The Virgin Sacrifice

By Michael J. Roberts

Social worker Taylor Diaz has a problem. At a Catholic convent on the Gulf Coast a young resident named Mary is pregnant and may be able to have an abortion under Florida law as the victim of a sex crime. Mother Superior is insisting it's a miracle – and that the girl is still a virgin.



Publicity from Taylor's court case creates a media hurricane. Using it to jockey for the GOP Presidential candidacy, the Governor has friends in high places, a billionaire Catholic power broker and the local Bishop. This Catholic triumvirate is hell bent on stopping the abortion and Taylor becomes embroiled in a battle with them as well as her own Catholic Cuban American family.



From stage left, an Antipodean media baron and his right-wing commentators on HEN news, start milking it as another Culture War issue, along with an Evangelical mega-Church pastor who wants to claim the 'divine' baby as the Second Coming of Jesus. And, oh yeah – like the original Virgin Mary, this Mary is only 12 years old!



In a post-Roe world, where the gains of decades of progressive feminism have been thrown under the wheels of political machinery, a brave woman fights back. Is Mary's baby a heavenly gift or the product of a criminal abuse? Taylor and her allies race against time, the church and the media to find out the truth before Mary becomes the ultimate pawn sacrifice. The stage is set!



The Virgin Sacrifice is a scathing look at the mired, endless cycle of Culture Wars in the Divided States of America and a reminder that the poisonous Gordian knot of religion, money and politics in America are forever entwined.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: May 20, 2024
• ISBN: 9780975656402

Michael J. Roberts

Michael is a writer, musician and producer with an interest in history, songwriting, religion and politics.

Book preview

Chapter One

Spring light was her favourite light. It was gentler than the fast approaching summer kind, which always arrived like it had a score to settle. The bright spring sun reflected off the gulf water and the rays danced suggestively in the mild humidity - an invisible co-conspirator that seemed to both carry and weigh down the light itself. Spring days were getting hotter each year it seemed, so Taylor Diaz was grateful for the breeze on those unexpectedly warm days, just a zephyr, but enough to take the edge off. Taylor jumped into her red sports car, an old Corvette that her mechanic brother somehow kept roadworthy, to make the 50-minute drive to North Naples. Her destination was San Miguel, a Catholic convent that had a small orphanage attached for special needs cases that the diocese took pity on, and she usually looked forward to the open-air trip and the spring flowers, which had again come early.

Ponce de León and the Spanish had tried to tame this region in the early 1500s but the land was too wild and tough and the only things the Conquistadors managed to leave was Catholicism and disease. The local Indian population, mostly Seminole, had good reason to wonder which was worse. The Seminoles went to war with the Americans three times after the Spanish handed over the region in 1819, but it was only after the railways opened up the Southwest in the 1920s that any meaningful quantity of the land would in any way fit a description of being settled, let alone tamed or civilised. The planted Catholic seeds took firm root in Florida and the church, in one form or another, still loomed and lurked in the light and in the shadows - although the poor were just as poor and always with us.

Naples was an upmarket and affluent area, a little out of the way from Taylor’s funky Fort Myers base and, truth be told, it was not her style at all - all that ostentatious wealth. She was mildly resentful that she had been seconded to Fort Myers instead of the glossy Miami alternative, but here she was, trying to juggle a law degree and part time internship with her lowly paid government job and family responsibilities. Driving past imposing and gaudy architecture, those chimeric mansions, unattainable for most Americans, were for Taylor as much a tribute to American excess as anything else. Her goals were more modest - She worked hard but yearned for the day when she could go back to a nice apartment in Miami, her University friends and her social life, preferably as a very employable lawyer.

Taylor had grown up in Florida but still wondered how previous generations survived without air conditioning, she could hear her father’s good-natured goading, ‘We never had electricity in Cuba.’ Nevertheless, she still hated that most of the charming, old world convent at San Miguel, while it had electricity, was not air conditioned and wishing would not make it so. It was part of her responsibilities as a government appointed officer to visit - she was a permanent employee and in her second year at the Department of Children and Family Services, and her job was to coordinate with the convent and make sure government rules were followed, boxes were ticked, paperwork was lodged. It was her Cuban Catholic heritage that nudged her boss, Billy Hastings, to give her the assignment, and she knew that because he had told her so. Her co-workers would rib her about the fact – teasingly calling her Sister Taylor and asking when she would start wearing her habit to the office?

