A Fool's Journey

by Judy Penz Sheluk

  “Your word is sufficient,” Adam said.

  “With that assurance, will you tell us what you know?”

  “Yes, and not just because it’s the right thing to do. Frankly, I’m tired of carrying Brandon on my shoulders. All I ask is that you allow me tell this my way.”

  Lorna, Jeanine, and I nodded in unison. Michael slumped deeper into himself, defeated, humbled.

  “I first met Brandon in May 2000 on a bus traveling from Winnipeg to Regina,” Adam began. “Looking at him was like looking in the mirror, people on the bus thought we were brothers. The trip took the better part of a day, giving us plenty of time to talk. He said he was Brian Cole, from the Toronto area, on the road since March, taking odd jobs in Sudbury, Sault Ste. Marie, Thunder Bay, and Winnipeg. However, he struck me as someone unused to living rough. He was well-groomed, almost too careful with his appearance, even put a paper napkin across his knees before he ate.”

  “He was fastidious like that, even as a child,” Lorna said. “Never could stand to have crumbs fall on his clothes.”

  “I had the impression he missed his family. He talked about his childhood at his Nana Ellie and Grandpa Tom’s cottage, the things he’d do when he was there. His face lit up when he spoke about his mother and sister. The only time his face clouded over was when I asked about his dad. He said his stepfather despised him and his real father didn’t know he existed.”

  That brought a small gasp from Lorna, but she stayed silent.

  “We were halfway to Regina when Brian showed me his tattoo of The Fool, which he’d had completed in Sudbury. He was so proud of that tattoo, and spoke about the artist who’d designed it, Sam Sanchez, and how the two of them had been friends since college.” Adam gave a wry smile. “Unfortunately, Brian didn’t mention that Sam was short for Samantha. If it hadn’t been for that…”

  “If it’s any consolation, I suspected you were an imposter long before that,” Jeanine said. “There were just too many things you didn’t remember. I would have insisted on a DNA test eventually.”

  “It was just a matter of time, wasn’t it? Anyway, we stayed together when we arrived in Regina and found ourselves a spot in a shelter. We were there about a week, running out of time for the maximum stay allowed, and Brian was depressed because he couldn’t find work. One night he gave me his backpack. He said he’d never find a job lugging it around like a homeless guy. He made me promise to take care of it until he returned. Except he didn’t return, not that day, and not the next.”

  Adam’s face had lost all color, and I knew that we were finally arriving at the moment of truth. I leaned forward as his voice sank to a near whisper.

  “Two days later, I read about an unidentified man who had died after stepping into the path of an eastbound train. He died instantly, the death ruled accidental. The police sketch wasn’t a particularly good likeness of Brian. There was also a vague description of what remained of a tattoo, but he’d been hit by a train, so…” Adam’s voice trailed off, then, “I should have gone to the police, but I was on probation for shoplifting in Toronto and wasn’t supposed to leave Ontario. Visions of incarceration stopped me.”

  I stared at Adam. If he’d come forward all those years ago, Brandon’s family would have had a chance to move on with their lives. Instead, his selfishness had cost them the better part of two decades. “You could have phoned in an anonymous tip,” I said. “Something that would have given the police something to go on.”

  “I could have. I didn’t. Instead, I searched his backpack. I removed what little money there was, and a folder filled with sketches of tarot cards. I thought I might be able to sell those. I tossed his backpack, clothes and all, in a dumpster, and bought myself a bus ticket to Toronto. I’ve lived there ever since. I tried to look for Brian’s family. I checked the Toronto phone book, but there were a lot of Coles, and I didn’t know the name of his parents, or where they lived. I gave up and concentrated on building a proper life for myself. I found a job, an apartment, even a girlfriend for a while, not that we lasted.”

  “When did you learn that Brian Cole was Brandon Colbeck?” I asked.

  “About three months ago there was a story in the Toronto Sun about the Ontario Registry of Missing and Unidentified Adults. It reminded me of Brian. Despite what you think about me, I wanted to know who he was. I entered ‘Brian Cole’ in the Search for Missing Adults database, but nothing came up. I left the name field blank and entered 2000 under ‘Year Missing.’ That brought up a dozen hits. And there, under the name of Brandon Colbeck, was a photo of Brian Cole. I clicked on the link, found the age-progressed sketches, and to my surprise, found I still looked like him. I read the articles in the Marketville Post. I had an idea, call Eleanor Colbeck, Brandon’s Nana Ellie. Except the call went badly. I decided it wasn’t worth the risk. I’ve been on the right side of the law for almost twenty years and things were going well. But the company I’d been working for filed for bankruptcy, which meant no severance pay. I had some savings, but Toronto is an expensive city. My girlfriend left. Nothing left to lose, right? I found the website for Westlake & Associates, called Michael and told him I had information about Brandon. I thought he’d offer me a reward. Instead he offered me a proposition.”

