by Mara Kalyn
On the way to the restroom she remembered the ladies' toilet was locked, and doubled back to the counter for the key.
“Excuse me,” she spoke to deaf ears. “Excuse me,” she raised her voice.
“Don't yell at me,” the counter girl snarled. Tori glanced at her name tag.
“Josie, I need to use the washroom,” Tori said, softly, conciliatory.
“No homeless in the toilets. Management rules,” the girl's mouth was a grim gash in her face as she backed away from the counter.
“The sign says washrooms available to patrons. I'm a patron. You served me coffee and apple pie not fifteen minutes ago.” And stole my change, she wanted to add.
“Not for homeless.” The girl repeated, crossing her arms. “Please leave now.”
Tori wondered if this same girl would show more compassion for a mangy dog in the street than for a fellow human being. If Tori created a scene, Miss Intolerance would call the police and Tori would end up explaining all this to her nephew from behind bars.
Tears of hurt and frustration prickled behind her eyelids. Back outside in the hot sun, she limped up the street, sniffing, wiping tears from her cheeks. Dom probably sloughed off discrimination, immune because he was role playing. For a truly homeless person, this lack of humanity was a fact of daily life. Sometimes, she supposed, there were kinder people than the young snot who'd been so hateful.
Thinking about Dom brought her back to her mission. Coffee shops wouldn't let her use the restrooms to change back into her work clothes, and stripping on the street wasn't an option. A delivery van crept out of a lane between storefronts. When a second delivery van pulled out, Tori limped into the deep shadow of the lane. She found a windowless recessed door where there was some privacy to be had. Leaning into a corner, she took off the trousers, tunic and the torture shoes. She snaked into her own skirt and top, and slipped battered feet into her own sandals. The coins were heavy in her handbag as she slung it over her shoulder. The plastic bag containing the old clothes and shoes sailed into a nearby trash bin.
A quick sniff of her arms and clothes satisfied her to the absence of telltale odors of musty old clothes. Lipstick on, hair finger combed, she looked like a tidy worker bee again. The extra cash would go toward room rental if necessary, saving her from commission of a punishable offense that her nephew would call breaking and entering. If she used the excuse of the brother off his meds, there was a chance they'd let her into Dom's room. Tori jay walked across the street, scurrying ahead of oncoming cars.
“Bonjour.” The burly man at the desk had a tattoo of a mermaid playing with a fish on his left bicep. Tori imagined that he amused himself and his friends, flexing the muscle to make the mermaid twitch her tail. On the other arm, a pink heart with a doily fringe, around the name Louis. “Sorry to bother you, monsieur, but I'm looking for my brother. He's bi-polar, and hasn't been taking his pills. He runs away and uses other names. If I show you a picture, could you help me?”
“What makes you think he's here?”
“Our cousin took a picture of him outside your door.” Tori flipped to the photo she'd taken of Dom earlier. “He was sure it was Dom.”
The big man squinted. Tori tapped the picture to enlarge it. The clerk’s shaved head bobbed.
“Oui, he was here. Bad luck, he checked out today.” Tori's heart somersaulted in her chest. Had Dom abandoned his homeless persona? If he vanished into his real life, how was she supposed to confirm her suspicions about him? “Did he leave a forwarding address?” The clerk raised an eyebrow and shrugged.
“What name did he use? We always call him Dom.” Carl tapped the keys on his open laptop.
“Dom Joseph.”
“Do you ask for identification when you rent to someone?”
“Cash in advance. Don't need no ID for that.”
“Can I see his room? Just to make sure he didn't leave a clue. You know, where he was going next. We're desperate to find him before he gets into trouble.” Tori whirled her finger near her temple. The clerk's dark eyes narrowed, the crow's feet around them deepened.
“You police?”
“Oh heavens, no,” she chuckled. “If I was police I'd have easier ways to find my brother than check rooming houses for him.”