She took the good-natured banter in the vein in which it was intended, so it would feel churlish to point out to them that she was no longer Catholic. She really only went to mass on Sunday to score brownie points with her parents. And for the traditional Sunday meal her mother would cook after mass. Her mother would tease her too, ‘I was married at your age, you’ll be left on the shelf…’ ‘Mama, I’m only 22… there’s no rush.’

She knew they meant well, and even if she’d lost her religion, which was a sore point with her devout parents, her world revolved around her family. Anyway, she wasn’t sure how committed an atheist she might yet be and to be truthful, she didn’t give it much thought, it just wasn’t part of her day to day life. Except each time she entered the convent and looked around. What helped most was the knowledge that she could leave anytime.

She loved the drive from Estero Island and her small beach apartment, as she could head south across Lovers Key and on to Bonita Bay. It was always refreshing to feel the gulf air and navigate the winding bridges and blow her worries to the wind. The mangroves and wetlands both filtered and magnified the wonderful smells – notes of Queen Emma Lilies and Hibiscus and symphonies of palm trees and White Birds of Paradise. But this was an unscheduled trip - normally she only checked in once a week with Sister Gabriel, the Mother Superior of San Miguel, but the old nun was insistent that Taylor come at once, something had come up and it couldn’t wait. She shook her dark mane of long hair and felt the gulf breeze tingle on her neck, small pleasures to be savoured as the midday sun flirted with the scudding clouds. She thought she caught of glimpse of storm clouds on the horizon but, given this was Florida, storm clouds on the horizon were never far away.

She came through North Naples and into suburban Vineyard, a haven of country club golf courses and soon pulled into the rural property of San Miguel, a grand old mission building dating back to the Spanish ownership of Florida pre-1819. Taylor spied her friend working in the carefully manicured garden, Sister Bernadette, a young Irish nun rumoured to be doing penance in Naples for some undisclosed indiscretion.

‘Hey Bernie, you’re giving the roses hell I see?’

Bernie had a quick look to see who was nearby then fired back, ‘Sure an if I’d wanted to work at a feckin’ country club I would have applied to one!’

The pair laughed and Bernie asked, ‘Today is not yer day, what brings ya here?’

Taylor smiled, put her finger to her lips and walked inside.

She found Sister Gabriel in her office, whose perfunctory greeting was no surprise, and took the seat she was directed to.

‘Thanks for coming so promptly Miss Diaz… we have a… a thing.’

The elderly nun paced the floor, trying to find the words to give flesh to the issue. Taylor waited.‘We, er… seem to have a situation… something very unexpected…’

The nun nervously clicked her tongue repeatedly then picked up a pitcher of water to prime her dry mouth then offered some to Taylor, who nodded her head – a head now filled with anticipation and questions. Taylor carefully broke the fragile silence,

‘Why don’t you just tell me what it is Mother Superior?’

The nun downed the water like it was St. Augustine Florida Straight Bourbon 88 proof and blurted, ‘We have a pregnancy!’

Taylor resisted the urge to smile, but only just, as something in Sister Gabriel’s demeanor said this is no smiling matter. As Taylor’s mind ran through some vague suspects, Bernie being at the top of the list, she tried to sound steady as she replied,

‘Oh Mother, that’s not the worst thing surely… nuns have been known to fall pregnant before and to work things out… it’s difficult yes I’m sure, but there can be a lot of help now through agencies and support mechanisms and…’

The wide-eyed nun stopped Taylor in her bureaucratic-speak tracks, ‘It’s Mary!’

Suddenly Taylor felt a knot where her gut used to be and the urgent need for a shot of 88 proof bourbon herself. Mary was one of the orphans in the convent’s care – caring, lovely, she loved puppies and horses, she was also blind, deaf, mute and 12 years old.

