The Deadly Judas

by Mara Kalyn

  “It's okay, though,' Tori added, hoping to redeem herself. “I changed into a casual outfit I bought at the thrift store, so he wouldn't recognize me.” Sasha groaned.

  “So, what then? You followed him into the men's rest room?”

  “Of course not, Mr. Sarcastic, I'm not a fool. I waited until he came out, then followed him to his boarding house.”

  “And you're convinced he didn't spot you?”

  “No, I stayed across the street and some distance behind him. When he got to his rooming house I ducked into a coffee shop and took photos. Then he came out wearing a sport jacket and dress trousers, threw a briefcase in the back seat of a newish black car, and drove away. I've got photos of the plates, but they're blurry. I suppose your people can sharpen them up.” Tori waited out the silence on the other end of the line until she suspected her nephew may have hung up on her.

  “Hello? Are you still there?”

  “Okay, send them to me.” Tori pumped her fist in triumph. He was taking her seriously.

  “If this comes to nothing, will you stop badgering me?”

  “Thanks, Sasha. I just know in my bones something is off.” Tori hoped her bones were right. If not, her credibility with Sasha was shot.

  “Hello?” Doris said from the door. Tori's heart fluttered in her chest as she looked up, wild-eyed.

  “Sorry. I did it again.” Doris's fingertips flew to her lips. “I didn't mean to scare you.”

  “Oh Doris, I didn't expect to see you until next week. How are you feeling?” The older woman gave no sign of having overheard Tori’s conversation with Sasha.

  “Much better, thanks. I just can't sit around the apartment anymore. I called the Bishop and told him I can come back today. He said to come afternoons because you were working in the morning, and he wants somebody here all day.”

  “Business-wise it makes sense. No boss, less work. The routine tasks only take a couple of hours.”

  Doris chuckled. “They need me. If there's a minister or not, the dust doesn't stop, and those flowers won't replace themselves.”

  “I meant to help out with at least the flowers. I got distracted by a young man sobbing in the church.”

  “Was he slight, a little taller than you, brown hair and eyes?”

  “It was too dim to see him clearly. I got the impression he was slight, but as to the rest, I couldn't tell. He sat and wouldn't look at me. I asked if I could help, but he shook his head and stared at the floor. He seemed so distraught, I hated to leave him. I saw him later walking up the street with someone.”

  “It was Evan, I'm sure of it. The boy Reverend Andrew was helping. Poor lad. Reverend Andrew was the only person he talked to. I think it's worse now, since the Reverend... let's pray our Lord walks with him and helps him heal.” Doris looked toward the late priest's office. “He was a good man.”

  She bowed her head for a moment, then looked at Tori, blinking sadness from her eyes.

  “I brought lunch to share if you like.”

  “That's so kind, thank-you. I have a sandwich, but we can share that too.” Tori followed Doris into the kitchen. The older woman tipped two chicken, vegetable, and rice casseroles onto microwave safe plates, and put one in to heat.

  “Yum, smells good. That's a lot for two people.”

  “One for us, one for Dom.”

  “You are the kindest person I know, Doris Amadea,” Tori hugged the elderly woman.

  “Oh, it’s nothing.” Doris scraped the hot food from a plate back into the tin container, topped it with a lid and gave it to Tori. “Would you mind bringing this to Dom?”

  Tori sucked in her lips. She needed to be anonymous and invisible to Dom, not recognized as the nice lady from the church who gave him food. As she walked down the aisle to the front door, her mind raced to find a solution. To respect Doris' kind deed, meant Tori must jeopardize her own interests.

  The big front doors stood open in silent welcome. She peeked out toward the intersection where Dom hung out, but he wasn't there. Relieved, she walked out toward the corner, scanning the street. When she saw him at the bottom of the hill, she exhaled a long whoosh. On her way back into the Cathedral, a movement in the shadow of the side entrance caught her attention.

  There was another homeless man, a real one, she'd seen shelter there occasionally. She walked over and gave him Doris's chicken and rice casserole. He thanked her and tore the lid from the container. Tori couldn't watch him wolf down the food. No question this man was hungry. By contrast, Dom had the means to buy his own meals and then some. Jaw tense, she was more determined than ever to expose Dom's deception.

