SISTER (ALTON RHODE MYSTERIES Book 4) by Lawrence de Maria Page B

noticed. He didn’t use a gun, remember. The staff would have heard that, if not the residents.”
    “Jesus Christ. And the one in Denver was only 19? And what was a cloistered sister doing in the field?”
    “Apparently the nuns maintain a small garden to raise vegetables and the like. Actually, LeFebvre was called a postulant, that’s a nun in training. It was her day to tend the tomatoes, or something. Postulants probably got all the dirty jobs. And she was training to be a ‘nun,’ not a ‘sister.’ Sisters can work in the community, usually as teachers. Nuns, on the other hand, are usually cloistered. I figure a Papist like you should know that.”
    I just loved being lectured on Catholicism by a Jewish detective who hadn’t seen the inside of a synagogue since his own bar mitzvah.             
    “So,” I said, “the first killing was about 13 months ago, in California. Then three more, including Ronnie, spaced about four months apart. Could it be a serial killer moving east?”
    “Where’s his next victim, Iceland?”
    “Anything stick out?”
    “Well, except for the first one, which was on a Wednesday, all the murders were on a Friday, Saturday or Sunday.”
    “So?”
    “So, serial killers have to start somewhere. In many cases, their first is close to home. Let’s assume the first killing was a hometown job. Then the next three might indicate he was traveling on or near weekends.”
    I thought about that. It was thin gruel, but I filed it away.
    “That’s it?”
    “Hey, what do you want? You know anyone else who would come up with something like that? So, what are you gonna do?”
    “I’m on my way to see those cops in Worcester. But something tells me I’ll be on a plane soon. Can you email me what you have. I’ll want to share it with the cops up here.”
    “If they already checked that angle, they’ll be pissed you questioned their competency. If they haven’t they’ll be pissed and embarrassed. Where do you want me to send the bail money?”
    “I’ll work my usual charm on them.”
    “In that case, where do you want me to send the flowers?”
    “I’m guessing they never even heard about that new database. They might even be grateful I’m sharing.”
    “Oh, so you intend to ‘beta’ them up.”
    “That’s terrible, Mac.”
    “How about ‘beta late than never’?’
    “Please, you’re killing me.”
    “You’re just mad because I said it before you did.” He wasn’t near finished. “Beta me than you?”
    I hung up when he spouted a line from Gunga Din .

CHAPTER 12 - WORCESTER
     
    “What makes you think that you’ll have any more success than we will?”
    Broderson looked at me as he poured himself another mug of coffee. Mine was cradled in my hands. We were sitting at his desk in the Worcester Police Headquarters on Lincoln Square. As municipal buildings went, it wasn’t a bad looking edifice. But the coffee set a new standard for squad room java.
    “Do you have any unsolved homicides in which coffee was involved?”
    He laughed as Huntley came over from his own desk and perched on Broderson’s.
    “What are you after, Rhode,” he said.
    “I thought maybe we could work the Frost case together.” It was hard for me to imagine Ronnie as Sister Veronica. “Now I’m in your ballpark. I don’t want to step on any toes.”
    “Just because you gave us a couple of drinks in your office don’t mean we’re gonna bend over and touch our ankles.”
    “It was good bourbon. But I see your point. How about if I let you in on something? I know you checked out if there were any similar crimes, but I just stumbled on to something the Feds don’t want anyone to know about yet.”
    I had rehearsed that phrasing several times. Even if they hadn’t checked for similar crimes, they wouldn’t admit it now. And any mention of the Feds holding back information from local cops would anger them. I was gambling that they weren’t privy to the new