***************

The door slammed in the definitely-seen-better-days office of Ray Montana, Attorney at Law and the room shook a little. Ray looked up from his coffee machine routine and grimaced, as if the slamming door rattled the inside of some deep space in his brain. Not that he’d admit it, but his eyes were not what they used to be, and he strained a little to make out the whirlwind shape of his sometime intern, ‘Taylor, to what do I…’

‘You are not going to believe this, because… it’s… fucking unbelievable!’

Ray stirred a coffee cup and offered it to Taylor, then set about making a fresh one for himself, discretely pouring in a shot from a silver pocket flask, ‘And what pray tell am I not going to believe?’

Ray quickly poured in a second shot as Taylor sipped her coffee and grimaced momentarily, but her expression of vague disgust at the coffee suited her tone,

‘You know that convent I do work for, San Miguel. Well, they run a small orphanage for special needs orphans, and one of them is pregnant. And she’s 12 years old!’

Ray sipped and savoured his fresh brew, ‘Okay… interesting… but unbelievable?’

‘Brace yourself, she says she’s a virgin.’

Ray spits out some coffee and starts laughing. Taylor smiles in return but catches herself,

‘Ray, this is serious.’

‘Sure… first thing is… a 12-year-old getting pregnant, it’s a family member who had access to her. Happens more than you’d know…’

‘Ray, it’s a fuckin’ orphanage Sherlock.’

‘Ok, but she won’t be the first pregnant girl who claims she’s still a virgin…’

Ray’s investigator musings hit pause and he swigged more coffee. Taylor eyeballed him,

‘Some deviant has raped an underage girl, Ray.’

‘What does the boss nun say? She must have an idea who had access?

‘She says she believes Mary.’

‘So… lemme see… another case of er, immaculate conception?’

Ray knows he shouldn’t grin - but knowing it and stopping it are two different things. This time Taylor doesn’t read him the riot act and smiles just a little, ‘I know… it’s ridiculous right…’

Mirthlessly she added, ‘Someone raped her Ray, and we have to find him. I’m calling in the police.’

‘Sure, but who are they charging? God?’

Taylor glared an it’s not funny Ray glare.

‘Call Andy Liouthakis, he’s a good cop in the Sheriff ’s office in Naples, he can look into it – who knows, maybe it wasn’t God?’

Ray grinned just a touch too much, Taylor picked up a magazine and threw it at him,

‘She’s 12 years old Ray!’

Ray put up his you got me dead to rights hands and Taylor stormed out. Just like the unseasonal weather, everything had just got hotter.

Chapter Two

The gleaming Sheriff’s car pulled into the driveway at San Miguel, watched by an anxious Taylor from an upstairs window. She let the curtain fall back into place as she turned to the visibly stiff Mother Superior who was seated on the other side of the spacious room.

‘He’s here, the Sheriff that I told you about, he seemed really nice on the phone.’

‘I only hope he understands… what all this means.’

Taylor let the silence hang in the humid air of the large, ornate room; aware she was being looked down on by several images of the Blessed Virgin. She knew that further argument was pointless with the old nun, who was nothing if not set in her ways, but set like concrete, grey and cold. Sheriff Andy and Isabelle Jackson, his African American deputy were ushered in by a young novice and Taylor made the necessary introductions as hands were shaken and nerves rattled.

Mother Superior grunted a stilted, ‘So what now detective?’

‘I’m just a lowly sheriff ma’am, not a detective, yet. We’re here to determine if there was a crime and set up an investigation if there was…’

Taylor couldn’t help herself, ‘What do you mean if?’