“Okay,” Carl said, pinning her with a sly stare. “One-day rent. Thirty-five bucks.” He pushed a form across the counter. “Rental agreement. Write your name and whatever other information you want. Sign here.” This was working out better than she'd hoped. She could examine Dom's former room at leisure before it was rented out again. Thirty-five dollars was worth it. Without thinking, she printed the name of the girl at the fast food place, Josie Pruneau, then signed backhand.
“It says twenty-five here.”
“My commission.” The big man winked. “I dunno what you're up to, and I don't care. Ten bucks is cheap for my silence.” With a wry smile, Tori pushed the form back across. The irony of the source of the extra ten-dollars for the 'commission' hadn't escaped her.
Tori gave him his money and intercepted the key he slid across the counter.
“Room 20. Up the stairs. Turn right at the first corridor. I can't leave the desk, so you find your own way.” Tori saluted with a forefinger to her brow and climbed the stairs.
The moment Tori stepped into room 20, she knew it was the right move.
THE TINY ROOM HAD BARELY enough space for the sagging bed, a wooden table, and a shabby green armchair. A crooked tower of aluminum containers leaned over a grease stained pizza box on the small table. Mouth pursed in disgust, she found a facecloth, held it up between index and thumb while she determined its relative cleanliness. Her hand hovered over the doorknob, prepared to wipe, then stilled. The doorknob should be found to have Dom's prints, her own and probably that of a rooming house employee. She crossed the room to the armoire that served as a closet. The door stuck. Tori pushed and pulled until it creaked open. The white LED beam on her mobile flashlight danced around the dark, dirty space.
Tori screamed, dropped her mobile and bolted to the opposite wall. Leaning hard against it, she tapped her chest, willing her heart back into its nest. It's just a damned rat, calm yourself. She crept back to the armoire, picked up her mobile from the floor, and played the light over the back panel.
A generic dark duffle bag had been shoved into the left corner. Before the vision of dozens of rats swarming out changed her mind, she reached for the facecloth, wrapped it around the handle of the bag, pulled it out, and unzipped it. When she saw the contents, nausea closed her throat. A crumpled blue shirt stained with congealed brown spots lay on top. Could this be the shirt Doris had gifted, and said Dom only wore once? Underneath was a pair of stiff socks that stank and a pair of underwear whose condition she didn't even want to think about.
He'd either forgotten the duffle or left it behind on purpose. Judging from Carl's reaction, there was no forwarding address or any clues to Dom's real life. The bag would have been checked for valuables and then thrown out.
Tapping the mobile against her cheek, she considered her options. No use calling Sasha, he'd pooh-pooh her again, tell her to go home and knit.
“I know what will get his attention. Proof that something's up.” The stain, most certainly dried blood, should get the cop in him excited. She snapped a photo, texted 'call me', pressed the send icon, and waited.
Her mobile sang four minutes later.
“Aunt Tori, what the- where in Hades are you? And what's this photo?”
“It's a bloody shirt.”
“I can see that. Where are you, and what is it you expect from me?”
“I'm in Dom's boarding house room in the east end. The one I followed him to yesterday. He killed Reverend Andrew, I'm sure of it. I don't know why, but he did it.”
“Oh for—” Sasha aborted the expletive that burned on his tongue. “I can't let this go. Theo and I are on our way. Ten minutes. Text me the address and room number.”
Within the promised ten m
inutes, Sasha walked into the boarding house room, thunderbolts firing from his eyes.
“Did you tell Mr. Beef downstairs you were from the police?” he growled.
“If he said I did, he's lying. He assumed, I corrected him. Then he said to rent the room if I wanted access. So, I did.”
“He also remembered a woman called about her mental brother and today you show up with the same story. Explanation?”
Tori sucked in her lower lip. “It was me. I hoped to find out more about Dom.”
“Suppose he'd remembered the bag, came back and clobbered you. Or throttled you? Although I'm flirting with that idea myself.”
“It was a good ploy, though, wasn't it?”
Sasha shook his head, his lips pressed into a tight line.
“You're making an old man out of me before my time.”
While Sasha grilled his aunt, Theo surveyed the walls, strode to the window, looked out.
