The two cops stood quietly by their unmarked car, which still had its headlights on. They were looking at the convent that sat bleak and pathetic and violated, as cold and irrevocable as a tomb. Bo Dietl and Tommy Colleran were hard, cynical New York police officers. But they had never heard of anything like this.
There were still other cops on the scene, moving about quietly, softly. The nun — a white, 30-year-old, sparrowlike woman — had been taken away hours earlier. Peter Christianson, from the sex crimes unit, came up to Bo and Tommy.
“Petey, what happened?”
“Bo, it’s fucking crazy. Two guys took a nun in there, punched the shit out of her, raped and sodomized her, stuck a broom up her and some candles, carved crosses all over her butt and breasts—27 crosses, Bo, with a goddamned sharpened nail file! They pissed on her, threw her downstairs, and left her for dead. And they may have used a crucifix, we don’t know. We’re checking all the crosses inside.”
Tommy suddenly hit himself hard in the chest. The thud made everyone jump.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding. In a convent?” His eyes filled with tears. “Oh, Mother of God, they didn’t do that.”
“Oh shit,” exhaled Bo. “How is she?”
“We don’t know. She’s in shock at the hospital.”
“Have you got anything?”
“Well, we’ve got a couple of junkies who were in the building across the street that said they saw two black guys on the corner, one tall, one short with like a limp. They never actually saw them coming out of the place though, so maybe that wasn’t them.”
Bo and Tommy crossed the street and studied the convent from there. Behind it loomed a dark, four-story brownstone with a ladder leading down from its roof.
“That’s how they got in,” said Bo flatly, pointing.
“Since when have you heard of a sex crime with two guys doing it, Tommy?”
The other said nothing. He lit a cigarette and threw the match into the gutter.