The Deadly Judas

by Mara Kalyn

  The light turned green and Tori moved forward within a cocoon of people. On the other side, a homeless man slouched near the stone wall that encircled the church. He stretched out his hat and whined “Puleeeze, spare change?”

  Tori glanced at him long enough to avoid a collision. A glimmer of intelligence sparked in in his gaze and died as quickly as it came. He's pretending, I'm sure. With a mental shrug, Tori dismissed the notion as none of her business. She ignored the outstretched hat, and didn't feel guilty about it as she walked on toward the back entrance of the Cathedral.

  Reverend Andrew had instructed her to go directly to his office.

  “Come,” Reverend Andrew called in response to her knock. He waved at the chair in front of his desk.

  “Please, sit. Give me a minute. On a roll.”

  Behind McAdam soft gray light filtered through built up layers of pollution on frosted glass. The air was fragrant with the aromas of coffee, varnish, and old papers. She imagined this room hadn't changed much since its origins 145 years before. Floor to ceiling bookcases crammed with books were flanked by wood panels. One shelf was home to statues of various saints.

  “Ms Carlin?” Reverend Andrew tapped on the desk. “Are you with us?”

  “I'm so sorry, I was admiring the space. It's got so much character. Not many of these have survived, I'd guess.” The Reverend's smile bloomed.

  “Indeed. Sometimes modernity erases sentiment, replaces the simplicity of polished wood with shiny metal. Too sterile nowadays, I think.” Tori nodded in agreement.

  “Now then, to business.” He flipped open a file folder. “Documents for you to sign.” He slid the first one across the desk, recited a brief explanation, and jabbed his finger on the line for her signature. Tori suppressed a giggle at the business-like procedure. And why not? This was an employer hiring an employee. Just because the job was in a Cathedral didn't mean there should be a special religious ceremony attached to it. Tori signed the document, and they shook hands to seal the deal.

  McAdam got up from his desk and motioned Tori to follow him. They strolled together to her new office.

  “Supply closet over there. Everything from mops to wax to office stationery. The kitchen next door. And here we are at your work station.” McAdam stood back to let Tori pass.

  “I'll give you a quick intro to the routine tasks. Rhonda prepared a manual of sorts in preparation for her maternity leave, but it's probably incomplete. She's left her telephone number if you need help with anything.”

  Reverend Andrew lifted the keyboard and pointed to a folded sheet of paper. Tori frowned.

  “I know, not very secure. Everything requires a complicated password, and none of them should be recorded. It's a challenge.” McAdam grinned and winked. “I write my sermons by hand. Please transcribe them and save them in the 'sermon' folder in the shared section. I print, revise, add my comments and put them back in this basket for final polishing. Take time to familiarize yourself with the computer files. I'm almost finished the sermon for this week.”

  “Thank-you, Reverend McAdam.”

  “Andrew, please. I'm not partial to formalities.” With that, he left the room, head down, already lost in the next sector of his brain.

  While Tori flipped through Rhonda's manual, McAdam popped back in.

  “So sorry, Ms. Carlin. Something's come up. Sermon won't be ready until later today or Monday after all. I'll put the pages in the tray when I'm done, so you can start on it first thing.”

  BY MONDAY MORNING TORI decided she liked this new job. Her skills were more than adequate for the editing and bookkeeping tasks and the boss was easy-going and pleasant.

  She let herself in the back door, humming as she walked up the corridor toward her office, only slightly puzzled by the priest's closed door.

  Maybe that's his surrogate 'do not disturb, I'm on a roll' flag. She followed the fragrance of fresh coffee to the kitchen where Reverend Andrew had, as was his habit, brewed the first pot of the day.

  Back in her office, coffee mug in hand, she leafed through the handwritten pages in the basket, eyes round in dismay. Her doctor's prescription was easier to read than this scrawl. Tori lowered herself into her chair, squinting at the document, wondering how on earth she was expected to decipher this.

  From what she could make of it, the sermon was about tolerance, acceptance, and love. The words reflected Reverend Andrew's personal aura that projected tranquility and serenity. As she laboriously transcribed the gentle, loving words, Tori wondered if people with that level of goodness had a dark side.