Andy calmly looked at Taylor, who took a deep breath and continued, ‘I mean, Sheriff, we have a pregnant 12-year-old girl in the next room…’

‘I assure you we will look at the facts and go where the evidence takes us, but given the age of the alleged victim, we have to be thorough…’

‘Sheriff, the pregnancy isn’t alleged! Someone was thorough alright…’

Mother Superior walked to a table where she had refreshments laid out in an immaculately prepared repast of drinks, biscuits, cut glass and China, ‘May I offer you some iced tea officers, I needn’t mention the heat…’

Andy grabbed the gesture gratefully, a chance to pour iced tea on a hot topic and nodded and grinned as if that was the most delightful suggestion he had heard all morning. His deputy dutifully followed suit and soon Taylor was the only tealess person in the room, and a little impatient with it, ‘I’m sure this is all well and good, but should we get on with it… Mary is waiting with Sister Bernadette...’

The old nun sucked iced tea through her yellowed teeth and wheezed, ‘Mary is fine, really, there’s no hurry… she’s not traumatised at all.’

‘How can you say that…’ Taylor shot back only to be cut off,

‘She’s serene Taylor. You’ve seen her. There’s a glow about her.’

Taylor gave the law officer a you can see what we’re up against here Andy look.

Under the rococo ceiling of the grand meeting room Taylor, the officers and the nun took their seats and Andy and the deputy pulled out their notebooks. Taylor liked the look of Andy, strong and capable, and from what Ray had told her he was something of a star on the rise, certain to make some kind of senior investigator role in a bigger jurisdiction after he’d paid his dues.

Andy asked, ‘From what I understand Mary is 12 years old and has been in the care of the convent for how long?

‘Nearly 3 years now,’ replies the Mother.

‘And your role in this Miss Diaz is…?

‘Taylor please… I’m a government officer - I ensure procedures and oversight for the care homes in the county.’

Andy prodded a little, ‘And what did you think of the care of Mary, how was she doing?’ ‘It’s been very good… Mary was a happy child.’

‘Is a happy child,’ the nun interjected.

‘Did either of you notice a recent change in her demeanour?’

Mother Superior glanced towards Taylor, nodding no’s as she did, but Taylor merely offered,

‘Well, she’s a quiet child Sheriff, at the best of times…’

‘What Taylor is trying to say is that the child is mute, has been as long as she has been with us.’

Taylor winced, ‘What you should also know Sheriff is that Mary is blind and deaf, as well as mute. So getting a description of her assailant is … a problem.’

Sister Gabriel could see Andy’s blank face and coloured it in, ‘We have two nuns trained in Braille and such to communicate with Mary…’

Andy nodded and made notes, taking a sip on his tea, and looked around the large room.

‘And I understand you learned she was pregnant from her doctor?’

Mother Superior sipped some tea, ‘Yes, she was sick in the morning a couple of days in a row, so we took her to our doctor, who diagnosed the er, issue.’

‘You were with her?’

‘Yes.’

Taylor’s impatience insinuated its way into the conversation, ‘We know she’s pregnant, we need to find the rapist, there is a criminal deviant at large!’

‘Of course,’ Andy replied with some accommodation of tone, ‘but the offense would be sexual battery, not rape.’

‘Oh, we’re playing semantics now?’

‘Just so you know, there is no rape law per se in Florida. And it also matters a lot that she is 12 and not under 12.’

Taylor’s expression fairly screamed WHY back at the hapless policeman who took the cue, ‘If the victim is under the age of twelve, the prosecutor does not have to show the victim’s lack of consent because the victim’s youth presumes a lack of consent. However, if the victim is twelve or over, the prosecutor must show that the victim did not consent voluntarily. Therefore in Florida state law, the prosecutor needs to demonstrate a lack of consent.’ Taylor is You have to be fucking kidding me level gob smacked as Andy cleared his throat. ‘Further… er, Deputy, you have the wording of the statute...?’

Deputy Isabelle dutifully took out her iPad and loaded up the salient page as the sound of Mother Superior munching on ice filled the void. Isabelle read out a deadpan rendition as Taylor stared at Andy - ‘To prove sexual battery, the prosecutor must show that the defendant engaged in oral, vaginal, or anal penetration of the victim with a sexual organ or another object. Alternatively, the prosecutor must prove a union by the defendant's sexual organ with the victim's mouth, vagina, or anus.’