“Was this open when you came in?” Theo interrupted the duel between aunt and nephew. Tori held her breath and faced him. She hadn't seen him since Monday at the Cathedral. Spying on Dom had taken up all her brain real estate, pushing personal issues, including Theo, into a mental box labeled 'later'. Her gaze took in the dark shadow of stubble on his jaw, the exposed throat at his loosened collar, and the renegade wave of black hair drooping on his forehead.
“Yes.”
Tearing his gaze away from her, he turned to nudge the armoire door open with a latex gloved finger. He shone a small flashlight into its depths, sniffed and grimaced.
“Mice,” he said. “Well, since Tori is the legal occupant of the room, evidence isn't compromised. It makes our job easier. And we can't charge you with breaking and entering.”
“He made me pay an extra ten bucks.”
Sasha grinned and Theo shrugged as if to say 'c'est la vie'. “And I used a fictitious name.”
Sasha and Theo exchanged exasperated glances, then both men glared at Tori. Sasha's glance cut to his senior partner.
“Did you say something about making our job easier?”
“Okay, we'll deal with that later.” Theo fixed a dark, inscrutable gaze on Tori. Jaw clenched, he said, “I sure don't envy you if you have to testify. “Theo pulled an evidence bag from his pocket and stuffed the bloody shirt into it. “We'll have this analyzed pronto. If it's McAdam's blood, we have a suspect.” He lifted the mattress, poked at the tins and boxes on the table. “I'll tell the guy downstairs not to rent the room until he hears from us.”
Theo tapped out a number on his mobile. “I need blood tested. It may be related to the McAdam murder.” He paused, listened, rolled his eyes, then said, “It's a shirt, with what looks like dried blood stains on it.” He frowned, nodded, and continued. “Yeah, long shot. But if it turns out we've missed a clue, you know who's gonna have our asses.” The mobile chirped while Theo stared at the ceiling. “No, I'll bring it myself. But we'll need a forensic crew out here. There’s probably further evidence to process. Okay, thanks.”
Theo turned to face Tori. “You come with me. We need your prints for elimination, and a formal statement.” Theo waved Tori to the door, his features grim.
Sasha watched them go, eyes narrowed, a furrow between his brows.
TORI SAT IN THE BACK seat of the unmarked police car, feeling guilty. She could pretend to be someone too important for the front seat. Except the attractive chauffeur, whose gaze engaged hers in the rear-view mirror at stop lights, was an officer of the law escorting her to the police station. Her foolhardiness had set her up as a witness in a criminal investigation. Or just a meddling middle-aged woman if Sasha were given voice in her head.
When they arrived at the police station, Theo escorted Tori through a series of corridors to a lab where a technician recorded her prints on a digital machine. Afterward, the detective led his witness through another maze of corridors to a bleak windowless room. Theo switched on a laptop, stated the date, time, his name, Tori's name and the case number.
The edited version she gave of her activities leading up to the arrival of the detectives in Dom's room, seemed to satisfy him. Theo raised an eyebrow as she told him again she'd rented the room under a false name to snoop on Dom. Theo's relentless dark gaze never left her face. Although he didn't ask where the name came from, Tori felt sheepish for the vengeful act.
“I can't guarantee you won't be charged with interfering with a police investigation. I'll have this document printed for you to sign.” He closed the laptop, held her gaze for what seemed a very long time. He cleared his throat, then wordlessly rose, and left the room.
Tori recognised the look of a man who was either unable or reluctant to articulate suppressed feelings.
She took a deep breath, and the stale air stuck in her throat. Theo was out of bounds for her. The situation she was involved in was scary, possibly criminal, and he was a cop with a job to do. Even if her actions hadn't alienated him, there was still the matter of his estranged wife and two minor children. And, to add to the complications, he was younger than Tori by at least a dozen years.
