use every ounce of color that didn't go into your news story."

"Eldon, they've got to charge him first," Jason said. "Two grape jelly donuts and a jumbo coffee, please. Thanks."

"Wade? Where the h.e.l.l are you?"

"Getting my breakfast."

"Where are you headed? I'll send Ca.s.sie to hook up with you."

Jason fished a five-dollar bill from his jeans at the window and exchanged it for his order.

"No need to send her. That's good, keep the change," Jason said, checking traffic as he exited the shop. "I'm good by myself. I'll call you."

"We have to stay out front on this story, you got that, Wade?"

"You bet. Bye."

Jason slid a Norman Greenbaum CD into his sound system. He put this morning's Mirror Mirror, with his two page-one bylines, on his lap to use as a napkin. He tore into his donuts, dripping jelly on the faces of Cooper and Sister Anne as "Spirit in the Sky" flowed through his speakers.

After the song and his breakfast were done, he pulled over and called Cooper's lawyer, Barbara North, on her cell phone and at home, leaving messages at both places. By the time he hit the Aurora Avenue Bridge spanning Lake Union, she'd got back to him.

"Jason, it's Barbara."

"Sorry for calling so early. Did you see today's paper?"

"Yes."

"And?"

"I don't like the headline."

"I don't write the headline."

"Otherwise, fair coverage."

"Do you know if Cooper's going to be charged?"

"I'm on my way to meet with Detective Garner and company as we speak."

"That doesn't answer my question."

"I have no indication one way or the other at this point."

"You'll let me know, once you know?"

"You have my numbers."

"And you have mine."

In the seventh-floor meeting room of the Homicide Unit, Grace Garner flipped through her files on John Randolph Cooper. Next to her, Lynn Mann of the King County Prosecuting Attorney's Office checked her BlackBerry as they waited for the others.

Perelli entered and slapped the Mirror Mirror on the table. on the table.

"What's this convenient suspect convenient suspect c.r.a.p? Did you know this was coming, Grace?" c.r.a.p? Did you know this was coming, Grace?"

Grace shook her head.

"Barbara's just protecting her client, Dom," Lynn Mann said. "Countering the image of his arrest. Even the Pope would look bad, taken down in public at a funeral."

Stan Boulder joined the meeting accompanied by Kay Cataldo and Detective Yamas.h.i.+ta, the polygraphist.

"What time do we expect Barbara North, Grace?" Boulder asked.

"About twenty minutes or so."

"Okay, everybody was up most of the night, especially Kay, and Yami. Kay, you go first."

"Hold up for a moment," Grace said. "Before we proceed, I want everyone to know that records came up with something last night that we missed."

"Must be old stuff."

"It is. Seems Cooper was twenty years old when officers in a district car observed him acting suspiciously in a car parked down the street from an Ocean First Prudential Bank in Ravenna. He had a disguise, a starter's pistol, and the beginnings of a holdup note. Cooper later pleaded guilty, blamed his action on substance abuse owing to his mother's death in a house fire. Judge gave him four months probation for conspiracy. He never did time inside."

"He's had a terrible time losing people in fires," Boulder said. "Go ahead, Kay."

Cataldo opened her file folder.