“The black thread?” I asked. “Yes, you mentioned it.”
“The Utah State Police Crime Lab did some analysis of it. They sent word to all convents operated by the Catholic Church in the state of Utah, asking whether or not one of their members had gone missing and also asking for samples of fabric used in the sisters’ habits. Every single convent responded. None of them reported any of their members to be missing. There are only a few convents—eighteen, to be exact—where the nuns still wear habits. All eighteen sent fabric samples, but there wasn’t a single match. Not even close. So what I’m asking is this, Detective Beaumont. Are you looking for a Catholic nun who’s been reported missing? There’s nothing I’d like more than to clear this case and tell the guy who’s running the show here that he’s all wet.”
Working with other jurisdictions involves a lot of horse-trading. They give you something, you give them something in return. Donner deserved to get something back.
“We’re actually looking at the nun more as a possible doer than we are a missing person,” I said.
“No kidding,” Donner murmured.
“We’ve got a couple other cases here on our end where an unidentified nun has been seen in the vicinity of a homicide.”
“That would shed a whole new light on things, wouldn’t it,” Donner said. “So I’ll ship you that composite as soon as we’re off the phone. If you need anything else, just let me know.”
“What about the Escobar file?” I asked.
“I’ll copy what I can and ship that to you as well. What about Hammond?”
“Hammond?” I asked.
“Phyllis Elaine Hammond, the old lady Escobar killed. I’ve got some friends at Salt Lake PD. I might be able to get that file sent to you as well.”
“That would be great,” I said.
“On one condition. Promise me that if and when you resolve this thing, you’ll keep me in the loop.”
“Not only in the loop,” I said. “I’ll make sure you get credit where credit is due.”
I put down the phone and sat there waiting for the fax machine to come to life. “Did you call Ross yet?” Mel asked.
“I was stalling on that,” I admitted. “I’m not wild about telling him one of his favorite people, a criminalist he personally hired and mentored, is bent.”
“You’d better call him all the same,” Mel told me. “We may think confiscating those tampered rape kits is a bad idea, but Ross Connors may think differently about that.”
“Wouldn’t you like to make the call?” I offered.
“Do I look stupid or something?” Mel returned. “Not on your life. You do it.”
So I did. While the fax machine began clicking and clacking, I dialed Ross’s office and was thrilled to be told the attorney general was in a meeting.
“Any message?” his secretary asked.
“Naw,” I said. “I’ll get back to him later.”
“Coward,” Mel said when I hung up the phone.
I waited until the fax machine shot the piece of paper into the tray. Then I picked the composite up. Beneath it was a second fax, the ballistics information Ralph had managed to wheedle out of the authorities down in Cancún. I took both faxes along with me as I headed to the kitchen for a coffee refill. Mel must have emptied her mug at about the same time. I had put the composite down on the counter and was pouring my coffee when Mel joined me. She set her cup down and picked up the piece of paper. What I heard next was a sharp intake of breath.
“Damn!” Mel muttered.
“What’s the matter?” I asked.
“I know her,” Mel said. “I’ve seen this woman before.”
“Where?” I demanded.
“On the trip to Mexico.”
“She was there?” I asked. “She’s one of the board members?”
“No,” Mel answered. “She’s one of the pilots—one of the two pilots on Anita Bowdin’s private jet.”
Life keeps reminding me that things have changed. “The pilot was a woman?” I asked, blurting out the question without even thinking.
“Both of the pilots were women,” Mel said pointedly.
My mistake! “What’s her name?” I asked.
“I have no idea,” Mel said. “We may have been introduced. If we were, I don’t remember. A pilot is a pilot. There were two of them. They were both wearing uniforms.”
Yes, I thought, a pilot in a uniform is almost as invisible as a nun in her habit.
There were official ways to get the information I needed—grindingly slow bureaucratic ways. The situation required speed. Later on I could go back and cross the official t’s and dot the i’s. In the meantime I opened my cell phone and dialed Ralph Ames. “Any word on the ballistics stuff I sent you?” Ralph wanted to know when he answered.
I didn’t have the heart to tell him I’d only just that moment seen it. “Not yet,” I said, “but remember the other day, when I asked you about that flight into Cancún?”
“Sure,” Ralph said. “What about it?”