  45

  Two weeks had passed since my final meeting with the Colbeck-Westlake family. I was sitting with Chantelle in a private room at UnWired, celebrating the end of the case. We were sipping on complimentary glasses of insanely expensive champagne. Apparently you needed to know the proprietor to be allowed access to both the room and the insanely expensive champagne, or that’s what Ben Benedetti told me. I don’t want to jinx things, but I have a good feeling about that guy.

  “Okay, Callie, no more stringing me along,” Chantelle said. “When are you going to fill me in on the Brandon Colbeck case?”

  “I haven’t been stringing you along. I promised Lorna and Jeanine my report would be kept confidential. I’ve spent the better part of the last few days trying to convince them that, as my business partner, you deserve to know what happened. They finally consented, or should I say relented, this morning. I’ve informed Levon and Arabella they can discontinue their research on Nestor Sanchez. As for Misty and Shirley, the official statement is the case has been solved, but due to legalities, details can’t be released. That would have been my last word to you too, but you kept badgering me.”

  “I’m very good at badgering,” Chantelle said, taking a generous swig of champagne. “Just ask Lance the Loser or that size zero adolescent he’s been dating. Apparently she doesn’t care for me calling my ex.”

  So we were back to Lance the Loser. “She’s probably just insecure,” I said. “I would be too, if someone who looked like you was my boyfriend’s ex.”

  “Fiancé, not boyfriend. And don’t give me that look because I don’t want to talk about it. What I want to talk about is how you closed the case.”

  It took me a good hour to fill her in and I didn’t have all the answers. No one knew if Brandon’s death had been an accident or suicide, or what had actually motivated Michael to ask Adam to impersonate Brandon. Why was he so concerned about someone digging around in his past? I suspected there were hidden skeletons that went far beyond Brandon’s bones, but it wasn’t our case any longer. I said as much to Chantelle.

  “Michael Westlake is a mystery. I haven’t been able to find a single trace of him prior to 1986 when he formed his business, but I plan to keep digging.”

  “No, don’t do that. Leith made it very clear that I had to back off the case completely. The last thing we need is a claim of harassment, or worse, a lawsuit filed by Westlake.”

  “Point made and taken,” Chantelle said. “What I don’t understand is why Adam finally decided to sell the tattoo flash. I mean, he kept it for almost twenty years.”

  “Adam never wanted to sell it. It was Michael’s idea. The plan was to tell Jeanine that Brandon had sold it to Light Box Auction Gallery, but that he regretted his
decision. Michael thought Jeanine would go to the gallery, recognize the flash by Nestor Sanchez as the sketches Brandon had taken with him, and she would think it was really Brandon who had come back. Their plan backfired. What they didn’t know was that Jeanine had never actually seen the flash, or that she’d thought that it was ‘flesh art,’ or porn. What she did know was that her brother treasured those sketches enough to take them with him when he was willing to leave the rest of his life behind. When the man claiming to be Brandon informed her he’d sold it, it made her all the more suspicious.”

  “Hmmm,” Chantelle said. “That leaves one final question.”

  “Shoot.”

  “We’re talking about two open cases, one person missing, and one unidentified. If the family doesn’t want to report Adam’s impersonation of Brandon, how will those cases get closed?”

  “It took a bit of gentle persuasion, but Adam stepped up and did the right thing, albeit anonymously. He emailed Lucy Daneluk at the Ontario Registry of Missing and Unidentified Adults using something called a VPN—a virtual private network—to conceal his identity.” I grinned. “I gather Lucy grilled him thoroughly, but he never wavered from his story, that he traveled and got to know Brandon a.k.a. Brian on the bus from Winnipeg to Regina, that they stayed in a shelter together, looked unsuccessfully for work, and that Brian had been killed by an eastbound train. When she was convinced that Adam was telling the truth, Lucy contacted Detective Aaron Beecham at the Cedar County Police Department.”

  “What finally convinced her?”

