And then he launched into the story that Cruz had told him on the stoop a couple of hours earlier. He explained that Lucia Costa, Sister Lucia, who was romantically involved with Cruz as a girl, had called him, begged for his help because she wanted to leave the convent in the dead of night. She hadn’t wanted to face Sister Charity or something, was scared, she’d claimed, then stolen his bike and left Cruz to walk back to Montoya’s house. She’d also admitted to having mailed Camille Renard’s prepaid cell phone to the police—in an act of contrition or something, which Cruz might believe but Montoya didn’t.

Then again, Cruz was pissed. Furious that he’d been played for a fool, he’d stopped at a couple bars on Bourbon Street before he’d returned, tail between his legs, and waited for Montoya to wake up to give him the great news. “The last thing he saw was the taillight, heading, he suspected, to the freeway. The only reason he knows she was heading west was that she mentioned Houston, but hell, that could be a lie! She could be heading to California or New York City or the fuckin’ Yukon! Sheeeeit!” He kicked at Bentz’s metal waste-basket, bending it with the toe of his boot, then shoved a hand through his hair, wanting to wring his brother’s neck. “Dumbass!”

“Careful with the government-issued office equipment!”

“That trash can has 1965 written all over it!” And, from the looks of it, had been kicked a time or two before.

Bentz, Montoya noticed, wasn’t feeling the same ire that fueled his blood.

Bentz asked calmly, “You put out a bulletin on it?”

“Yeah.”

“Good, ’cause we have another problem.”

“It’s not even nine a.m. and the hits just keep coming,” he said, some of his rage ebbing. “What?”

“The reverend mother at St. Marguerite’s called this morning. She already reported that Lucia Costa was missing; though, supposedly Lucia called and said she was okay, which I guess your brother just verified. But she’s not the only one missing. Louise Cortez, another novitiate, is gone, too.”

“Jesus H. Christ!” Montoya threw up a hand and stalked in front of the desk.

“There’s already two units at the convent. I was just waiting for you to show up so we could head over there.”

Montoya was already walking through the door. “You know I’ve been inside the church more in the last week than I have been in ten years.”

Bentz snorted a laugh as he reached for his jacket and holster, checking to see that his service weapon was snapped in. “Guess we’re lucky the walls haven’t fallen in on us.”