Taylor’s voice seemed to have raised a few semi-tones as she tried not to screech, ‘That’s insane. How can a 12-year-old show a lack of consent. A 12-year-old cannot consent!

Andy appeared as chastened as if he’d formulated the statute himself while the Mother Superior casually sipped her iced tea, placed the glass on the table and stated, ‘So, there it is. It can’t be rape or, sexual battery, if there was no union between sexual organs.’

Andy and Isabelle exchanged a confused look as Isabelle offered, ‘But er, Reverend Mother, she’s pregnant, there was union at some point?’

The old nun got up and walked to a desktop as quizzical looks bounced around the room, bumping into the various angels, clouds and smiling cherubim. She picked up some papers and handed them to Andy.

‘The doctor’s report, read the last line…’

Andy turned the pages and looked up even more confused. He read the last line aloud, ‘There is an anomaly in the case. Although the patient is certainly pregnant, at approximately 6 weeks advanced, I found her hymen to be intact.’

The pin drop silence amongst the smiling cherubim is broken by Mother Superior,

‘More tea sheriff?’

A short time later Mother Superior and Taylor were sitting silently in the large room, waiting and tense, before Taylor addressed the elderly nun, ‘I still can’t believe you didn’t show me the doctors report…’

‘You think I manufactured the pregnant virgin theory alone?’

Taylor did think that but she wasn’t saying it as Mother Superior merely adopted her serenely inscrutable face before an adjoining door opened and Sheriff Andy walked in. Deputy Isabelle followed with her arm around Mary before Bernadette, (who had been assisting with the braille keypad responses during the interview) glided over to take the child and usher her out of the room.

Andy put on his hat, ‘We’ll be going now, I need to make a few more inquiries and prepare a report for the prosecutor’s office.’

‘I see, said the inscrutable one, ‘and just who are they going to prosecute?’

‘Reverend Mother, a crime has been committed, regardless of what Mary says or what you believe. And… she was in your care.’

‘Does the convent need legal representation?’

Andy allowed a small smile to tease around his mouth, ‘I think you already know the answer to that Sister. And I think you’ve already had conversations….’

Andy adjusted his hat just so and made his exit.

***************

Sheriff Andy walked into the not-without-style-but-dated State Attorney’s Office for Collier County. He wondered to himself just what the hell this ‘virgin’ case would add up to as he navigated the maze of corridors loaded with more plants than the park outside, until he arrived at the door of Elizabeth Pena, an Assistant United States Attorney. Andy’s career had progressed at pace, and he was one of the youngest sheriffs in the state at thirty-one, with very bright prospects according to those in the know. But this case, this virgin case had red flags and herrings everywhere he looked.

Ms. Pena ran a division with specific focus on sex crimes involving child victims and she was reading a report as the police officer appeared and was duly waved in. Andy took off his hat and shook her hand, ‘Elizabeth, so nice to see you.’

‘Always a pleasure Andy, take a seat.’

‘Thanks for seeing me at such short notice. You read the preliminary report.’

‘I did.’

Elizabeth gave a semi-blank look, twitched her hands and gave the slightest shake of her head. Andy took a breath, ‘I think I know how you feel.’

‘You have to give me something here Andy. The pregnancy discovery is weeks old, the trail is cold, there’s no struggle, no DNA, no hair or fibre, and no real suspects. Not to mention the victim, who is blind, deaf as well as mute, says she’s never had sex with anyone, and that God has (quote reads from report) seen fit to bless me with the gift of a child to again bring light to a darkened world.

Andy appeared equally flummoxed and shrugged as Elizabeth continued, ‘The whole blessed virgin thing is just a colossal freakin’ sideshow that we have to avoid by finding some actual evidence. You spoke to the doctor?’

‘Yes, entirely credible, impeccable credentials. She’s Tom Donovan’s personal physician.’ ‘Oh.. the oil billionaire… how does he fit in?’

‘He funds the large Catholic University, Stella Maris and has money behind a lot of religious institutions, including San Miguel. So, he pays for his private doctor to attend to their medical needs too.’

