“Oh, right! The spirits of Christmas Past, Present, and Future.”
Brother Dom nodded. “And through those visits, Scrooge is made to remember the man he once was, examine the man he truly is, and consider the man he might still be. Most important of all, Clare, Scrooge makes a decision about the man he no longer wants to be.”
“And you’re telling me that single book changed Alf’s perspective?”
“A single chapter, actually. You see, Alf lost everything—his worldly clothes were stripped away. And when that happens to a man or woman, he or she has nowhere to hide any longer. That human being must face the ultimate question of identity: Who am I? Without my clothes and job and worldly goods? Without even my friends and family? What is it that makes me who I am? And more important, who do I want to be in this life and in this world?”
Brother Dom’s voice was deep and strong and full of earnest passion. I could see the fire in his eyes, the certainness of his purpose and place in the world. He was a natural minister, and hearing him speak helped me understand something more about my late friend. Alfred Glockner hadn’t gotten out of the dark woods all by himself. He’d followed in the footsteps of a man who knew the way.
“When we crossed paths,” Brother Dom continued, “Alf was simply looking for work. The Traveling Santas do make money for their time. They work hard and they take a percentage of what they collect. But before one of my Santas puts on that beard and red coat, I have a long talk with him over coffee—”
He lifted his paper cup and winked at me.
“I then ask our aspiring Santa to read A Christmas Carol. Alf took the book the day we talked and came back to me. He stopped reading after one chapter.”
“Why?”
“Because that’s all he needed to read.”
“I don’t understand.”
Brother Dom motioned for me to follow him. I did. We moved out a door, away from the loud hum of the talking crowd and into a long, quiet hallway that had been whitewashed clean—but then covered anew with colorful posters and photos. There were families and children beaming at me, smiling elderly people, waving groups of men. I got the impression they were people that Dom’s organization had helped. He confirmed it. Finally, the man opened another door, ducked inside, and came out again.
“Read the book, Clare,” he said, handing me a worn copy of Charles Dickens’s beloved tale. “I think you’ll see what Alf saw. There’s a passage at the end of the first chapter that moved the man to tears, made him understand that it wasn’t too late for him to change his perspective. I’m glad he had that reconciliation before he died.”
“Thank you for this,” I said, holding up the book. “My life’s been crazy busy lately, but I’ll read it soon.”
“That’s the trouble with the holidays,” Dom said with a smile. “People forget the reason—”
“—for the season, I know!”
As we walked back to the wake, I glanced again at the array of faces on Dom’s hallway walls and asked about this year’s donations. Given the economy, I expected the news wouldn’t be great, and it wasn’t.
“Donations are low this year, I’m afraid. I doubt very much we’ll meet our goal.”
“I’m sorry to hear it.”
“A sad irony—with the top rungs feeling the pinch, hands remain clenched. But the people on the bottom rung need help more than ever. Losing Alf is tough for that reason, too. His collections were among the highest in the city, right behind his roommate, Karl Kovic.”
Karl—that’s right. “I’ve wanted to talk to Karl, Brother Dom. But I don’t know what he looks like. Can you introduce me?”
“I wish I could, but Karl didn’t come to the service today.”
I stopped walking. That sounded wrong. “He didn’t come to the memorial service of his own roommate?”
“That’s right.” Dom turned to face me.
“Why not? Do you know if they were estranged?”
Brother Dom sighed and folded his arms. “The two were longtime friends—since high school. It was Karl who introduced Alf to me and got him the job as a Traveling Santa.”
“Then why isn’t he here?”
“I’m afraid it’s my fault.”
“Your fault?”
Dom nodded. “Word came to me a few days ago that Karl has been rather, well—naughty.”
“Naughty?”
“It’s not a sin what he did, you understand, just not something I approved of. He was shooting YouTube celebrity sightings while on duty as a Traveling Santa.”
“Celebrity sightings?”
Dom shook his head, obviously embarrassed. “The Traveling Santa suit let him blend into the background on the Upper West Side—the area Karl’s been covering for several years now. Because he was roaming the city streets all day, he decided to keep his eyes peeled for celebrities, actors, TV stars entering boutiques and shops or eating at restaurants. He filmed them with a small camera, and then he’d approach those establishments and ask if they wanted to buy the footage. Many of them did, and then they’d release it—usually to the Internet for viral publicity.”
“Karl took kickbacks for celebrity photography?” I remembered that footage the guys at the Blend were discussing of actor Keith Judd shopping at some Upper West Side boutiques.
“It’s legal,” Dom pointed out. “He was filming in public places. And whether the store owners paid or didn’t pay was entirely up to them. It was simply a form of advertising. But I didn’t consider it a good reflection on our charity. So I decided to clip his wings. I told him I was taking him off the street and putting him to work in our offices. He didn’t like that. We argued and he quit. Karl’s not the most patient man. I’ve tried ministering to him, but he’s remained hard—a much harder case than Alf ever was.”
As we returned to the party, more people came up to speak with Brother Dom. I thanked him for his time and the book, and stepped away, considering his words.
If Karl Kovic was filming video on the Upper West Side for money, was Alf doing the same thing in the Village? The two men were old friends. They shared the same apartment. They were both Traveling Santas...
The economic downturn meant retail businesses needed every advantage to pack shoppers into their stores. Most would pay for that advantage. Alf probably saw that kind of thing as helping the stores anyway—it certainly helped mine.
It was all legal, too, just like Dom said, but what if Karl and Alf wanted a bigger payday? Ben Tower was a professional photographer who was able to get big payoffs for celebrity photos like the ones Madame had just shown me in Gotham Gossip of James Young and Phyllis Chatsworth.
Could Karl and Alf have gotten involved in that kind of photography, too?
That’s when it hit me. The pictures of Young and Phyllis, the timing of that day—it all added up! Suddenly, I knew why Alf was on James Young’s balcony—it wasn’t to burglarize his place! Pulling out my cell phone, I strode swiftly back to that quiet hallway and speed-dialed Madame’s cell.
She answered immediately. “Yes?”
“It’s Clare. Are you with Ben Tower, by any chance?”
“Why, yes. We’re having drinks right now at a bar on—”
“Tell Tower you’re hearing from a source right now who’s confirming that he’s been buying photos from Alfred Glockner and Karl Kovic.”
“Yes. Hold please.”
I heard some low voices in the background. Then Madame’s voice more clearly. “I cannot reveal my source, Ben.”
Madame came back on the line. “Yes, Ben is confirming what you’ve discovered.”
Oh, my God. “Put me on with him.”
“Are you sure, dear? I thought you were trying to remain anonymous?”
“It doesn’t matter now.”
“Hello? Who is this?” Ben’s voice was familiar—a little tentative and also a little slurry. Madame wasn’t stupid. Treating a man like Ben to a liquid lunch would loosen his tongue in record time!
“This is Clare Cosi, Mr. Tower.”