The Deadly Judas

by Mara Kalyn

  She sank into a seat on the bus, leaned her head against the window and closed her eyes. In spite of the potential trouble she was in, Theo's last words to her roiled in her exhausted brain. It didn't matter if she had no personal contact with Theo. They had nothing more to say to each other. She'd made it clear unless his marital status changed she wouldn't see him again.

  But no personal contact with her nephew, that hurt. Sadly, she admitted, she had no one to blame except herself.

  ~8~

  The Final Confrontation

  THE PREVIOUS EVENING, she'd obsessed over Theo's warning that she was in deep doo-doo. She'd woken twice during the night, terrified by nightmares of bars and concrete walls closing in on her. Morning came too soon, gray and weepy, matching her mood.

  In the morning, she woke with a knot in her gut that grew into full blown discomfort by the time she arrived in the city. The fitful morning drizzle had intensified into a deluge, forcing her to use the umbrella as a shield. At the top of the hill, the Cathedral's rain-darkened old stones contrasted against the wet glossy green of leaves and grass. Her artist’s eye interpreted the scene as a dark, matte stone set atop a square cut emerald. Red and yellow tulips drooped, beaten down by the force of the rain. Tori threaded through the usual line of commuters, many without umbrellas, who danced from foot to foot at the bus stop. Didn't anyone listen to the weather report before heading out? She shifted the umbrella to one side for a better view of the street. There was no sign of Dom on either corner. Whoever Dom really was, he'd accomplished his mission, and had no need for a disguise or a room in a boarding house.

  Let it go. You've gotten yourself in enough trouble already. Sasha and Theo will deal with this.

  A gusty wind slapped rain drops against her cheeks and forehead, and stung her eyes while she jiggled the key in the lock. Relieved to be inside, she propped the umbrella on the sill in her office, and hung the wet rain jacket over the back of a chair. In case Sasha or Theo called with news, she set her mobile to vibrate, and clipped the holster to the waistband of her skirt. In the kitchen, she leaned her back against the counter, arms crossed, waiting for the coffee to brew and a scone to toast. Yesterday's conversation with Theo disturbed her on many levels. The notion that she could face a criminal charge was terrifying. As was the fact that she was barred from social contact with both Sasha and Theo. Neither her sister nor their mother would be happy that Sasha couldn’t come to the annual family barbecue, scheduled for the next day. It was unlikely the case would resolve itself by then.

  The toaster oven dinged, and the coffee machine gave up its last burp. Tori gathered up the scone and coffee cup to take to her office. As the ancient computer struggled with every bit and byte needed to boot up, Tori pressed the flashing red button on the phone console. Miss Prig's cool, imperious voice demanded a call-back. The Bishop wanted to speak to Tori. The bite of scone she'd swallowed too quickly stuck in her throat. Coughing, tears pooling in her eyes, she washed it down with a gulp of too-hot coffee. The soggy morsel bumped down her esophagus in slow motion, and her tongue burned. Hopefully, she wouldn't burp it up in the middle of a conversation with the Bishop. Miss Prig answered and switched the call to the Bishop without preamble.

  Tori's voice was hoarse when she wished the Bishop good morning.

  “Good morning, Ms Carlin.” The Bishop paused. “Why are you whispering dear lady? Is something wrong?”

  “Nothing wrong, thank-you, Bishop. Something stuck in my throat.”

  “I see.” The chief man of God cleared his own throat. “The coroner's office has released Reverend McAdam's body. Would you be so good as to write up a short obituary to display on the bulletin board at Saint Mark's and Saint Anne's? The funeral service has been scheduled for next Wednesday, here at Saint Anne's. Of course, you'll send me the text to approve.”

  “Of course, Bishop. I'll start on it right away.”

  Tori broke the connection and swung around to face the computer. The obituary took a half hour to write. The back and forth before it was approved by the Bishop, took an additional forty-five minutes. She printed two copies to slip into the displays at the front of the Cathedral.

  The church interior was, as usual, silent. Lack of sun grayed out the stained-glass images in the windows. Humidity corrupted the usually pleasant fragrances, infusing them with mustiness.

