CHAPTER EIGHT #2
“Except there’s a dead girl on your quad,” Hero countered pleasantly. “I feel that might be a good reason.”
“A poor child who couldn’t handle her grief.
It’s a shameful business, turning tragedy into something nefarious.
After all, you were the one who called Hell onto our campus, not any of these witnesses .
” The nun dropped the papers beside Hero, gesturing toward them vaguely.
“The list contains everyone at Clem Prep who had anything to do with Sister Catarine – her friends, her colleagues, her roommate, her sisters, her students. I’ve a dozen people waiting in the hallway as we speak, ready to be treated like common criminals. ”
“Good.” Hero gathered up the papers and flipped from one page to the next, examining the names. She gave the nun a sharp look. “Where is your name, Mother?”
The nun sniffed disdainfully and smoothed the front of her scapular – proper black, red and solemn white with the three-sided battle shield emblazoned on its right breast, unlike Hero’s blasphemous outfit of bright summer colors and golden thread.
“We will speak when you’ve finished your questioning.
I have a grieving family to deal with at the moment.
” She sighed, and for a moment looked genuinely distraught.
“The second one I’ve comforted in a matter of days, by the way, so spare me some small grace. ”
Hero tapped her fingernails against the tabletop as if she was trying to decide. “I will. For now.” She straightened the papers, keeping the nun in the corner of her eye. “But your name was on the lips of the dead girl’s shade, Mother Francesca.”
The woman’s expression remained neutral, though her clasped hands tightened and the barest flicker of annoyance clouded her eyes. “I should hope so,” she said. “I had tried comforting her mere moments before her suicidal plunge. My kindness toward her must have been foremost in her mind.”
“A wasted effort, it seems.” Hero waved a hand breezily. “You may go. Please send in the first witness on your way out.”
“That was rather uncalled for,” Keen admonished once the revered mother had exited, quite huffily in Hero’s opinion. “Why make an enemy of the headmistress, of all people? Or is it just your particular way to antagonize everyone involved in an investigation?”
She scowled. “I don’t like nuns.”
“That much is obvious, Inspector Viridian. You wear your hatred on your sleeve.”
Luckily for Keen, her sharp retort was interrupted by the entrance of the first of their interrogees.
The young woman was Sister Catarine’s roommate, the novice.
Red-eyed and sniffling, she sank into the seat across from the demonhunter and wiped at her nose with a kerchief.
Hero leaned back in her chair and let Keen do the talking.
He had a pleasant manner and a broad, surprisingly charming smile considering his dour appearance in general.
It put the girl at ease, and she spoke without hesitation.
“Cat was a good girl,” she insisted when Keen pushed at her a little harder. Did that imply possibly sinful behavior? Had the sister enjoyed a drink now and then? Had she kept company with any men? Had she been led down a dark path?
Hero had to bite her tongue. She knew this line of questioning was necessary, yet she hated blaming a person for their own death.
She’d seen Catarine’s body. No one deserved that, no matter what she might have thought or done, no matter how “impure” or dangerous her activities.
A few radical ideas shouldn’t lead to murder.
Unless she’d been Summoning demons in her spare time and one had turned on her, of course, but Hero couldn’t bring herself to believe that.
Even though she’d failed to find the sister’s shade, she’d gotten a good sense of the woman from examining her room.
Her mark remained on the world. Sister Catarine had been virtuous.
If she’d been guilty of anything, it was spilling secrets.
She’d had her tongue cut out, after all – ripped out. That was a clear message: a warning.
“She had questions,” the girl admitted when Keen continued to press. She lowered her voice, leaning forward to speak in a whisper. “Doubts.” The way she said the word made it seem absolutely scandalous.
Keen nodded sympathetically. “Even the most devote among us has doubts, Novice Eleanor. The real question is, did she act on those doubts? In a way that might have put her in danger?”
She shook her head, her lips pinched. “It wasn’t like that. She… she just wondered if Clementine was the best place for her. Sometimes she mentioned changing schools. That’s all.”
“That’s all?” Keen said, his disbelief coloring his question. “Teachers change districts all the time.”
Eleanor squirmed in her seat, her cheeks bright. She seemed a simple sort, unable to articulate even the most basic thoughts, yet something had her flustered. A secret?
“She was considering a secular school, wasn’t she?” Hero asked. When Eleanor’s head whipped toward her, Hero licked her lips. The girl blanched. “Sister Catarine had more than doubts,” Hero pressed, sensing weakness. “She was ready to leave the order.”
Miserably, Eleanor nodded, turning her attention back to Keen, her eyes wide as if beseeching him to save her from the horrid demon nun.
“It’s true. She wanted to leave. Not just Clementine, but the Order of the Shield.
But… how could that get her killed? No one even knew.
Just me and–” Her lips snapped closed abruptly and she sank into her seat.
“You and who?” Hero demanded. “Who else knew her intentions?”
Keen threw her a stern look and leaned toward the girl, pouring on the empathy.
“It’s all right, my dear. You aren’t in trouble.
You’ve been very helpful. But please, for your friend’s sake, tell us who else knew her plans.
We aren’t going to punish them or assume anything foul.
We’re merely trying to gather all the facts. Do you understand?”
It took a moment and a few more soft words, but the girl finally gave up the name. And it was a name Hero recognized, not from the list Francesca had given her but from the dead girl’s spirit. The slip of a shade had whispered it, a man’s name: Father Roger Kellan.
“Father Kellan knew,” Eleanor said, growing more confident now that she could speak the truth. “He and Catarine were quite close. The very best of friends.”
“I’m sure,” Hero drawled, her heart thrumming It was always exciting to narrow in on a potential person of interest. She dismissed the girl, ushering her to the door personally, then leaned out into the hall to scan the line of waiting suspects.
There were more than a few priests standing in the corridor outside, but she knew instantly the one she wanted.
Her spectacled gaze arrowed to a man with dark hair and a fine, youthful face, now flushed and sweaty.
His eyes met hers, bloodshot and red rimmed, and slid sharply aside.
The shade had held a memory of him in her mind, a memory she’d taken into death, all mixed up with memories of Catarine. His face contorted with anger.
“You,” Hero said, pointing at him with a long, pale finger tipped with a nail that was very nearly a talon. “Father Kellan. You’re next.”