  Back in the kitchen, Doris spooned casserole on each plate, accompanied by half a ham sandwich and set them on the table.

  “He was gone. I gave the food to the other homeless man.”

  “Oh, my goodness, I forgot about him,” Doris said, her fingers pressed against her mouth. “He's almost never there.”

  “Lucky for him he was there today and got Dom's lunch.” Tori, relieved to have dodged a face-to-face with Dom, sat opposite Doris, who bowed her head and began to say grace.

  Several moments after Doris finished grace, Tori still sat, head bowed, eyes closed.

  “Tori dear, you can begin now,” Doris said, a spark of amusement in her gaze.

  “Sorry, in my head again.” She wondered about this second homeless man. Had he been here the morning of Reverend Andrew's murder? This obsession was taking over her life. There was nothing more she could do. Sasha had the plate numbers, and she'd shared her information with him. Except now, this second homeless man might change things.

  TORI'S CURIOSITY DIDN't dry up just because her nephew lacked enthusiasm for her suspicions. When she didn't see Dom the following morning, she speculated he was done with his flirtation with homelessness and slithered back under the shelter of his rock. If Dom was the duplicitous character Tori suspected, he'd take advantage of society's neglect of the marginalized to vanish when it suited him. She sipped coffee while she chuckled over the email from the Bishop that released her from extra tasks because his assistant was back at work.

  “Sure, dragged her martyred self and a box of tissues to work today,” Tori snorted. ‘Be nice,’ she cautioned herself. ‘You used to do it too.’

  By ten o'clock Tori had completed all the routine clerical tasks. Now she was at loose ends until Doris arrived at noon with enough lunch for ten.

  Thinking of lunch made Tori hungry. She craved her old favorite, an English muffin, layered with fried egg, bacon and topped with a slice of yellow cheddar. Voice mail on, the corridor entrance to the church locked, she left by the rear exit. Early morning sun had sipped the dew from every leaf, blade, and petal it touched, and promised to turn up the heat by early afternoon.

  She shivered once inside the neighboring building. The lobby, all granite and stainless steel, seemed to have absorbed the icy conditioned air. A cacophony of sound drifted from the café. The clatter of dishes, and conversation, echoed off high ceilings and glass walls. The fragrance of coffee and toasted baked goods sucked up by the ventilation system, sterilized the air to match the decor. Such a contrast to the comforting aura of the Cathedral's wood and sandstone, soft old carpet, and lingering scent of wax swished about by ceiling fans.

  When her turn came, she ordered her favorite meal, with a vanilla hazelnut coffee. She strolled to the floor to ceiling window while she waited. Across the street, a strong breeze ruffled the leafy heads of ancient trees. Their dappled shade danced on a group of Tai chi devotees who practiced their disciplined moves underneath.

  Tori's gaze drifted to the notorious intersection where too many accidents happened; vehicles mowed down pedestrians and cyclists alike, fender tore into fender. The street was a favorite artery for protest groups, who shouted slogans and goaded riot squad officers. The street was wide enough to accommodate organized legal marches that finished in the park with speeches and music blasted through super sized speakers. Tori had wa
tched the cycle repeat itself over a twenty-year span from her office window on the fourth floor in this building.

  The instant she heard her name, thoughts of the past fled and she spun toward the counter to pick up her food. That's when she saw him on the curb. Dom shifted from foot to foot, extended his hat, his lips moved, then his features fell when he was ignored. Her lips tightened. An act deserving of an award because she knew the real Dom. She picked up her order and took it to a table with a view of the intersection. Brown tinted shades, lowered against a stronger sun, made faceless shadows of patrons who sat by the window. By the last bite, she'd eaten food and drank coffee she'd looked forward to, without tasting it. Her stomach was full, but her taste buds had not experienced the joy.

  Damn this obsession with a pseudo homeless man. She tossed the packaging into a trash bin and exited through the back entrance of the building.

  Back at the office, she called Sasha.

  “Aunt Tori,” he said without preamble. “I ran the plate. The car belongs to a respectable citizen without a record. Nothing suspicious about him.”

  “But Sasha, he's impersonating a homeless person. Isn't that suspicious?”