Since the mastectomy, she’d lacked the courage to expose her body to a lover. She hadn’t wanted to give up sex, but she couldn’t see how anyone could love a woman with this kind of mutilation. Visualizing a possible scenario, she imagined the look on Theo's face when she slipped off her bra. He'd surely be disgusted by the flat chest and ten-inch diagonal scar. He'd have to know beforehand, of course, before anything got too intimate. She snapped out of the daydream. It was never going to happen.
Surveying the windowless, stuffy room, she reminded herself why she was there. Chances were good that the blood on Dom's shirt belonged to Reverend McAdam. Dom, in his disguise as a homeless man, must have argued with the priest, became enraged, picked up whatever was handy and struck the minister. Except that there hadn't been a statue of Judas in Reverend McAdam's office.
Theo walked back in, settled himself, and placed a folder on the desk between them.
“Are you okay? You look odd.” Tori blushed and held his gaze as she debated whether to share her thoughts about the murder weapon.
“I was thinking about the statue. I checked with Doris, and she said there was never a Judas statue in the Reverend's study. So, Dom intended to kill the Reverend all along.”
Theo leaned back, a half smile playing on his lips.
“The lab says the blood on the shirt belonged to McAdam. There was a detailed pawn shop receipt in the pocket of Domstater’s shirt for the purchase of a bronze Judas statue. We guess he planned to kill the priest, but we don't know why. Once he's in custody, maybe he'll tell us.” He took a two-page document out of the folder. “Read and sign, please.” Theo's hand hovered close to hers as he tapped the pages with his finger tips.
“Take your time, read carefully. It becomes record, including any errors.” He hunched over the table, brown eyes under black eyebrows focused on her face. “We better pray that he confesses. If you need to testify in court, you may be in deep trouble.”
“Will I have to go to jail?” Her heart burned a path from diaphragm to throat. She'd never been in jail, and wasn't keen on the experience.
“I really don't know. If they charge you with interfering in a police investigation, it's serious. A good lawyer and a sympathetic judge might ease the consequences. I suggest you hire a lawyer sooner rather than later.”
Tori's eyes widened, her lips formed a circle. Theo's gaze dropped to the table and then rose to meet hers. He reached across the table, and covered her hand with his. “I'm sorry to be so graphic, but you need to protect yourself. Let's hope he confesses once we confront him with the contents of the duffle bag. Let's hope the evidence is strong enough to neutralize his defense.” He released her hand and tapped the printed statement. “I'll come back in twenty minutes for this.”
As she read the transcript, she marveled that she'd been so bold, no, so reckless as to follow a strange man around the city in disguise. Thanks to the greedy
desk clerk, she'd avoided a charge of breaking and entering. Because she'd used a false name, she'd been conscious of possible wrong-doing. Surely Dom would confess. If not, she didn't know what would happen to her. All due to a vengeful act against a stupid intolerant girl working a minimum wage job. Even if she'd used her own name, the consequences would be the same. Whatever possessed her to do it? Hadn't it occurred to her there might be a price to pay for what started as a curiosity and, yes, a game? By pure chance, she'd exposed Dom as a possible, no probable killer but at what cost? To end up eviscerated by lawyers in court? Possibly end up in a cell next to Dom?
By the time Theo came back, she was drenched in cold sweat. She'd read the transcript twice and signed it. He glanced at her, reviewed the document, and signed underneath her signature.
“You're free to go now.” Tori rose and followed him toward the exit. “Are you okay to get home?”
“Yes, thanks.” Outside, she swayed, and shielded her eyes against the bright sun. The detective's fingers curled around her upper arm to steady her. He leaned in close.
“Because you're involved in this case, all communications between us or you with Sasha must be at arms length.
“But Sasha's family. I have to avoid him too?”
“Conflict of interest, Tori. It's only until this case is finished.”
“How long will that be?'
Theo shrugged. “I dunno. It depends.”
“Okay.”
Tori walked down the few steps to the street, holding on to the metal railing. Her body was a boneless shell that could crumple to the ground momentarily. The adrenaline that had kept her in high gear all day was used up. Yet, each leg moved her forward until she reached the commuter bus terminal.