‘Be that as it may, you need a second opinion. I can’t push anything when the only doctor who has examined our pregnant underage rape victim says she’s still a virgin.’

She handed Andy the report and waved a silent goodbye.

At San Miguel, a couple of days after the interview, Taylor finally managed a quiet word with Bernadette. As the pair strolled around the lush convent grounds, Bernie pulled some tobacco from a pouch and started to roll a cigarette. Taylor’s eyes said really, as she asked the young nun, ‘So how the hell did this happen Bernie, you are her closest carer?!’

‘You’re blamin’ me?! I feckin’ love that girl…’

‘No, not you… just the whole thing… how could it happen? I know you love her.’

Bernie lit up her cigarette, coughed and gave a sardonic chuckle, ‘Haven’t you heard, it’s a feckin’ miracle.’

‘Don’t start that nonsense… who could have been with her, to do that…’

‘That’s just it Taylor, I spend most of the time with Mary out of all of us and there’s just not a way anyone could have the chance to…’

‘You know Newman reported back that she’s still a virgin. She’s made a mistake.’

‘I heard. Eileen is very good; she knows her shite.’

‘Well, regardless, we have a virgin in need of an abortion.’

Bernie coughed convulsively and looked askance. Taylor grabbed the cigarette and stubbed it out, ‘You don’t think she should have the baby, surely…’

‘Abortion is a huge thing, Taylor. It’s against God…’

‘I would have thought rape was against God too!’

‘Well, you won’t find many people here who want to fix one crime by committing another.’

‘I thought you were her friend Bernie?’

‘I am her friend Taylor, yours too… but asking a Catholic to condone a mortal sin?’

Taylor froze and fixed Bernie with a stare that radiated equal parts disappointment and disgust. She turned and walked away, silently watched by Bernie who began to roll another cigarette.

Chapter Three

Taylor was driving along the winding coast road from North Naples back towards Fort Myers and talking to Sheriff Andy on her cell phone, ‘So, what is the prosecutor doing with the case?’

‘Well, Miss Diaz… you’re not her legal guardian so I’m not at liberty…’

‘Please Andy, don’t go all procedural on me… and it’s Taylor. I have skin in this game, I’m required to look after her welfare. And I’m concerned her legal guardians are not interested in doing what is best for Mary’s wellbeing.’

‘Why would you say that… Miss… Taylor?’

‘I believe it’s in Mary’s best interests to have an abortion, as quickly as possible, and it’s obviously not something they are comfortable with.’

‘And what does Mary say?’

Taylor was silent suddenly. It hadn’t occurred to her to ask Mary what she wanted. She snapped out of the momentary fog, ‘Er, I don’t think that’s relevant… ah, what I mean is, she needs to be guided by the adults in the room now…’

‘Well, you know it’s probably not gonna be in Florida.’

‘Yes, I know the law changed recently… no abortions after six weeks.’

She unthinkingly pressed the accelerator pedal as her blood pressure rose with it, ‘You do know most women don’t know they are pregnant at six weeks?’

Andy could hear the car revs and said evenly, ‘You might want to ease up on that pedal Taylor.’ She backed off and heard Andy continue, ‘And sexual battery cases have until 15 weeks I think?’

‘It’s not long either way…’ She sighed, ‘The other pressing issue is finding the criminal that got her into this mess… have you made any progress?’

‘Now that I definitely can’t divulge, but we are following a line of inquiry…’

Taylor’s Corvette pulled up opposite Ray’s office and she spied him walking into the coffee shop next door. She hurried across the road and joined him in the funky, retro café. ‘Hi Tay, I see you’ve sprung me… even I can’t take my own coffee anymore.’

He ordered a latte for her, and they found a window seat.

‘I spoke to Sheriff Andy; he won’t tell me who his suspects are…’

‘Just as you knew he wouldn’t… let him do his work, he’s a good ol’ boy.’

Taylor wanted to say she’d had just about enough of good ol’ boys in her life, but she let it pass, ‘The immediate problem is getting Mary an abortion.’