  “Perhaps, but it's not illegal. Maybe it's research for an article, or he needs to enlighten himself, how is that any of our business? If you did it, for example, I'd question your mental state, but I couldn't arrest you unless you pulled down your pants and peed in the middle of Saint Catherine street in front of the Holt Renfrew. Even then, you'd be given a small fine and a stern recommendation to visit a therapist.”

  “Very funny,” Tori said, more offended than amused. “What's the man's name? I only know him as Dom. Can't you visit his rented room?”

  “I can't violate a citizen's rights, Aunt Tori. I'd need a warrant, and for that I'd have to prove malfeasance. And no, I can't tell you his name. Just forget it, Aunt Tori. He's not obliged to explain his desire to experience homelessness.” Tori's eyes narrowed, then grew wide.

  “Okay, thanks Sasha. Sorry to have wasted your time.”

  “Just don't do anything I can arrest you for, right?”

  “Okay dear. Have a good day.”

  Tori tapped her fingertips on the desk. Sasha said it wasn't illegal to impersonate a homeless person. An idea was born. Locking the office door, she headed down to the thrift shop in the basement. She sincerely hoped what she was about to do wouldn't get her arrested. After all, she hadn't promised her nephew anything.

  ~7~

  Breaking and Entering

  WHEN TORI ENTERED THE thrift shop, the two volunteers looked up in unison.

  “Well, hello again,” Dawn said. Or maybe it was Corine. Tori launched her most charming smile and waggled her fingers at the two women. “Are you looking for more wardrobe additions? Some boxes arrived this morning, but we haven't sorted them yet. How about you come back later?”

  “May I help? I'm at loose ends for the moment.” Dawn and Corinne exchanged glances. Dawn shrugged.

  “Sure, we'd be grateful for the help. Start with those three boxes. Separate the items into clean, almost clean, and throw away piles.”

  “I can do that.” Tori opened the first of three boxes stacked in a corner and began the triage. By the time the third box was empty, her back was stiff, but she'd found what she wanted. It seemed people didn't like to throw anything away, and assumed their junk would delight those who shopped at thrift stores. Today the discarded rags suited her just fine. She put her selections on top of the rejects in the throwaway box.

  Tori glanced at her wristwatch. “I'd best get back to the office. Where does the unusable stuff go?”

  “In the blue container outside if you don't mind. Tori picked up the box and lurched toward the exit.

  “Thanks for your help. And be careful,” the ladies called after her. She bobbed her chin, the only moving part that wasn't occupied with balancing the box, grinned and staggered up the stairs.

  Back in her office, still out of breath, she smirked with satisfaction at the perfect ensemble for a little spying. After all, Sasha had told her it wasn't illegal to impersonate a homeless person. The bell tower clock struck eleven. Doris was due to arrive within the half hour. Tori had considered sharing her suspicions with the elderly woman, but she didn't need any more sensible advice to thwart her mission.

  It was a nagging certainty in her mind that Dom had killed the priest. Since the police refused to see him as a possible suspect, Tori felt it was her duty to find evidence and connect him to Reverend Andrew's murder. It couldn’t have been a random break-in. One-hundred dollars in the petty cash box was untouched, and the only drugs on the premises consisted of a half-full bottle of pain tablets.

  She lay a pair of faded, baggy men's trousers, a rust sleeveless tunic with a mangy fringe around the hem, and a moth-eaten gray shawl on her desk. The clothes smelled musty. Tori hated the thought of wearing them, but if she was to match Dom's disguise, it was necessary. A crumpled beige straw hat featured a sad orange flower and smelled of someone's basement. The shoes, one size too small were unwearable.

  There were two options: fold the heels down, or cut them away. After modifying the shoes, she slipped them on. The rim dug into her heels. Masking tape could fix that. The impromptu surgery on the ill-fitting shoes, shaped to someone else's feet, produced a natural limp.

  Tori heard a door open and close, and glanced at the clock. Quarter to twelve. She bundled the homeless woman costume out of sight under her desk, and tapped the enter key to activate the computer screen.

  “Still working? It's lunch time.” Doris jiggled a grocery bag. “Come, let's eat.” Tori hated to deceive Doris with a white lie, but she had to come up with an excuse to leave right after lunch. Her stomach growled, deciding her next move. She followed the older woman to the kitchen.