  As Tori walked along the center aisle of the church, she felt a wave of gratitude for her life, health, family, friends and home. Never one to attach much weight to formal religion and religious practices, she none-the-less considered herself a spiritual person. She trusted the laws of the universe, especially that good eventually overcame evil. Her recent troubles were her own fault, not the universe. After a moment of silent contemplation to ask for guidance, she continued toward the front of the church. She inserted one notice into the indoor display, and stepped into the lobby between the inner and outer doors.

  Oddly, the doors to the street were shut. Since the priest's death, it had been Tori's job to unlock and open the doors wide, so worshipers had morning access to the church. Hadn't she done that this morning as usual, or was she losing her mind?

  Without warning, a pair of hands gripped her biceps and wrenched her arms backward. Tori gasped as shards of pain sliced through her shoulders. The man shoved her up the aisle, thrust her into a pew, and pinned her against the corner with his body. Eyes squeezed shut, she reopened them to a living nightmare.

  “How did you know?” Dom's elbow dug into Tori's ribs. Wincing, she massaged her aching upper arms and turned, facing him square on.

  “I didn't for sure, until you showed up here and assaulted me. Please move your elbow before you break my rib.” She leveled her best 'mommy's mad now' glare at Dom. He leaned back enough to give her space but still block any efforts to escape.

  “Why did you follow me?” Eyes narrowed, forehead wrinkled, Dom stared hard at her.

  “I didn't. Not at first. I buy my lunch at the canteen in the Gare Centrale. We happened to be walking in the same direction. I was puzzled when you didn't come out of the restroom. Later, I recognized your backpack and your habit of rubbing your left hip, but you'd ditched your homeless clothes. It was odd, so I followed you out of curiosity.”

  “What business was that of yours? Maybe it was an easy way to get extra cash.”

  Not that easy, Tori remembered. In her guise as a homeless woman, she'd collected ten dollars and change in donations. She'd also been chased out of a coffee shop and almost crippled herself walking in ill-fitting shoes. The only easy part had been resuming her normal suburbanite identity by a simple change of clothing.

  “What made you think I was following you?” She hoped stall tactics would throw Dom off balance until she figured a way out of this mess.

  “Well, I didn't think you were stalking me for my looks. Besides, you were trying too hard to look invisible. You passed by me every morning, so I recognized you at the rooming house. I figured whatever you were up to couldn’t be good for me.”

  “You saw me there?”

  “Yeah. Soon after I checked out, I missed the duffle. I went back, but there was a police cruiser in front of the boarding house. I watched from the coffee shop across the street. Then I see you and the dark-haired detective come out and drive off in an unmarked car. I figured the game was up.”

  “So why are you here? What do you plan to do with me?” Tori shrank to minimize contact with Dom, but he shoved his shoulder harder against hers.

  “Because it's your fault. I woulda got away if it wasn't for you. Nobody would have connected me, Joseph Domstater, with homeless Dom.”

  “So, you add another murder to your repertoire? Come on, you can't kill everyone who saw you as Dom.”

  Domstater hunched his back, elbows on thighs, and stared at the floor. His pose reminded her of Theo. The mobile phone clip dug into her hip as if offering a solution. Even though Domstater was distracted, she didn’t have enough freedom of movement to pull
out the mobile and tap out 911.

  Could she activate the recorder without alerting Domstater, and goad him into confessing? If he killed her, there would be a recording. Since she wasn't keen on dying, she had to keep him talking.

  Her captor stared at the altar, corners of his mouth turned down, his jaw slack. Tori's gaze followed his line of vision to the white tulips in vases on either side of the altar. Doris had an artists touch with flowers. Tori bit her lower lip. She couldn’t see her wrist watch, but she guessed Doris was due to arrive soon. This man was dangerous and unpredictable. If he'd murdered a husky, middle aged priest, a small, elderly woman did not present a challenge. Neither captor nor hostage heard Doris and Evan come through the door, whose hinges Reverend Andrew had finally oiled.

  “Dad? Why are you here?”

  Domstater uncoiled, and slammed his forearm against Tori's throat.

  “Don't move,” he growled as he turned to face his son. Tori's fingers clutched her attacker's arm. He increased the pressure against her throat. A dozen sparklers detonated behind her eyelids as she gasped for air.

