Date: Fri, 19 Apr 2002 16:22:03 EDT
From: MystryAuthr@aol.com
Subject: Chapter 12 of The Truth of Yesterday

Here is Chapter 12 of The Truth of Yesterday. I hope you are enjoying this
installment of the Killian Kendall mystery series. Some big news has been
announced on the website concerning one of the earlier books in the
series. Visit the website to find out more.

http://www.steliko.com/bleedinghearts

Email me with comments at Aterovis@aol.com


Chapter 12

	As Razi blew through the door, I was afraid it was going to be the
worst case scenario.

	"Damn it, Tad, I don't know why you have to lock this place up like
fucking Fort Knox. I feel like I'm in jail. And there's a creepy girl
lurking around in the hallway. Do you know what that's about?" His verbal
barrage came to a screeching halt when he spotted me standing awkwardly by
the chair. Immediately, his expression changed into a semblance of
pleasantry. "Hi, I remember you. You're Micah's little friend, right?"

	I tried not to bristle at the condescension in his voice. "My
name's Killian."

	"Like the beer," he said. He was wearing obviously expensive
clothing, dark slacks with a high quality white button-down shirt open at
the collar. The white shirt set off his dark complexion and his black hair
was pulled back into a pony tail at the nape of his neck. "So what do I owe
the pleasure of your company?" he asked. He spoke English with only the
slightest hint of an accent, but his careful pronunciation made me think
that it wasn't his native tongue.

	"I'm a private investigator," I told him. His eyes widened in
surprise for a second, but his polite mask quickly slipped back into
place. This guy was an excellent actor; I would have to watch every
nuance. "Micah has asked me to look into Paul's murder."

	"Paul Flynn?" he asked.

	I nodded.

	"Is that why you were at Michelangelo's? I thought you were dating
Micah."

	"I was-I am dating Micah. He didn't even know Paul was dead before
he ran into you."

	"Oh. Well, what do you want with me?"

	"I'd like to talk to you. You knew Paul, you knew what his life was
like, you were the one who found him."

	"I don't know what I can tell you."

	"Can we sit down?"

	"Oh yes. Please excuse my horrible manners. Sit down."

	I took the chair I'd been sitting in before, and Razi took Tad's
place in the couch. When Tad made a move to sit down next to him Razi shot
him a look that I couldn't quite interpret but Tad seemed to have no such
trouble. He paused for just the slightest second, then cast a quick glance
in my direction before leaving the room.

	"Now we can talk in private," Razi said, watching Tad leave the
room. "I hope you weren't here too long with just him. He's not the most
fascinating conversationalist."

	I shrugged. "We were fine. I like him, he's a nice kid." His eyes
narrowed slightly at the word kid but he didn't comment. "Is he related to
you?" I asked innocently, as if I hadn't just received the whole story of
how he'd ended up here.

	"Do we look related?" Razi asked with an arched eyebrow. I was
having a hard time guessing his age. The closest I could get it was in his
20's, but he had the type of hawkish features that make it hard to pin it
any closer than that.

	I shrugged in answer. "I've known siblings who didn't look anything
alike."

	"We'd certainly be disparate siblings. No, we're not related. He's
a friend. I'm doing him a favor. He needed a place to live; I let him stay
here in exchange for cleaning the place and a few other small favors."

	"That's really kind of you," I said, hoping I was keeping the
sarcasm out of my voice. Something of it must have slipped through because
his eyes narrowed again, although the rest of his face remained set in its
carefully bland expression.

	"I know what it's like to be in his position."

	"Really?"

	"Yes, but that has nothing to do with the subject at hand. You came
to talk about Paul."

	It wouldn't be as easy to weasel information out of Razi as it had
been with Tad. Tad was younger, naïve and innocent in many ways, and
looking for someone to trust and confide in. Razi was older, more
experienced, and obviously a lot more suspicious.

 	"Yes, I did. How well did you know him?"

	"He was one of the very few people I called friend."

	"What was he like?"

	"Nice. Kind. Good." He shrugged. "I know those words sound empty
but they describe Paul very well."

	"He was an escort?" I didn't mean anything by the question, but I
could tell Razi took it wrongly. His body stiffened and his jaw tightened.

	"Yes, he was an escort. That doesn't make him any less nice, kind,
or good. Paul had his reasons, he had his story."

	"What do you mean?"

	"We all have stories. Most of us get into it for the money; some of
us need it more than others. Paul was a senior in college when he decided
to come out to his parents. They were very religious and didn't take it
very well. They cut off all his support. He had to finish out the year and
one of his friends was in the business so they got him an interview. He was
perfect; he has this sort of innocence about him that the clients just
loved. He was so successful that he stayed in it even after he
graduated. You make more money on your own since there's no middleman, so
most guys go solo eventually. They don't usually stay with an agency. Paul
did."

	"Why?"

	"I guess he wasn't the ambitious type. He said he was making plenty
of money and he didn't have to do anything but show up for his
appointments." He shrugged. "Who can argue with that?"

	"What about his family?"

	"What about them?"

	"You said they didn't approve of his being gay."

	"That would be putting it mildly. More like they totally flipped
out; told him he was a sinner and going to hell, the whole works. They
wouldn't have anything to do with him for a long time. His father died and
he had to find out from the newspaper. That was really hard on him. He went
to the funeral and no one would even acknowledge him. But then a few weeks
later his mother called and he started going to see her every once in a
while."