  “The longer Adam talked, the more Lucy was reminded of a cold case listed on the Registry, an unidentified young man who died by walking into a train, and in Regina. The two sets of composite sketches and reconstructions only slightly resembled Brandon. Lucy said only once she thought the two cases were connected she could see some similarity.”

  “Wow. To think that the whole time the answer was on the Registry.”

  “I think Lucy’s beating herself up about it, not that she should. That woman is tireless in her efforts and even the police didn’t see the connection. Anyway, Beecham took over and immediately contacted the Regina Police Cold Case Unit.”

  “The wheels of justice aren’t so slow after all.”

  “Yes and no. Luckily Brandon didn’t die that long ago, and it’s standard procedure to keep DNA records on file for John and Jane Doe cases. The police are running the necessary DNA tests. Later, Lorna and Jeanine can request the photos of the body taken by the Coroner’s Office.

  Chantelle shuddered. “Maybe they won’t want to see those, but I get your point. Now that they know where and how Brandon died, they can get more information.”

  “Exactly. That process will take time, but no one doubts that the deceased man in Regina was Brandon, least of all the Colbeck-Westlakes. After the legalities are out of the way, they’ll bring Brandon home.”

  “It’s not closure,” Chantelle said, “but at least those who loved him finally have some answers.”

  At least those who loved him finally have some answers. All but one person.

  I looked at my phone. Not quite nine o’clock. Trust Few closed at 9:30. If I hurried, I could still make it. I would call Ben later, thank him for the exclusive use of the room, the champagne, explain why I had to leave in the middle of a supposed celebration.

  “I’m sorry, Chantelle, I have to go.”

  “At this hour? Where to?”

  “I’ve been thinking about getting a tattoo.”

  * * *

  The End

  Acknowledgments

  I am exceedingly grateful for the support of family, friends, and fans as I immersed myself into Callie’s world once again. While space precludes me from listing everyone, I would be remiss if I didn’t recognize the following individuals:

  My three beautiful nieces: Ashley Sametz for helping me create Sam Sanchez and her world of tattoos and tattoo artists; Rebecca Sheluk, MSW, for authenticating the voice and knowledge of Jeanine Westlake; and Leah Patrick for finding the perfect location in Burlington for Light Box Auction Gallery.

  Author Cori Lynn Arnold, for her recommendation of keylogger software, and Michael Benedetti for his expertise in the IT world, circa 2000. Any mistakes in technology are mine alone.

  Lusia Dion, founder and owner of Ontario’s Missing Adults, and the inspiration behind Lucy Daneluk and the Ontario Registry of Missing and Unidentified Adults.

  Ti Locke, every author’s dream editor, and Victoria Gladwish for her hawk-eyed proofreading.

  Last, but not least, my heartfelt thanks to my husband, Mike, for his unfailing love, faith, and encouragement on every step of this writer’s journey.

  Author’s Note

  The inspiration for A Fool’s Journey came to me after reading a newspaper article about a young man who had gone missing fifteen years earlier. Despite the family’s constant search, no one—not family or friends—has seen or heard from him in the decade and a half since his disappearance.

  The story haunted me. I carefully clipped out the article and went to the website referenced: Ontario’s Missing Adults. Overwhelmed by the sheer number of unsolved cases featured, I contacted the site’s founder and owner, Lusia Dion. Compassionate, completely invested in her mission, and unfailingly helpful in mine, Lusia helped me flesh out Callie’s newest case, that of Brandon Colbeck, who disappeared in March 2000. Much later, John Doe of Regina was introduced to the novel.

  While the character of Brandon Colbeck is a compilation of several missing persons, John Doe of Regina is based upon an actual case of an unidentified man. Despite this, A Fool’s Journey is a work of fiction. It is, however, my hope that this novel leads to a positive outcome for locating any missing person, as well as the identification of John Doe of Regina. Visit missingadults.ca and search for SK-UM-1995-07-00108 (John Doe, Regina) for additional information.

  About the Author

  Judy Penz Sheluk is the author of the Glass Dolphin Mystery and the Marketville Mystery series. Her short stories appear in several collections, including The Best Laid Plans: 21 Stories of Mystery & Suspense, which she also edited.

  In addition to writing mysteries, she spent many years working as a freelance writer and editor; her articles have appeared in dozens of U.S. and Canadian consumer and trade publications.

  Judy is a member of Sisters in Crime National, Toronto, and Guppy Chapters, International Thriller Writers, the Short Mystery Fiction Society, South Simcoe Arts Council, and Crime Writers of Canada, where she serves on the Board of Directors.