  “Dad! Let her go.” Evan sprang across the front of the church and into the aisle. Tori took advantage of the momentary release of pressure against her throat to dig her nails into Dom's arm. Even though he reacted to the pain instinctively and loosened his hold, she was hemmed in by a waist-high side wall, bench backs in front and behind her, and a snarling, furious killer. She rubbed her throat, wondering if her voice box was crushed.

  “Dad, what's the matter with you? Why are you hurting this lady?”

  His gaze skimmed Tori. “I know you. You tried to help me the other day.”

  “She put the cops on my trail,” Domstater licked the scratches on his arm.

  “Why would the cops be interested in you?” Evan's gaze swung between Tori and his father.

  “Your dad may have accidentally killed Reverend Andrew,” Tori croaked. She didn't want to say allegedly, and the accidental part was a gross exaggeration. Still, she didn't want to enrage Dom again.

  “Why? The Reverend was nothing but kind to me.”

  “Your dad believes the Reverend should have helped you to change your orientation, not support you.” Her voice was still hoarse, muffled. It hurt when she massaged her aching throat.

  “It's not like a hairstyle you can change on a whim, Dad. I was born this way. Do you think I had a choice? I chose to be gay? Reverend Andrew helped me accept how I am. Dad, I was going to kill myself. I couldn't stand that you hated me because I'm gay. Reverend Andrew knew the pain of being different first hand. He taught me how to make peace with myself.”

  “But you brought a girl home.” Domstater said, confused. Skin flushed, eyes wide, he wanted Evan to confirm he'd thrown off the cloak of homosexuality and now conformed to his parent's expectations. This Evan liked girls, he'd marry and have children.

  Tori waited until Domstater was fully engaged with his son, surreptitiously unclipped her mobile from her waistband and pressed the yellow square that said Sasha. The young detective's voice was no louder than the whisper of the ceiling fan when he answered. Tori coughed softly, hand still pressed to her neck.

  “Tori? Is that you? What are you...”

  “Listen,” she paused, hoping Sasha would hear her and pick up on her cue. “Just listen to your son, Dom. Listen to what he's saying. He wanted to die because you wouldn't love him for the person he is. Now you're going to what? Kill us, then yourself? Like you killed Reverend Andrew?”

  If that wasn't enough to send Sasha, Theo and a couple of squad cars careening out on two wheels, sirens blaring, through Montreal traffic to get to St. Mark's, she didn't know what could. She glanced at her phone, but the screen was black. In any case, Sasha wouldn't speak in case Dom heard him.

  “Oh Dad,” Evan groaned. “What have you done? That wasn't a girl. Donny was a boy transitioning into a girl. I asked him to pretend to be my girlfriend, so you'd think I was heterosexual and love me again.” Dom pressed his fingers against his mouth.

  “But she had long brown hair, and breasts and a girl's curves.”

  “Hormones,” Evan shrugged. “Sunny was still a boy down there.”

  Domstater cringed. “Stop. This is disgusting.”

  “Even so,” Evan continued, despite his father's distress. “I couldn't stay with her. She liked girls, and I liked boys. Dad, I'm really sorry you can't accept me as I am.”

  Evan frowned as his father hunched down in the pew, every feature sharp with distress and pain.

  “What happened that morning, Dom?” Tori hoped that Sasha was still either listening or recording. Theo said a confession would make prosecution easier, and certainly save her own skin. If events were documented and recorded as they happened by a police detective, Tori figured nobody was entrapping anybody. Dom had walked into St. Mark's of his own volition and attacked Tori.

  Domstater's vacant stare acknowledged it was over. He'd done what he'd done for love of his son, and it was all for nothing.

  “I didn't mean to kill him. I was planning to, but I chickened out. When he said I should accept my son's perversion and live with it, I lost it. Next thing I knew, the priest was on the floor and there was blood everywhere. I panicked and ran.”

  “But why did you stick around afterward? Why didn't you just disappear? You might have gotten away with it.”

  “I didn't want to explain to my wife why I'd taken a leave of absence from my job. I had to pretend I was working. My leave is over in a week. I decided to tell her I took vacation time and go home.” Domstater hunched over, hands balled into tight fists, a deep furrow between his brows.