‘Well since the governor passed the Human Heartbeat Act 6 weeks is the mark. Unless you can prove rape or sexual battery, then it’s 15 weeks. Under twelve, consent is not valid, but she’s twelve, which means you have to prove she didn’t consent.’

Taylor surprised herself with the vociferousness of her reply, ‘She didn’t consent Ray!’ Heads are turned in the small café, but gazes just as quickly are averted and normal service resumed as the waitress delivered the coffee. Ray pulled out his silver flask and topped up his coffee with a shot of bourbon, ‘I need you to stay focused Ray!’

The admonishment was delivered sotto voce, and not in a you lush how can you be drinking at this hour and under these circumstances tone, but in a sympathetic I know you need your medicine but go a little easy for a bit please tone.

‘Yeah, yeah… I’ll work on it… I promise.’

Taylor knew Ray was in fact, a good ol’ boy, in the best sense of the phrase, in the sense that he would put his balls on the line for you unconditionally if you were his friend, every time. She remembers the looks on the faces of her college teachers when she told them she’d arranged to intern with Ray Montana – they ran a gamut from bemusement to disgust via disbelief and disappointment. Most were flummoxed that Ray’s 20 year plus career was still continuing and were curious about what kind of work a lawyer like him was getting. It seemed that she had hitched her wagon to a wagon master adept at finding ditches or burning bridges in every legal backroad and byway in Florida.

‘What do we need to do to get her an abortion Ray?’

‘We?’

‘I’ll need your help Ray.’

Ray stirred his coffee and smiled, ‘This is America…. We go to court.’

Taylor smiled back as Ray held forth, ‘The convent, and therefore Sister Gabriel is the court appointed legal guardian. You’d have to sue to have them removed from that status and have the government take it over as a ward of the state.’

Taylor started to make notes on her yellow legal pad.

‘You’d have to prove standing… not so tough since you are the Department of Children and Family Services officer responsible for compliance. But they’d fight back… probably with those Jesus shills from Stella Maris University and Tom Donovan’s bottomless well of money. And honey, as you should know by now, in the USA legal system, money wins.’

Taylor continued to scribble and Ray had a low watt lightbulb appear in his eyes.

‘Stella Maris, didn’t you get a scholarship to the law school there?’

‘Two things Ray. ‘Honey’ might have been okay when you were a freshman and spending your evenings at Hooters with the boys, but not so much now. And secondly, yes I got a scholarship to Stella Maris, but I knocked it back.’

‘To pay your own money to another college to get the same degree?’

Taylor stopped writing and eyeballed the slightly bleary eyes staring back at her with a soupçon of incredulity, as Ray added, ‘Just as well, I doubt you could have have stomached the conservative Catholic Christo fascist bias that the education there is layered with…’

She smiled at his occasional burst of insight and erudition, ‘Maybe. And besides… I wasn’t pure enough for them anyway Ray. Don’t tell Mama!’

Chapter Four

Mother Superior was in her office behind her desk when a knock on the door had her smoothing her habit. Bernadette entered, trying not to feel like a naughty schoolgirl called to the Headmistresses office, and spied Sheriff Andy in the corner.

‘Sister, I called you here because Sheriff Liouthakis is doing follow up and wants a word.’ Mother Superior indicated to the pair to sit at the front of her desk in the chairs available, but Andy waved the suggestion away, ‘Thanks Reverend Mother, but I’ll need to talk to Sister Bernadette in private.’

The old nun couldn’t hide her exasperation, not that she’d bothered to try. One of the privileges of old age is that people expect you to be cantankerous, so why disappoint them. Andy diplomatically offered, ‘Perhaps we could find a quiet place in your exquisitely manicured gardens Reverend Mother, they must be a source of great pride to the convent.’

‘They would be Sheriff… except pride is a sin.’

Andy and Bernadette strolled amongst the gorgeous and fragrant rose bushes – centuries old botanical remnants of trying to embed some part of Britain or Spain into the New World – the ripple of some desperate attempt to give something of the old order to a chaotic new world, where there wasn’t much order to be found. Bernadette took the opportunity to roll