Galway Confidential

9

I said to Sheila,

“Surely the Guards have some leads by now?”

She shook her head, said,

“The Mother Superior is good friends with the Guards Superintendent, and he put extra men on the case, but nothing, lots of false leads, tips, and the sorrow of it is, the public are not outraged, not for a nun in this time of the Tuam babies’ scandal.”

In my youth, nuns were revered, more from fear than respect, but those days were in the wind. I said,

“Sister Maeve, my late friend, gave the nuns a good image, but now?”

She looked heartbroken but I pushed,

“A smart lady like you, you’d have been a good image for them, but gee, guess what, you legged it. Why did you leave the sinking ship?”

She said simply,

“I lost my faith.”

Stark truth.

I had no comment on that and she asked,

“Will you meet with the Mother Superior?”

What?

I asked,

“Why on earth would I do that?”

Sheila looked at me, a plea wide in her eyes.

“Your reputation for finding answers impressed her.”

I said,

“Now, Sister, that is a barefaced lie.”

Sheila considered, then,

“She’s really desperate.”

“I’m the last resort, that it?”

I met with the Mother Superior on a cold December morning, you could see your breath in the air. I was wrapped in Item 1834, my all-weather Guard coat. I’m not sure what I expected the Mother Superior to be, but I was met by a warm middle-aged woman in a heavy habit, the large crucifix hanging down looked like it weighed a ton. She saw me inspect it, said,

“We all have our burdens.”

No argument there.

She motioned to me to sit on a single hard chair before a large desk. She took her seat, interlocked her fingers, asked,

“Might I call you Jack?”

I nodded and she gave a short tight smile.

I said,

“You’re not what I was expecting.”

She laughed.

“And what would that be?”

Tell the truth, shame the devil. I said,

“A severe Mother Superior, a lot older than you.”

That amused her.

“The sisters here might agree with the severity part.”

She had green eyes that held a mix of strength and amusement; if I wasn’t careful, I might like her. I said,

“Three of your nuns have been attacked and, in all honesty, I don’t know how to help.”

“Jack, you have a reputation for finding answers where the situation seems impossible, and in truth, we don’t know what to do.”

I suggested,

“Travel in pairs.”

She sighed, said,

“Would that we could but our sisters are stretched to breaking point with our work in and for the community.”

I put my hand in my jacket, produced two small canisters, laid them softly on the table. She stared at them.

“Not holy water, I’d say.”

“Pepper spray.”

When she seemed puzzled, I said,

“Shoot it into the attacker’s eyes and he’ll not only be blinded but in excruciating pain.”

She was shocked, took a moment, then,

“My sisters couldn’t possibly carry such a lethal thing.”

She studied me, said,

“He rang me.”

I was stunned, gasped,

“The attacker?”

She nodded and I prodded,

“It could be any lunatic.”

“It was him.”

So, you’d have to ask, and I did,

“How on earth can you be sure?”

She was silent, weighing up her answer, then,

“I know pure evil when I encounter it.”

My mind was in overdrive.

“We’ll put a trace on your phone.”

Her head shook.

“You’ll do no such thing, we’re a convent not some covert operation.”

I wanted to shake her, asked,

“What about I shadow your nuns as they go about their business?”

No way.

She said,

“That wouldn’t do at all, I can’t allow a man to follow my sisters around.”

This was infuriating.

“There is already a very vicious predator following them.”

I tried another tack and asked,

“On the phone, did he have an accent, young or old?”

She looked ashamed.

“He asked me to pick a number.”

“Pick a number, I don’t get it.”

Head down, she said,

“I don’t know what I was thinking but I blurted six without even thinking.”

I got it.

She raised her head, and I could see she’d forced herself not to weep, too much steel.

“What have I done?”

“He was toying with you. It’s a game, a sick one.”

She asked the question on both our minds.

“Does he mean he will attack three more nuns?”

Yup.

I said,

“Who can guess what weird thoughts he had.”

In my mind, but thank God I didn’t voice it, was,

What if you’d said fifteen?

I then said,

“There’s talk of an outfit called Edge who administer justice.”

She scoffed, went,

“That’s an urban legend.”

There was little more I could add, she pretty much shot down any suggestions I made. I said,

“I’ll head off then.”

She stood up, looked like she might embrace me.

God in heaven.

A hug from a nun.

She reached in her habit, took out a thin silver chain with a medal on it. I nearly said,

“Whoa, hold the thought, Sister, I’m all done with relics.”

But managed to keep my mouth shut.

She put it round my neck.

“This is Saint Faustina, the miracle worker for healing.”

I tucked it inside my shirt, wanted to say,

“Gee, I feel better already.”

I said,

“Thank you.”

She assessed me, said in a quiet tone,

“I know you don’t believe in it, but you wear it and I’ll do the belief.”

Fair enough.

She said,

“Our sister, Sheila, said you might be difficult, but I think you’re just a little lost.”

Amen.

Outside I was accosted by a wino who asked for help. I gave him Saint Faustina.