She was outraged, of course, especially when I explained how hard it is to detect or block a sophisticated eavesdropper, which the feds certainly are. We talked over her options. Technological solutions were outside her budget, and playing cloak-and-dagger, with codes and meetings off premises, was too time-consuming.
“Besides, that kind of secretiveness would drive us mad. It’s so counter to our vows and our mission. But maybe we should start leaving through the alley when we want to be private.”
I made a face. “It would be easy to mount tiny surveillance cameras on the light poles in the alley. It depends on how much they care about you.”
Sister Carolyn pushed the heels of her hands against her eyes. “I know these are important matters, but it’s hard to pay attention to them right now. We’re all still in shock at losing Frankie. The violence of the attack, that’s very hard to absorb. But losing her… I wasn’t ready for that. I’m the head of the Freedom Center, but she was our real leader, spiritually, psychologically, in all the ways that count most. I need to understand why she was killed.”
I bit my lower lip. “I wish I knew, but I don’t.”
“When I looked in your wallet and saw your PI license, I thought maybe you’d come to spy on her. I didn’t realize then that the government was already spying on us. I thought maybe an anti-immigrant group had hired you.”
I went through my tired story about hunting for Lamont Gadsden and Steve Sawyer. When I mentioned Karen Lennon’s name, Sister Carolyn’s heavy expression lightened for a moment.
“Karen… Of course I know her. She’s on our Death Penalty committee, and we’ve done some work together on affordable health care. How did she find you?”
“By chance. She was in a hospital ER when I came in with a homeless man who’d collapsed on my sidewalk.”
“And Dr. Herschel-this is her apartment, I realized-I was surprised to learn you were staying with her.”
I’ve known Lotty half my life now, ever since I was an undergraduate and she was advising an abortion underground. Sister Carolyn took that in without blinking. Some of her immigrant clients got medical care at Lotty’s storefront clinic, and Lotty had saved the life of one of their pregnant women when she was shot in the abdomen. It clearly made me a better citizen in Zabinska’s eyes that Lotty was my friend and that I was working with Karen Lennon.
I finally brought the conversation back to my own inquiry. “Did Sister Frances ever talk about Steve Sawyer’s trial or the march in Marquette Park where Harmony Newsome died?”
“I was a child when that happened, a middle schooler at Justin Martyr. Frankie came to speak to us as part of the cardinal’s outreach program. A lot of the children booed and called her names, but she made me see the world in a different way. I came to my vocation because of Frankie.”
She shook her head, trying to shake tears away. “She wouldn’t have talked to me about the murder at the time because I was a child. And by the time I went through my novitiate, and ended up back in Chicago with her, it was twelve years later. So many other things started happening that we needed to tackle-the School of the Americas and the Guatemalan asylum seekers, and then the loss of jobs and health care-that we didn’t dwell much on that past. Did she think this Steve Sawyer was wrongly convicted?”
“He may have been. All I can say, with any certainty, is that he was very badly represented in a trial that was a travesty, at least as far as I can tell from the transcript. Sister Frances said she wanted to testify at the trial but the defense wouldn’t call her.”
I stopped, my throat was so dry I could hardly get the next words out. “A reporter suggested I was the real target, but he wouldn’t tell me who he’d heard that from.”
“Killing a nun to keep her from talking to you or you from talking to her, these things have happened in Nicaragua or Liberia, but here? We think we’re so safe here, and yet my own government is spying on me. The government are the people who would have known she was talking to you.” Her eyes widened in horror, and she choked out, “You don’t think they… that they…”
I grimaced. “What? That the Contras might kill a nun but not Homeland Security? I don’t think they did. But I can’t swear to anything right now, except that I feel pretty vulnerable.”
Zabinska pleated Lotty’s linen tea napkin over and over in her fingers. “The work that you’re doing for Karen, for these two old women in Lionsgate Manor, how much are you charging them?”
“My standard fee is a hundred fifty an hour plus expenses.”
“We can’t afford that. Is there any chance you could work out an arrangement with us? I want you to find out why Frankie died. We’ll all feel better if we know why.”
I could feel the request coming before she said it, but I didn’t try to fight it. I owed Sister Frances the effort of an investigation.
“Yes,” I said quietly. “I’ll feel better, too.”
We talked through the various issues the Freedom Center worked on that might have brought someone to the boiling point. We talked about people who might have harbored a personal resentment against Sister Frances. Even saints make enemies. It’s how they become martyrs.
At the end, I said, “The best thing you can do is get back into that sealed apartment and bring me some bottle fragments.”
“You suggested bolt cutters,” she said doubtfully.
“Or a hammer. That door isn’t too sturdy. A few good whacks on the panel would take care of it. I’d do it myself, but I’m a bit out of action right now.” My padded hands would be unwrapped in two more days. If they’d healed sufficiently, Lotty would let me go home.
Sister Carolyn got up to leave, but she took the tea things to the kitchen and washed them for me first. In the hall, as she waited for the elevator, she said, “You know, taking a hammer to that door would cheer me up. Some kind of fierce action, for a change. If we find any bits of bottle, one of us will bring them over tomorrow.”
Later that evening, Petra arrived, bubbling with so much energetic goodwill that I felt exhausted almost from the moment she got off the elevator. When Lotty let her in, Petra danced down the hall to the guest room, where I was dictating notes to send to Marilyn.
Petra had remembered the charger to my phone, amazingly enough, and also brought my mail, which she dumped on the bureau before settling in a wing chair by the window. “Shall I open it and read it to you? There must be a hundred letters here!”
“No, most of them are bills. They’ll keep another day. How are the dogs? What’s happening with the campaign? You still the golden-haired girl?”
She laughed. “I don’t take any of it too seriously. I think that’s why I’m so popular. Everyone else is, like, totally ambitious, you know, hoping for big jobs when Brian gets to the Senate so that they can have really big jobs when he’s president.”
“And what are you hoping for?” I asked idly.
“Just to get through the summer without making a mistake that’ll get everyone else in trouble.”
She spoke with such unexpected seriousness that I took off my heavy dark glasses to look at her. “What’s going on, Petra? Is someone suggesting you’ve done something wrong?”
“No, no. I don’t want to think about it tonight. You know that baseball you said you found in Uncle Tony’s trunk, the one signed by someone in the White Sox?”
“Nellie Fox, you mean? Yeah, what about it?”
“I mentioned it to Daddy, and he’d love to have it. Did you keep it? I mean, you said it would be worth something if you auctioned it on eBay.”
She was floundering, and I stared at her with even more surprise. “Petra, what is the matter with you tonight? I kept the baseball, but I don’t know what I want to do with it. It meant something to my dad or he wouldn’t have kept it with his Good Conduct citation. I’ll think about it.”