“Do you remember what you told me this morning, about your being afraid that these two new victims were an answer to your prayers for a solution to the Kingman Jane Doe case? You also mentioned the responsibility you felt that by not pushing to solve that case, you had somehow left these two new victims at risk.”
Sister Anselm nodded.
“What if you’re right?” Ali asked. “What if this whole state of affairs is an answer to that prayer—an exact answer? Just because we’ve made the connection between the two cases doesn’t mean we’re absolved from having to do something about them. We need to carry this thing forward. With what we know so far, we can go to the Mohave County Sheriff’s Office and give them a reason to reopen Jane Doe’s case, but I want to do more than that. I don’t want them to simply reopen it. I want them to solve it.”
“And you believe those samples might be the key?”
“I do. Of course, if Enid dies, this whole discussion is moot,” Ali added. “At that point, her DNA would be collected during the course of an autopsy with or without her consent, and the end result may well turn out to be the same. At that juncture the Kingman Jane Doe’s case may be solved without our help, leaving your conscience entirely clear. But please remember, Kingman’s Jane Doe didn’t consent to having her DNA samples taken, either.”
“No,” Sister Anselm agreed regretfully. “She did not.”
“And what about this?” Ali asked. “If we could go into Enid Tower’s room right now and ask her if she’d be willing to allow you to take DNA samples, what do you think she’d say, especially if she knew samples taken from her and her baby might help solve another case, the murder of another runaway girl very much like her?”
“I suppose she’d say yes,” Sister Anselm conceded.
“I suppose she would, too,” Ali agreed.
Sister Anselm stood up. “I’ll have to think this over,” she said with her hand on the doorknob.
“Pray about it maybe?” Ali asked.
Sister Anselm allowed herself a small fleeting smile. “That, too,” she said. “Now I’d best go check on them.”
Refraining from any additional urging, Ali simply nodded. After all, a possible yes was far better than an absolute no.
“One more thing,” Ali said. “Did you attend Kingman Jane Doe’s funeral?”
“Of course, but as I mentioned, Bishop Gillespie handled final arrangements for both Jane Doe and the baby. I was there as part of the bishop’s delegation, but I doubt my presence was noted one way or the other. Why are you asking?”
“Right now I’m mostly thinking out loud,” Ali told her. “How many interactions did you have with the detectives on the Kingman case?”
“Just the one I already mentioned—when I brought up the possibility of domestic violence. By then, though, the mother was dead and I was caring for the baby. She couldn’t tell them anything.”
“With Kate Benchley’s help, she might be able to now.”
“Yes,” Sister Anselm agreed. “You might be right.”
For a few minutes after the nun left the room, Ali stayed where she was, thinking. If Sister Anselm couldn’t square her conscience with taking the DNA samples, Ali realized she’d need to find some other way to accomplish that goal. In the meantime, she set about tackling the next problem.
By then it was ten o’clock on the East Coast. When she called B., he answered immediately. “Hey,” he said. “I just got back from a dinner meeting and was about to call you. I heard from Stuart that the Betsy Peterson matter is under control. The surveillance system is up and running.”
“Great,” she said. “Now I have another problem for you. It’s a cold case or, rather two of them—the deaths of a young mother and her infant daughter twelve years ago near Kingman. They were both Sister Anselm’s patients.”
Ali spent the next several minutes explaining the specifics to her husband.
“Okay,” B. said when she finished. “What does any of this have to do with us?”
“I want to call Bishop Gillespie and ask for his help,” Ali said. “I’m hoping that, based on his connection to the Kingman Jane Doe and her baby, he’ll be able to convince the Mohave County Sheriff’s Office to reopen those two cases.”
“Because he paid their burial expenses?” B. asked. “Is that enough of a connection?”
“Maybe not,” Ali said. “But there’s something else at work there. We didn’t meet the Mohave County sheriff when we were in that mess back in November, but I remember seeing his name—Sheriff Daniel Alvarado. I just googled him. He’s still in his first term, so he wasn’t sheriff back when all this happened. Based on his name, I’m willing to bet dollars to doughnuts that he’s a good Catholic boy.”
“That sounds like some sort of racial profiling. Or religious profiling at least,” B. said. “Do you want me to call Bishop Gillespie and ask?”
Ali knew that if B. asked, the bishop would agree. Ali had something else in mind.
“No,” she said. “I’ll call him myself, but I do need his number.”
17
When Ali left the conference room, Sister Anselm was standing near the nurses’ station talking to someone. She waved for Ali to join them.
“This is the young man I was telling you about, Ali,” Sister Anselm said. “David Upton. And this is my friend Ali Reynolds.”
“Yes,” David said ruefully, holding out his hand. “I’m the bad guy here, the one who hit the poor girl and sent her to the hospital.”
“From everything I’ve heard, what happened was unavoidable,” Ali said with a reassuring smile. “And obviously it was anything but a hit-and-run. I mean, you’re here now, aren’t you?”
David nodded. “I came by because I remembered something else from last night. I don’t know if it’s important, but when I first got to her, she kept mumbling something about her brother and something about pigs. Like don’t take me to the pigs. When I remembered that today, I wondered if she’d had some kind of run-in with the cops.”
“Did you see anyone else out there?” Ali asked. “Anyone at all?”
“I saw at least one car—a light-colored pickup, I think. It went past when we were there on the road and before the guy from the gas station put up the flares. I wondered why the driver didn’t stop to help, but I was so concerned about her right then that I didn’t really pay attention.”
“If she was talking about the pig situation at the time, it probably is important,” Ali suggested. “You should mention it to the officers who investigated the incident.”
David nodded. “All right,” he said. “I will.” He turned to Sister Anselm. “Thank you for letting me know that they’re both still hanging in. When she wakes up, be sure to tell her I stopped by.”
When Upton turned and walked away, Ali sent a questioning look in Sister Anselm’s direction.
“I know, I know,” Sister Anselm said. “But sometimes, rules are made to be broken. Including this one.” With that, she shoved something into the pocket of Ali’s jacket then hurried off down the hall in the direction of Enid Tower’s room. When Ali checked the pocket, she wasn’t surprised to find two Ziploc bags, each of which contained a single cotton swab. On one bag was a taped label with the words “Jane Doe” written in ink in Sister Anselm’s distinctive handwriting. The other one was tagged with the words “Baby Jane Doe.”
• • •
With the samples in her pocket, Ali left for Sedona. The road was bare and clear, but she stayed well under the speed limit on I-17. Minutes later, when the Cayenne’s headlights picked out a herd of elk taking a leisurely stroll across the blacktop, she was glad she’d been taking it slow. She had just passed the elk when her phone rang.
“Hi,” Athena said, “I just got home from a basketball game.” Athena was now the high school’s varsity girls’ basketball coach.