  “Why? He was a kind, sensitive man who tried to help people. What terrible thing did he do to deserve killing?” Tori hoped the cops would arrive soon. She didn’t know what Domstater would do when he was finished talking and realized he’d confessed murder to them.

  “He condoned evil. He led my boy astray with his perversions. These priests, they're pressured to stay celibate. It makes them wayward, poisons them. The sex drive was created for men and women for procreation. Everything else is deviant and evil.” Domstater's face grew red, his eyes bulged from under bushy brown eyebrows. “His mother should never have sent him to McAdam to be cured. Evan's our only child, and that priest made him into a queer. My wife looked forward to having grandkids. This so-called man of God took away our future. He took away the progeny of my son and killed our name. Evan's the last male Domstater. The priest told him it was okay to be perverted. That bastard was supposed to fix him, not encourage him to practice his evil ways.”

  Tori glanced in Doris's direction, but she'd disappeared while Domstater ranted. Evan stood there, devastated by his father's admission.

  “Dad, in today's world I can get married to the person of my choice, and have children through a surrogate. I have female friends who'd do it for me when I was ready. The Domstater name will not die, and I can live a full, happy life with the person of my choice. Reverend Andrew didn't take anything away. He showed me a new path to happiness. Mom will have grandchildren. But you, you'll miss out on that.”

  Focused on Evan's words, no-one heard the squeak from the front of the church. Tori suspected that a brigade of policemen now surrounded St. Mark's, and Doris was guiding a squad through the back entrance.

  Uniformed policemen filed in silently and surrounded them. One of the uniformed cops pulled Domstater out of the pew, handcuffed him, and dragged him up the aisle. There was no resistance left in the man; tears dribbled down his cheeks as he was taken away.

  Doris was back at Evan's side. She hugged him as two burly cops escorted his father from the church. The elderly woman led the young man toward the offices. A six foot something cop blocked their way. Doris paralyzed him with a defiant glare only a white-haired four-foot ten little black woman could carry off. The big man waved her through. Tori repressed a chuckle; the elephant and the mouse.

  Sasha and Theo entered the church as th
e killer was taken out. Sasha strode to the end of the pew where Tori still sat and glared at his aunt.

  “Are you okay? What in blazes am I going to do with you? Didn't I ask you, no, tell you, to keep your nose out of this? I'm tempted to slap the cuffs on you too. I don't know what I'd charge you with, but I'll find something. Better yet, I'll squeal on you to Grandma.”

  “Yeah. He'll charge you with scaring him to death.” Theo waved Sasha toward the door. “Go. You're too close to be effective here.”

  Sasha pressed his lips into a grim line, and muttered “and you aren't?” before he stalked away, shoulders stiff.

  Theo waited until Sasha was out of sight, then sat beside Tori. He stretched his arm across the back of the bench.

  “Did he hurt you? Your voice is rough.”

  “No. Maybe. Just a little. It was petrifying. I couldn't breathe, let alone cry out.” Tori massaged her throat. “It freaked him out when Evan and Doris arrived.”

  “You might want to have your neck checked out. There might be internal bruising or something. I'm sorry, but I'm going to have to interview you. Again.”

  Theo's unreadable dark gaze rested on the altar. His pupil size melted into the deep brown of his irises. An asset when interviewing suspects, Tori thought, but not much use if a woman wanted to read his level of interest in her. “Sasha was right. You willfully put yourself in harm's way. This man is a religious zealot, a mentally unstable killer.” Tori didn't move, in case a part of her inadvertently touched a part of him. He withdrew his arm, and pulled a notebook out of his blazer pocket.

  “Were you able to hear what he said?” Tori asked softly.

  Theo nodded. “We recorded it. It'll be used to prompt his confession. Hard to recant when they hear themselves admitting to a crime. In any case, we've got the bloody shirt and the receipt for the murder weapon, thanks to you. Although if you must testify, the prosecution will tear your testimony apart. I don't think they'll spare you just because Domstater attacked you in the end.” Tori nodded, both horrified and terrified at the notion. Sasha would probably throw her to the wolves just to teach her a lesson. Could she count on Theo to protect her? The detective opened his notebook.