“Were you subpoenaed to testify at Medina’s trial?”
“I feared I would be,” said Sister Emeline Beaumont. “But there was no trial, Medina made some kind of plea and went to prison for a long time.”
“How did Connie react to that?”
“I couldn’t tell you. I went to see her several times in the hospital and she was pretty much out of it. One day I showed up and she’d been discharged. I phoned her a few times but never got an answer. At that point I figured I should wait for her to call me. She didn’t. I never saw her or spoke to her again. The same goes for Medina, though she did reach out from time to time. Not personally, once in a while a sort of art thing invitation. To tell the truth, I didn’t want to rekindle anything with Medina. The way she’d stood over Connie, smiling. Even though she cried right after. I got the feeling she was crying for herself—for her own loss.”
“No genuine empathy.”
“Maybe I’m judging her uncharitably. It was a bizarre night. We were all drunk.” She shook her head. “Now you’re going to think that’s why I joined an order but it wasn’t like that. I got my MSW, worked with disadvantaged kids in Bed-Stuy—Brooklyn. Another Saint Theresa place. One of the good ones, there was absolutely nothing untoward going on.”
She said, “Delaware. Is that French? Are you Catholic or Huguenot?”
“More like a mongrel.”
“Mixes are the strongest, right? Anyway I was impressed by the work the sisters were doing and I’d found relationships with men not to be satisfying, so I applied as a novitiate, liked it, and stayed. It’s a peaceful life.”
She eyed the convent. “We get to do our work without controversy. We have a nickname. The California sisters do. Among ourselves we’re the Saint Terri Girls. Anyway, that’s the story with Connie and Medina.”
“Connie ended up in prison herself.”
“I know. Attempted murder. My parents called to tell me. They said she’d died in prison, was serving time for attempted murder. Some conflict over a woman but I don’t know the details. Do you?”
“We’re just starting out.”
“With what?”
“Looking into Medina’s past,” I said. “Some sort of romantic conflict. Same story.”
“I suppose so. My father put it down to homosexuality. He was big on stories having morals, Dad was. Very religious behaviorally, never missed Mass or confession when he was ashore. One of his sisters was a nun so you’d think he’d approve of my choice. But I was an only child and that meant no grandkids so he convinced himself there was something irregular about my sexuality.”
She winked. “I couldn’t exactly tell him about my youth. Though it was pretty tame compared with Medina and Connie.”
“Could I run a few names by you? People Medina may have known?”
“If it’s a short list, I really would like to get my shopping done.”
No reaction to any of the victims. When I said, “Geoffrey Dugong,” she said, “That’s a real name.”
“He’s an artist Medina represents. Born Jeffrey Dowd.”
Silence.
“Emmy?”
“That’s Medina’s brother. Half brother. Like I said, her dad was a hippie, had a child with another woman when he was married to Medina’s mom. Jeff’s involved in whatever this is about? I guess that shouldn’t surprise me. He was always kind of tightly wound.”
“How so?”
“Irritable, easily distracted, jumpy. He’s in Medina’s life now?”
“That’s surprising?”
“They never really seemed to have much of a relationship, Doctor. At least the few times I saw them together.”
She leaned forward. “She used to refer to him as ‘Daddy’s little bastard.’ ”
“She resented him.”
“Maybe the affair was a factor in her parents’ divorce. I can’t say for sure, the one time I brought it up she got angry.”
I said, “Anger’s always been an issue for Medina.”
She stared at me. “Why do I feel I’m in therapy? Yes, she could go zero to sixty like this.” Snapping her fingers. “So she’s done something. What a shame, I was hoping the experience would change her. You must think I’m odd. Two friends who ended up incarcerated. But I had other friends, my academic cohorts.”
She laughed. “That sure came across defensive, didn’t it?” She stood. “I really have to get those groceries. Pregnant women work up a hunger.”
I walked her to the car. She tried to step ahead, failed, settled for ignoring me. Reluctant to offend. Maybe it had saved her life.
When we got to the top of the hill, I said, “Thanks for talking to me.”
“I’m not sure what you really got out of it. And truth is, I don’t want to know the details. What’s the point?”
CHAPTER
34
As she drove away, I called Milo.
Straight to voicemail at work and home.
I said, “Learned some interesting things about Okash,” and got out of there.
* * *
—
Robin was in the kitchen, hair toweled, wearing her Japanese robe and reading Cook’s magazine. Blanche stretched a few feet away, attending to a jerky stick. Both of them looked up and smiled. Robin got up, fetched a couple of plates and two bottles of Grolsch from the fridge, set them on the table.
Turkey sandwiches, potato salad, Greek olives, apple slices.
I said, “Impressive leftovers.”
“Easy when you start with good stuff. So how were the nuns?”
“One nun, nice person.”
I summed up what Emeline Beaumont had told me.
She said, “Two lose their freedom and the one who’s left chooses self-restriction.”
“Interesting way to look at it.” I popped the bottles.
Robin said, “So now you know this woman’s capable of calculated violence and has a brother with anger problems. That must’ve been some family.”
* * *
—
We were clearing the table when Milo called.
He said, “You’ll never believe who I’ve got sitting in an interview room.”