“I don’t know,” Frank said. “I suppose it’s possible.”
“But not very likely,” Joanna returned. “Somebody out there has gotten away with something for years. Once Sandra Ridder was let out of jail, maybe she threatened to blow the perp’s cover. That’s why Sandra Ridder is dead, and I’ll bet that’s why her attorney is dead as well. I’m with Sister Celeste on this one. I don’t think Lucy had a thing to do with her mother’s death other than possibly seeing it happen. And based on that—on the fact that she’s both an eyewitness and thought to be packing around a computer disk full of classified material—I believe Lucy Ridder’s life is in danger. Maybe her grandmother’s is as well. Speaking of Catherine Yates, hadn’t we better do something about her? Presumably, thanks to Sister Celeste’s efforts, Lucy is safe at the moment. I want round-the-clock surveillance on Catherine Yates’ place. That way, if someone comes there looking for the disk, we might just nail them.”
“Mounting a round-the-clock guard is going to cost money,” Frank said. “Are you sure you want to do that?”
“Thanks for your budgetary concern, Frank. But if it’s a choice between spending money or possibly saving a life, I’m in favor of the latter.”
“All right,” Frank agreed after a moment’s hesitation. “I’ll go round up Ernie, and we’ll get started. But what about the disk?” He held it out to her. “It’s evidence, isn’t it?”
Joanna nodded. “The question is: evidence of what? Bag it, log it, and take it down to the evidence room. Somebody somewhere is going to want it eventually. When they do, I want to be able to lay hands on it at a moment’s notice.”
“Unlike Tucson PD and a certain missing bullet,” Frank said.
“Right,” Joanna returned. Frank Montoya opened the door once again. In the reception room, Joanna found Sister Celeste pacing impatiently back and forth in front of Kristin’s desk. “Would you like to ride with me?” Joanna asked. “Or would you prefer to bring your own vehicle?”
“I’ll ride with you if you don’t mind,” Sister Celeste returned. “We need to talk. On the way, I’ll tell you what I know.”
Joanna was surprised by the nun’s response, but gratified as well. Sister Celeste may have had reservations about Joanna when she first appeared in the office, but those concerns had evidently been dealt with. Out in the parking lot, Joanna walked past her worn Blazer, choosing instead to drive Sister Celeste in the relative comfort of a departmental Crown Victoria.
“Were you the one who suggested Lucy sign up for ballet?” Joanna asked, once they were underway.
Sister Celeste regarded her with a raised eyebrow. “Yes,” she said. “How did you know about that?”
“Jay Quick, the son of Lucy’s ballet instructor, remembered something about one of the nuns at school giving a book to her—a book about a Native American ballerina.”
“Maria Tallchief.” Sister Celeste nodded. “I knew when I gave Lucy the book that it made a big impression on her. It seemed to help—to give her hope that somehow things could get better for her. She was so desperately unhappy, I had to do something.”
“Why unhappy?” Joanna asked.
“Santa Theresa’s is a barrio school,” Sister Celeste answered. “We have lots of Hispanic students and quite a few Native Americans. Lucy was different.”
“Different how?” Joanna asked. “She’s Apache, isn’t she? How much more Native American could she be?”
“She isn’t full-blooded Apache,” Sister Celeste replied. “And it shows. The other kids teased her and made her life miserable because she wasn’t Indian enough to suit them. And then, once she arrived at her grandmother’s place near Pearce, just the opposite must have been true. There she had too much Indian blood, and she was still an outsider.”
“Which is why her best friend turns out to be a red-tailed hawk?” Joanna asked. Sister Celeste nodded. “Where is he, by the way?”