  Focussed on the pages, she didn't notice Doris at the door until the elderly woman spoke from the doorway.

  “I'll bring Reverend his mid-morning snack.” Adrenaline burned a path of fire up Tori's esophagus as her head jerked upright.

  “I'm so sorry,” Doris looked like a puppy about to be scolded. “I didn't mean to startle you.” Tori waved away the older woman's apology and groaned.

  “I was on another planet. Penmanship wasn't Andrew's best subject in school.”

  “Rhonda used to say her parrot could do better,” Doris chuckled. “I'm going to prepare the Reverend's snack plate now. He likes a muffin, an apple, and a square of cheese. Can I make one for you?”

  “Only a muffin for me, thanks.”

  “Carrot, lemon poppy seed or apple?”

  “Carrot is fine, thanks.” She'd discovered it was easier to enable Doris's need to mother or be prepared for questions. Are you sure? have you eaten breakfast yet? Oh, just a little something more won't hurt. She grinned at Doris's retreating back and took up her task again.

  Ten minutes later the elderly woman returned with a tray and handed Tori a muffin on a paper plate.

  “Thank-you, Doris.”

  “You're welcome. You're sure you don't want anything else?” Tori shook her head, and Doris picked up the tray with both hands and left to deliver the Reverend's snack.

  She came back almost immediately with a full tray.

  “His door is closed, and he's not answering.” Doris frowned, confused. “He knows I always bring his mid-morning snack at ten.”

  “He rarely closes his door, does he?” Doris shook her head.

  “It was shut this morning when I arrived. I thought maybe he didn’t want to be disturbed. Let's go see.”

  Outside the cleric's door, Tori called out, “Andrew? Are you in there?” She knocked hard on the door.

  “Maybe he's ill?” Doris whispered.

  “Reverend McAdam? Andrew, we're coming in. If you're not decent, it'll be embarrassing for all of us. I'm giving you two minutes.” Two long minutes came and went. The women exchanged worried glances.

  Tori twisted the door knob. “Locked.”

  “We can try the door he uses after services.” Doris led the way to the second office entrance, and turned the knob. The door swung open.

  Tori and Doris screamed in unison. The snack tray crashed to the floor; the apple rolled under the desk, the muffin landed on Doris's foot and the cheese, stuck to the paper plate, sailed to the floor.

  Reverend Andrew McAdam lay on the floor in a pool of blood that had seeped from a deep gash on his head. A bloody bronze statue lay beside him. His blue eyes would twinkle no more.

  Fat tears rolled down Doris's cheeks. Tori stared, both hypnotized and paralysed by the horror. Her first thought was to call Sasha. No. Call 911. They'll probably send him anyway. Her impulse to sprint out of the room was stillborn when Doris's knees buckled. She sobbed and clung to Tori.

  Tori put her arm around her companion and led her out of the room.

  “Here, sit in my chair,” Tori helped Doris onto the chair and scooped up the phone. Her voice broke as she explained the reason for her call to the emergency services operator. She pulled an extra chair close to Doris, and waited for the police.

  WITHIN TEN MINUTES of her 911 call, amidst sirens and screeching tires, an ambulance, fire truck and three police cruisers lined up at the cur
b by the Cathedral. As soon as Tori heard the sirens, she jogged to the entrance of the church. She led two paramedics and the police officers to Reverend Andrew's study. A paramedic bent over the priest's body, pressed his fingers against McAdam’s neck, and shook his head.

  Tori turned to a second paramedic and mumbled, “my friend, she's in my office. Could you see to her? She's elderly and it was a huge shock.”

  “Of course. Show me the way.

  Doris was slumped on the desk, her shoulders shaking.

  The paramedic rubbed the thin shoulders, bent close and whispered something.

  “Take it easy with her. She's not as young as she looks.”

  The paramedic who’d pronounced the priest’s death arrived in the doorway.

  “We have to wait for the coroner’s office to get here. The cops are guarding the body.” He read the subtle shift of his partner’s eyes and smiled at Tori.

  “Hi. How are you feeling?”

  “Like I told your friend, here, I'm fine.”