  “You made quick work of that,” Doris said, her own plate still half full.

  “I was famished. Thank-you for this lovely meal. Tomorrow I'll bring lunch.”

  “No trouble,” Doris said. “I love to take care of people.”

  “Even pamperers need pampering sometimes. Lunch is on me tomorrow, I insist.”

  Tori waited until Doris finished her food, and gathered the dishes to wash.

  “I'm sorry I have an appointment to get to, so I have to eat and run today.”

  “Oh, don't worry about those. I'll get them.”

  Tori looked over her shoulder and raised a warning eyebrow. Even though she was eager to get started on her stakeout, she could spare ten minutes to wash a pan, two plates, and a few utensils. Besides, guilt stabbed her conscience for the little white lie.

  “Okay,”

  Dishes done, Tori hugged the little woman, scooted back to her office to pick up the odious outfit, and left the Cathedral.

  On her way to the Gare Centrale to change and begin her own charade, she noticed Dom still working his new corner. Since she knew now where he’d go afterward, there was no need to hurry. She changed in the Gare Centrale ladies' rest room and limped up the rue Sainte Catherine in her disguise. The shoes hurt her feet as she knew they would. Relieved to find a good spot in front of a pharmacy with a diagonal view of Dom's rooming house, she sank onto the hot sidewalk. The bag with her work clothes made a thin but serviceable cushion between her back and the brick wall.

  She leaned back, pulled the brim of the straw hat down, and closed her eyes. The heat from the sun-baked sidewalk seeped into her thighs and backside, cars swooshed by, voices rose and fell, and something dropped into her lap. Her eyelids snapped open, her gaze shot down to the dip in the tunic between her knees. A gold colored coin winked at her. A looney.

  The corners of her mouth twitched. Not bad for a half-assed plan she'd conjured up on short notice. She thought the hat would do to hold coins, but changed her mind. A homeless woman’s hair would not be as clean and well cut as Tori’s. She pulled the shawl from her shoulders and fashioned a hammock in her lap.

  A woman walked by, stopped, fu
mbled in her purse, and tossed a quarter into the shawl. Tori tipped her chin, mumbled thank-you. With so much time to vegetate, her thoughts turned to the efficiency of her mission. What purpose did it serve to watch Dom go in and out of his boarding house? She knew now this was his base of operations. The burning question was why he chose to play the role of a homeless man. Unless he was an actor prepping for audition, he was up to no good. The next challenge, how to gain access to his room. Even If she rented a room, it was hopeless to break into every unit until she found Dom's.

  Tori leaned against the warm brick. She floated scenarios, rejected them, built up more, and found fault with them. By the time Dom, rather his cleaned-up persona, arrived at the rooming house, she still had nothing. The sun was hot, her eyelids grew heavy. Her mind wandered the periphery of consciousness until a searing flash of intense light reddened the inside of her closed eyelids. She winced and squinted across the street. Dom came out, tossed the backpack into the trunk of the black car, and drove away.

  TORI WATCHED THE CAR pull away from the curb. Her brain supplied more questions than answers. What name had he used to rent the room? What did it mean that he'd thrown the backpack into the car? Where did he go after his charade was done? The clink of metal on metal refocussed her thoughts. The coins in her lap blinked a message. Revisit her original idea. Pretend to be Dom's sister. Disregard what the man on the phone told her, show Dom's picture to the clerk, and take it from there.

  Dressed like this, looking so pathetic, she wouldn't get past the reception desk. Tori looked up and down the street. The coffee shop she'd visited the first time had a ladies' room she could use again. People gawked at her as she entered the coffee shop and approached the counter. They saw a limping woman of indiscriminate age, dressed in outdated, mismatched clothes, carrying a suspiciously lumpy shawl.

  The counter girl's mouth turned down and her nose wrinkled as Tori leaned in to give her order. She paid with some of the coins she’d collected on the street. She held out her hand for the change, but the cashier folded her arms and pursed her mouth. Tori’s gaze dropped, and she took the tray to a table, choosing not to challenge the girl. The apple pie was too hot, as was the coffee. Impatient to get on with her mission, she gulped it all down as quickly as she could without burning her tongue.