Page 59 of Killer Clone

Stella was sure Hagen would’ve been horrified by the fare on offer, but the smell made her hungry.

A priest stood by the wall near the long table, talking to a man in a dirty, stained trench coat. Three overstuffed shopping bags hung in each of the man’s hands.

Father Ted had sandy hair, combed untidily from a side-parting. He was clean-shaven with pale, smooth skin, and was tall and thin so that when he spoke to the homeless man, he had to bend his back a little.

As Stella drew nearer, she could hear what he was saying. “Just head through this door, Enrique, and ask for Mariella. She’ll set you up with a bed for the night, okay?”

Enrique nodded vigorously and waited for the priest to open the door. His own hands were too full to do anything but hold his worldly possessions.

Stella brought out her ID and introduced them. “Do you have time to answer a few questions?”

“Of course.” Father Ted glanced at the badge, but his attention was on Enrique making his way down the passage toward the shelter. “Just turn left at the end. You got it.” He waved and lowered his voice. “We only have twelve beds. More than two thousand unhoused men and women in this city. And twelve beds. Wild. Come.”

He led them to a smaller table in the corner of the room and waited for them to sit. Stella’s chair legs scraped as she pulled her seat out.

“Coffee? Soup? I think it’s a casserole for dinner today. We’re dependent on donors for the menu. Whatever supermarkets and restaurants are willing to share. I think it’s chicken. Might not be.”

Stella brought out her notebook. “We’re good, thanks. I think your diners need it more than we do.”

Father Ted grinned widely. The tips of his teeth were slightly brown, the result of too much coffee and, Stella assumed, a long-running nicotine habit.

“There’s enough to go around. We don’t run out here. There’s always something we can offer. But these guys really pack it away. I’ve met teenage athletes who couldn’t finish off what these people can pile on a plate.”

Stacy looked over at the long table. “They seem to enjoy it. You get regulars here?”

“Some. When people become regular, we try to get them permanent help. So it’s mostly newcomers. We’ve become a first stop for people arriving in town. People running away and trying not to be found. It’s important to put out a welcome matfor the city’s newest arrivals, however poor they are.” Father Ted pressed his palms on the table. “So how can I help you?”

“Otto Walker. I understand he volunteered here.” For Stella, it was strange to see so many people in need and to know that a man who’d bled a man to death once volunteered to help them. She was reminded of Maureen King and her desire to “save” her victims.

“Oh, Otto. Of course.” Father Ted pushed back a lock of sandy hair. He’d been confident and at ease when he’d talked about the work the shelter was doing. Now the weight of the world seemed to drop onto his shoulders and darken his expression. “His uncle told me what happened. Such a terrible, terrible thing.”

“What was your impression of Otto?”

Father Ted sighed. “He was a nice kid. Helped out here a couple of times a week. Quiet. Painfully shy. A little troubled, I thought, when I first met him.”

“Troubled?” Stacy tilted her head. Stella could imagine Stacy as a psychologist, probing patients gently for details about their dreams. “In what way?”

“Otto lost both his parents when he was young. I’m sure you know that. You could see that loss in him. Sometimes, I thought his parents took a piece of him with them when they passed. He rarely showed much interest in life. Was never excited or passionate. Didn’t laugh. Very little made him happy.”

“That must’ve been difficult.”

“A little. I hoped his job would help, and the volunteer work he did here. Sometimes, helping others can be the best way to help yourself. I think it did.”

“Why do you say that?”

“’He just seemed to be coming out of his shell a little in the last few weeks. Behaved with a new kind of purpose. I don’t know what it was, since it wasn’t his job.”

Stacy looked surprised. “At the funeral parlor?”

“Yes. It was a gamble. I wasn’t sure the apprenticeship would work, but he took to it. You need the stomach for it. And Otto had that. But I’m not sure if that was the cause of his change of mood. Perhaps he was starting to understand the good he could do for bereaved families? But again, I don’t know what else could’ve caused the shift.”

Stella had some idea. Again, she thought of Maureen King.

“What about friends? Did he ever speak of them?”

A woman came in and patted Father Ted on the shoulder as she passed. “I found him a bed and gave him some clean clothes. He’s taking a hot shower now. I think he’s ready to sleep, poor thing.”

“Thank you, Mariella.” Father Ted patted the back of her hand, then returned his attention to Stella. “Friends? No. I don’t think so.”

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