  “Sure. What's your name?”

  “Tori. Tori Carlin.”

  “And the date?”

  “Oh, please, I'm not in shock.”

  “Sorry, Ms. Carlin. Please sit here.” He pulled a syringe and a vial out of his bag.

  “No. What's that?” Tori swatted his hand away. “No. Get away. I'm allergic to stuff.” The paramedic backed off with the needle.

  “Sorry. Thank-you for telling me.” His glance bounced off her wrists.

  “Forgot,”

  “Please try to remember to wear the bracelet. If you're unconscious, you can't warn the medic.” Tori loathed needles and tranquilizers. She'd had too many of both. Besides, shouldn't he ask about allergies before he stuck people?

  “I'll just get coffee. That'll set me right.” Tori wobbled off toward the kitchen. The paramedic frowned and followed her. She poured thickened black liquid into a used cup and drank it in one go. “There, I'm fine now.”

  “You should go to the hospital, Ms Carlin.” Tori cocked an eyebrow. How does he know my name? Of course, he badgered me for it and the date earlier.

  “I'm fine,” she reassured the earnest young man. He looks Nico's age. I must remind him of his mother.

  Tori heard 'the detectives are here' and sprinted back to the offices.

  “Sasha.” Tori flung her arms around her nephew.

  “Aunt Tori, they said you found the body. Are you okay?”

  “Doris and me. We both found him.” She stayed in the circle of Sasha's arms until his partner Theo spoke.

  “Are you up to talking about what happened?” Tori turned to face the detective. His gaze held hers until she looked away. The image of the priest sprawled on the floor, his life-blood pooling at his head, was seared into her brain. Like a still photograph, she feared it would remain there until, hopefully it faded someday.

  “I don't know.” Her knees buckled. Instinctively she clutched at the nearest solid support just as Theo grasped her shoulders to steady her. “I'm fine, thanks,” she muttered, head lowered, afraid that if she looked at him she would fall apart.

  “Okay,” Theo rubbed her arms, wondering if she really believed that, but he had to take her at her word. He turned to his junior partner.

  “Sasha, check if the other lady is in any shape to give a statement. And get a good look at the crime scene before the medical examiner and the forensic guys get here and take over. Tori, come with me. It'll be quieter in the church for a preliminary interview.”

  “On it, chief. Where is your friend, Aunt Tori?”

  “In my office. Just down this corridor second door on the right.”

  A fly on the wall might have thought two lovers strolling together, not a policeman and his witness as the couple moved toward the inner sanctum. When they reached the first row of pews, Theo motioned for Tori to sit, and lowered himself into the aisle seat. She rubbed goosebumps from her arms.

  “Cold?”

  “Just the shock, I guess.”

  Theo leaned against the back of the pew, extended his arm along the edge. His hand drifted near Tori's shoulder, but didn't make contact. They sat, side by side, barely aware of muffled activity from the murder scene.

  The detective cleared his throat. “Tell me everything that occurred since you came to work this morning.”

  Tori focussed her attention on the whirling ceiling fans in the rafters.

  “It's been the same every morning since I started last Thursday.” Tori recited her daily routine, voice cracking as she relived once more the horror of finding the murdered priest. Theo shifted his body, hunched over, elbows on knees in a caricature of prayer.

  “Did you notice anything different this morning? Up to the time you and your colleague discovered Reverend McAdam's body?” Tori shook her head.

  “It was the same as always.”

  “Indulge me. Tell me everything you saw and heard.” Tori stared at him. Hadn't he paid attention when she told him the first time?

  “Oh, come on,” she said, feeling like herself again. Theo smiled, and her heart melted. He had the sexiest smile. Even white teeth against tanned skin, a wanna-be dimple that flickered in his left cheek and dark eyes framed by smile crinkles. Taunted by flashbacks to their short history, she fought the impulse to throw herself into his arms and to hell with complications and fears. No one knew about her and Theo. Especially not Sasha. It had been a brief interlude which, in retrospect, had served to comfort two people at a vulnerable crossroad in their lives. Did he ever think about that evening during quiet private moments? Perhaps not. It was her own adolescent fantasy.

