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“Perhaps in a sense. However, that Roman Pererra is long gone and is now Josiah Balfour.”
“I think you need to explain.”
He looked distraught and used both hands to massage the sides of his head. “I wasn’t a God-fearing person. In fact, I didn’t believe in God at all. I may even have pretended he didn’t exist and mocked those who believed. I did many evil things, but God has forgiven me.” His face took on a beatific expression. “While I was serving a three- to five-year sentence for larceny, they placed me in a cell with a lifer. A man named Nate Jerskin serving two consecutive life sentences for murder from when he was a drug dealer in Baltimore. He had found Jesus with the help of another prisoner. At first, I mocked him, as I always did with holy-rollers, but as the months went by, I found myself listening more and more. This was the first time I’d been sentenced to more than a few months. By the time a year passed, I had started to despair not only the years I had left inside but the realization that my old life would either have me dead or spending most of the rest of that life behind bars. Nate talked to me patiently, until one day it seemed like a voice from God warned me I had trod the wrong path in life. I came to believe God wanted to love me if only I changed.”
Greta thought, Not exactly my understanding of God’s love, but it’s his story.
“Right there in the cell that night, I accepted Jesus Christ as my Savior and said that I would dedicate the rest of my life to teaching his word and trying to bring others to his grace. Three days later, I got word that an early parole came down, due to prison overcrowding. How could I see this any way other than God’s grace touching me after my conversion? Since then, I’ve done all I can to atone for my earlier life. It’s been hard. On the other hand, no one ever said the Lord’s work was easy.”
“Okay, but why go by a different name?”
“As much as I wanted to help people, my past caught up with me on the first couple of jobs. The first one they did a criminal records check. The results came back after I’d been working a week. They fired me on the spot. The second time I worked for almost a year at a factory when I witnessed a coworker attack the foreman. They were going to call me to testify at a trial when the defense ran checks on the witness list and uncovered my past. They ended up dropping the case, and two weeks later they ‘laid me off’ as part of a supposed reduction in staff. A cutback of one.
“I also had started a small church and preached on Sundays. A couple of other workers at the plant attended. When word got out about my past, almost everyone quit coming. That’s when I decided that to accomplish anything for the Lord, I needed to completely put my past behind me. I legally changed my name to Josiah Balfour. I have the court papers if you’d like to see them.
“After that, I moved to Tennessee for two years, right outside Memphis. I had a small congregation there and worked in an auto-repair shop. It was going okay, but I didn’t quite fit in. I was a little too much of a Midwesterner for the locals. That’s when I came to Oregon, and the last five years I’ve felt as if I’ve found the place God wants me to witness and minister.”
“I’ll want to see those papers you say you have,” said Greta. “Even if your story holds up, there might be some laws you’ve broken by keeping your record secret. And what about your parole? Weren’t you supposed to have a parole officer to report to?”
“I did for the first six months. Then there were further cutbacks, and they issued blanket shortened paroles for non-violent offenses.”
I wonder if Jasmine searched deep enough? Greta thought. Are parole details kept in the accessible databases?
Balfour . . . or Pererra . . . looked up at her with a resigned expression.
“Does this mean my past will be revealed here? I know I did wrong, but I served the time they gave me, and I’ve done the best I could to serve the Lord these last years. Am I going to lose my place here again and have to move on?”
Greta sighed. This wasn’t going where she’d anticipated. Instead of warily confronting a felon hiding out and possibly having something to do with the Toompas murder, she seemed to be on another extraneous tangent. Interesting . . . and it had nothing to do with the case.
“I’ll need to see those papers about the name change, and I assume you have your parole papers. I’ll also do some other checking around. If everything looks okay, I don’t see the need to make any formal reports or let anyone else know about your background. If it all checks out.”
Balfour’s eyes moistened. “Thank you, Deputy Havorsford! May the Lord bless and keep you. I swear every person I help here will have you to thank, even though they won’t know it. Please come to the church and see for yourself what I try to do.”
He showed her all the paperwork. Everything looked official. He had served his time, gotten early parole, and legally changed his name. She would still run checks, though she now believed this was just another dead end.
I suppose this is a reality check, Greta thought. Not like the movies or TV where the clever detective solves the case in an hour or two.
Despite her attempt to console herself, she felt both discouraged and bemused. She was finding out that more lay under the surface around Tillamook County than most people suspected.
After she examined his paperwork, he walked with her to the entrance double doors.
“Thank you again, Deputy Havorsford, and please come to the service again. I’m here to spread the good word about how Christ has arisen, and the fellowship within my congregation is something to experience.”
“Thanks,” she said, “but I’m Catholic and not inclined to change.”
He laughed. “Oh, I’m not trying to recruit, but God’s messages can be heard from many different sources. I don’t claim any one is better than the others. For myself, all I can do is share my belief.”
He offered a hand, and after a moment’s hesitation, Greta gave it a quick shake.
“Good day, Reverend.”
“And to you, Deputy. Have a good rest of the day.”
He stayed outsi
de the church and watched her walk to her vehicle and drive away. Only when she turned the corner did his eyes narrow, his lips purse, and both hands clench as they hung to his side.
How in God’s name did she find out about my past? he wondered. His mind had been in turmoil ever since she’d said, “Roman Pererra.” It had taken all of his practice at maintaining a carefully crafted façade to stay in role.
