Deaths of Jocasta (17 page)

I walked down the hall, glancing in all the doors, trying to get a feeling for who belonged where. As I passed by Sister Ann’s, she motioned me in.

“I thought you’d like to know,” she said as I entered. “I got one today.” She handed me a letter printed with a poor dot-matrix printer.

“Thank you,” I said as I sat down opposite her and started to read.

My Oh-So-Dear Sister Ann,

You weren’t always such a good nun, were you? We know the things you liked to do before you put on that convenient habit. We know you still do them. We know what goes on underneath that skirt of yours.

The letter continued with some specific descriptions of what she was doing under her skirt.

It ended with a threat. “Be careful or we’ll help God get you for your sins.”

I handed it back to her.

“Should I call the police?” she asked.

“If you want. They might be able to do things I can’t. But I doubt obscene letters are at the top of their priority list.”

“True.” She nodded.

“Any…you’re not going to like this question,” I qualified, “truth to the letter?”

“No, I don’t think so,” she answered. “Why do you ask?”

I told her about the other letters.

She nodded and glanced again at the letter, throwing it down quickly.

“Perhaps,” she said. “I didn’t become a nun until my twenties. I was even engaged for a brief time.”

“To a man?” I stumbled out. Nun sexuality was not something I was well versed in.

“Yes, to a man,” Sister Ann replied.

“Oh. What happened?”

“Things changed. No, I guess I changed. What I wanted changed,” Sister Ann slowly replied.

“What happened to him?”

“Randall? I haven’t thought of him in…a long time. After I took my vows, I broke all contact with him. I don’t know what became of him.”

“Did you…” Then I stammered, realizing the question I was about at ask. All my training concerning nuns kicked in. One certainly couldn’t ask them about pre-vocational sex. “Never mind,” I finished.

“The letter exaggerates greatly, as they all do. But I can’t say I’ve never been kissed. Somehow the letter writer found out about my indecision about being a nun. And twisted it badly,” she answered the question I hadn’t asked.

“Sorry,” I apologized, to let her know I only asked nuns questions like that in the line of duty.

“Perfectly all right,” she replied. “It does point out the pattern in these letters. The writer learns something about the person, includes it in the letter, and then dumps sexual innuendo on top.”

“A bit more than innuendo,” I added.

“A bit,” Sister Ann echoed.

“Can I make a copy of this?”

“Certainly, if you like.”

“Thanks.”

I picked up the letter and went back to the clinic. The waiting room was empty now. There was a copy machine back in the office. Since the anonymous benefactor who had hired me had also, I suspected, bought the copier, I felt I had the right to use it without asking permission. No one was around to ask anyway. I went past Bernie’s desk into the office.

Then I saw Nurse Peterson kneeling down behind one of the file cabinets. She jumped when she saw me. Once again she was caught alone in a room with a lesbian.

“Sorry to have startled you,” I said as I turned on the copy machine.

“I didn’t hear you come in,” she replied.

“Sneakers.”

“Oh…of course,” she replied, as she straightened up, then walked by me to leave.

“Is Cordelia around?” I asked.

“She left about ten minutes ago.”

“Lunch?” I inquired.

“No, to the hospital to see her patients there. She should be back for her two-thirty appointment.”

Nurse Peterson continued walking away. I made my copy, disappointed at not having seen Cordelia.

Well, it’s obvious why Cordelia hired me, I thought as I walked back to Sister Ann’s office. Because I was a woman, and not for any other reason. The women, and so far it seemed to be only women, who had gotten those letters probably wouldn’t talk to a strange man about what was in them.

I handed the letter back to Sister Ann and thanked her. Then I went to my car, trying to decide what to do next. Cordelia wouldn’t be around for several hours. I wanted to call Andy and ask him about printers; I also wanted to talk to Elly, but she wouldn’t be here until later in the day. It was time to go back to my office. I’d catch Cordelia tomorrow, I decided.

I drove around the neighborhood, just on the off chance of spotting someone leering at the clinic with a laptop computer and a portable dot-matrix printer. No such luck.

I drove back home.

I left messages for both Andy and Elly, not getting either of them. For a brief minute I enjoyed the idea of Danny wondering why I was calling Elly, then I remembered that Cordelia had certainly told Danny I was investigating the letters.

After that I did exciting things like fix lunch, feed the cat, and sort bills into piles. The must-be-paid-immediately-or-risk-losing-life-and-limb pile on one side and the no-mention-of-visits-from-ex-Saint-linebackers-yet pile.

The phone rang. It was Joanne.

“Can I come over?” she asked.

“Sure. When?” was my answer.

“Six or seven. Is that okay?”

“That’s fine.”

“See you then. Thanks.”

She hung up. I had wondered if she would really call me. Or if I had just been…handy. I still wasn’t sure. I also wondered why she thanked me.

I went to take a shower. I wasn’t going to worry about it.

Joanne arrived a little after six. She didn’t say much, but neither did I. We made love, half spread between the couch and my living room floor. Then we moved to my bedroom and its air conditioner. We made love again, still getting hot and sweaty even in the cool of the bedroom.

“Are you hungry?” she asked, turning to me when we had finished.

“Somewhat.”

“Let’s go,” Joanne said, sitting up.

“No, wait…I’d like to lie here a bit longer,” I replied, not wanting to abruptly jump up after our lovemaking, as if it were merely a physical need now sated.

I felt her stretch back beside me.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “Sometimes I get so caught up in getting things done that I forget there are moments when that’s not the point.”

She put her arms around me. I curled into her embrace, letting her hold me, my head nestled against her shoulder. We lay still for a moment, just holding each other.