  “Okay,” she conceded, looking away. “It was just normal stuff. No bangs, no shouts, no thumps, nothing. This church was built a century ago, so the walls are solid and thick. You can barely hear the peal of the clock tower bell in here.”

  “It's fair to say McAdam was already dead before you and the older lady got here. The attacker wouldn't take a chance on someone overhearing a loud confrontation. And the victim suffered a vicious beating. He would have cried out. Anything different in the street this morning?”

  “No. Just the usual people waiting for the bus to the NDG borough. The homeless man was on his usual corner. He's there every morning. Looks like he may be challenged.” Tori wondered if she should mention the flash of lucidity she'd witnessed, and decided against it. “He's gone by early afternoon.”

  “And now, Ms Carlin, what about you?” Tori thought she saw a shadow of tenderness in his gaze. Her imagination, she concluded. Police officers didn't display their emotions.

  “I'm fine, thanks.” The question wasn't personal, surely. Both disappointed and relieved at her conclusion, her gaze drifted to the altar. Bunches of white lilies, their petals tinted soft pastel colours by light filtered through stained-glass windows, stood in vases on a side table. Through the peaceful silence, her mind searched for other details she might have missed. Her eyes widened, she clutched Theo's arm.

  “Reverend Andrew had made the coffee before he delivered matins early this morning. He had to have been murdered between the end of matins at eight and my arrival at quarter to nine. Surely forty-five minutes was enough time to kill Reverend Andrew and get away.” Theo's eyes narrowed as he contemplated the possibilities.

  “Brilliant.” He tossed Tori a look of admiration and plucked his mobile out of its holster. “Sasha, schedule uniforms for tomorrow morning. Have them question the public transit commuters and regular passersby. Find out if anyone saw something unusual between seven and nine this morning.” The detective listened for a moment, then glanced at Tori. “Yeah, she's doing fine.” Theo winked at Tori and returned the mobile to its holster.

  Backing into the aisle, Theo smiled and offered a hand to help Tori up.

  “I'm okay, thanks.” Theo's mouth set in a grim line, his features froze into a professional, expressionless mask.

  Tori didn't trust herself to be near him again. Renewed intimacy could only lead to pain
and frustration.

  “Suit yourself.”

  Tori gave herself a few minutes to breathe and collect herself before she dared follow. Peeking through the partially open door, she saw two paramedics manoeuvre a stretcher through the narrow exit.

  Tori guessed her friend was under the pile of blankets, strapped to the gurney.

  “Is she okay?” Tori reached out to touch her, but the paramedic warned her away.

  “She's been sedated. She'll be seen by a doctor at the hospital.”

  “Where are you taking her?”

  “The General if they're accepting emergencies. Call the dispatcher later, he'll tell you.”

  “Thanks.” She turned away just as the Coroner’s team angled another gurney, this one carrying a black body bag, out of Reverend Andrew’s office. Fingers pressed against her mouth, blinking away tears, she spun around and headed blindly up the corridor.

  Somehow, she ended up in the doorway of Reverend Andrew's office, staring at the white outline of priest’s body. CSI's in paper shoe covers stepped over markers, took photos, and dropped samples into evidence bags.

  “Aunt Tori, what are you doing here?”

  Tori spun around. Sasha stared at her, pen poised over a small black notebook.

  “I don't really know.” She couldn't justify her presence in the priest's office even to herself.

  “I should call the Bishop.”

  “The Bishop is already on his way.”

  “There he is now,” he jutted his chin toward the study door as Bishop Laridy strode toward them.

  “My dear Ms Carlin. How are you? This is shocking. Appalling.” He took her hands in his and peered into her eyes as if to encourage sincerity in her response.

  “I'm fine Bishop Laridy, thank-you for asking. I'm so sorry for your loss.”

  “Dear lady, it's a loss for all of us. He was a dear man our Reverend McAdam. Loved by his parishioners and his colleagues. How could someone do this to him?” The Bishop paused and stared at the floor as if to contain an emotion that threatened to leak out. “Ms Carlin, this has been a horrifying shock for you, I’m sure. You have my permission to go home for the afternoon.”