“Dinnertime,” I said, breaking away.

“Thank you,” Joanne said.

“For what? Finally letting you eat?” I joked.

“For letting me hold you.”

“I…” I started to make another joke, something like
I got off, too,
but that wasn’t what she meant. “I…thank you. Sometimes it’s nice to be held.”

“Yes, it is,” Joanne answered. “Let’s get out of here. Someplace with air conditioning in more than one room.”

“Inexpensive,” I stipulated.

“Of course,” Joanne said. She knew I wouldn’t let her buy my food twice in a row.

After dinner, we lingered over coffee. I told Joanne about the letters. She agreed with me in not liking the accuracy of some elements of them. She offered to check around to see if there was any record of a poison-pen that preferred a word processor for his missives.

Then there was a pause. Into which I inserted the question that had been nagging me.

“What about Alex?”

Joanne looked at me. “I need this,” she said. “I…Either she’ll understand or she won’t.” She shrugged, closing the subject.

We paid the check and left.

“Show me the clinic,” Joanne said as we got in her car.

I gave her directions, glad that she was interested.

The neighborhood had changed with darkness. The buildings, shabby by day, took on a reclusive, ominous look at night. Locked and shuttered, little light escaped. No one was visible on the dim streets. The streetlight at the corner wasn’t working. Shattered by vandalism or left unlit by the neglect of the city, I couldn’t tell. We drove slowly by the front of the building, then turned down the side street that bordered it.

“Should there be lights on?” Joanne asked.

“I don’t know. There are late hours tonight, but surely not this late.” It was past ten now.

“Let’s look,” Joanne said, parking her car. “Just remember, no heroics,” she admonished me as we got out.

“No, ma’am, Sergeant, sir.”

She gave me a stern look, but said nothing. We walked around the fence into the yard. It appeared that the inside hall light was on. Shards of light appeared through several door frames. Joanne motioned me along the street side as she headed for the side next to the empty lot. I noticed she had pulled her gun.

I crept slowly beside the building, listening for any sound that might indicate this was something other than a night-light. Sight, not sound, confirmed our suspicions.

A foot was silently slipping out of a window, not five feet in front of me.

Unless someone on the staff had cat-burglar fantasies, that foot belonged to a someone who didn’t belong in the building.

Joanne had said no heroics. Since the person was about to step on my head, I figured the most cowardly thing I could do was apprehend him before he caught sight of me.

I grabbed the dangling foot and pulled. I vaguely hoped that the foot didn’t have a hand holding a gun attached, but I figured if I was going to get shot, it would be just as easy to get me in the back as I ran to find Joanne.

The foot belonged to a very strong leg. It kicked and jerked out of my grasp, disappearing back into the window.

I jumped, grabbing the window sill, and hauled myself up. I glimpsed the body attached to the foot in silhouette as it went through the door into the lit hallway. I clambered through the window and went in pursuit.

Just as I got to the door, the lights in the hallway went out. I couldn’t see a thing. I can’t stand here waiting for my eyes to adjust, I thought, whoever it was had to have seen me. I started to edge back into the room. Then I heard a noise to my right, maybe twenty feet down the hall. If you can’t see them, they can’t see you. I ran toward it, hoping I would crash into something soft and human.

There was a slight shuffle at the sound of my approach, giving me the exact location of my target. The leading edge of my elbow caught someone’s stomach. He went into the wall with a grunt. Then I felt a knee in my groin. This body was fairly tall and knows how to fight, I thought as I bent over. I spun out of his reach. For a moment I thought about calling Joanne, but didn’t because that would only reveal where I was. Besides, Joanne had to have heard the scuffle and my yelling wouldn’t bring her any quicker.

Then I was tackled, my assailant doing to me what I had hoped to do to him. We were on the floor, him on top. He tried to grab my arms, but I jerked them free. Then with my left hand I caught his shoulder, pushing him away. And, more importantly, giving me a pretty accurate picture of where to punch him in the nose. My right hand swung back, ready to strike.

The lights blazed on.

“Stop! Police!” Joanne’s official voice filled the hall.

I looked at my assailant, fully intending to stop after I punched him, not before.

I caught myself just in time, barely grazing her jaw instead of breaking her nose.

“Micky!” Cordelia said, as surprised to be sitting on top of me as I was at being under her.

“Oh, shit! Are you all right?” I exclaimed, wondering how much damage my pulled punch had done.

“I’m fine. I’m sorry,” she said as she got off me. “Here, let me help you. Are you okay?” She extended a hand and helped me get up.

“Only my pride,” I mumbled. “Were you climbing out a window just now?” I asked, remembering my dangling foot.

Joanne joined us.

“What happened?” she contributed.

“You saw someone climbing out a window?” Cordelia questioned.

I nodded. We exchanged stories. Cordelia had been seeing patients until after nine, then stayed to finish paperwork. She had seen the main hallway light come on and heard noises. She wasn’t too worried, she explained, as there were often people here this late. She’d come out to look, the lights went out, and I’d rushed her.

Joanne, hearing the noise, had come in the front door, finding it unlocked.

I was the only one who had seen another person. Cordelia pointed out that the front door shouldn’t have been left unlocked. The intruder had probably run out that way.

“Whoever it was, they’re gone now,” Joanne commented. “Let’s see if they took anything. Cordelia, check the clinic. Micky, the rest of this floor. I’ll do the upstairs,” she ordered. Giving us no time to dissent, she headed up the stairs, still holding, I noticed, her gun. Just in case he was hiding out up there.