	"How was that?"

	"I don't really know. Paul didn't talk about it really. He was very
reserved. He never really told you how he was feeling. Sometimes it was
obvious, like when his father died, but most of the time you never really
knew what was going on in his head."

	"Do you know if the rest family was still antagonistic?"

	"I don't know. For all I know they were still preaching at him
every time he went over there. I think he would have put up with it if it
meant seeing his mother again."

	"Did you ever meet them?"

	He let out a short bark of laughter. "You must be joking. No, I was
the last person Paul wanted to introduce his family to; his family was
rather racist as well as religious zealots."

	"So you don't really know if any of them were unbalanced or
anything?"

	"Are you thinking one of them killed him? I don't think so. It
would seem to me as if they would have done it a long time ago if they
wanted to kill him."

	"How long ago did his dad die? Maybe his showing back up again sent
someone over the edge."

	"It was a couple months ago, maybe six at the most."

	"So it's possible then."

	"Perhaps."

	"Do you have any other ideas? Did he have any enemies?"

	"Paul? No. Everyone loved Paul."

	"Everyone keeps saying that, but obviously someone didn't like
him."

	"Perhaps it was just a random burglary gone wrong."

	"I thought the police had pretty much discarded that theory."

	"They did, but then they don't really care much either way. As far
as I am concerned, it is still as valid a theory as any."

	"You found him, right?"

	"Yes." His eyes shifted away.

	"Can you tell me about that?"

	He took a deep breath. "It's hard to talk about," he said slowly.

	"Take your time."

	"I hadn't heard from him for a few days. That wasn't all that
unusual lately but if he didn't call me, I'd usually call him after about
three or four days, just to make sure everything was ok. He didn't answer
his phone so I started getting worried. Finally, I just decided to go
over. I had a key so I could feed his fish when he was going to be gone for
a few days; he had this huge fish tank with all kinds of exotic fish. I let
myself into his apartment. It was trashed. Completely and totally
trashed. All his paintings were off the walls and destroyed, he loved
art. His fish tank was shattered. Every table had been tipped over, lamps
smashed. It was horrible." His eyes had unfocused and I had the feeling he
was seeing it all again. "And in the middle of all the mess was Paul. He
was just lying there, as if he was a doll that someone had just thrown
away. I knew he was dead as soon as I saw him. I've seen dead people before
and he didn't look like he'd had a peaceful death. It wasn't one of those
things where they just look like they are sleeping. I don't know if you've
ever seen a strangling victim. I hadn't. Not before that. It's
horrible. I...I'll never be able to forget it."

	I let him sit in silence for a few minutes to collect himself
before asking my next question. "Did you notice anything missing?"

	"Nothing that anyone could say. He collected coins, some of them
quite rare and expensive. The collection was scattered across the floor,
but it all there. Paul wasn't a big jewelry person, but what he did have
was still in the bedroom. His TV, stereo, computer, everything was still
there."

	"So that's why the police ruled out burglary?"

	"You'd have to ask the police. It's not as if they confide in me."

	"If you don't think his family could have done that, who do you
think did?"

	"I don't have any ideas."

	"None at all? What about coworkers? Did he have another job?"

	"No, he didn't need another job; he was making more than enough
doing what he was doing."

	"What about other escorts? Clients?"

	He shrugged. "Anything is possible."

	"Do you know how I could get in touch with any of them?"

	"Sorry."

	"Sorry you don't know or sorry you won't help me?"

	A shrug.

	"What about the guy that owns the agency? Neal, right?"

	"I don't know."

	"You used to be with the agency, didn't you?"

	"Yes."

	"And you don't know how to get in touch with Neal?"

	"We don't exactly send Christmas cards, you know?"

	"Why are you avoiding my questions?"

	"I'm answering your questions."

	"They're non-answers. Don't you even care about finding out what
happened to Paul?"

	"Paul is dead. Nothing you do is going to bring him back," he said,
his voice empty and hollow.

	"What if he was killed by a serial killer who preys on escorts? You
could be next."

	"We lead risky lives. We meet strangers for a living. We all know
that every appointment could be our last. We try not to think about it, but
we know it. I know it. Paul knew it. You accept the risk and you do your
job."

	"So that's it? This is just one more risk?"

	"Pretty much."

	"You have no intention of helping me find out what happened to him,
do you? You don't give a damn about Paul."

	He looked me square in the face, his black eyes flashing. "The only
way you can survive this business is to not give a damn. No one gives a
damn about you. Not the police, we're scum to most of them. Not the
clients, it's strictly business. And not the agency, if you work for one,
you're a replaceable commodity. Nobody gives a damn about Paul."

	"Micah does."

	He snorted. "How nice. I'm sure Paul would appreciate that if he
was still alive, especially since he hadn't heard from Micah since he
left. What good does it do Paul now?"

	"We can find out what happened to him and make sure he gets
justice."

	"Justice? What a joke. There is no justice, not for us. Go away,
little boy. I can't help you."

	I stood up with a sigh, figuring that was all I was going to get
out of him for now. I had a feeling he knew more than he was saying, but
this wasn't the time to press it. I started towards the door to let myself
out. Tad hadn't relocked all the locks after Razi had come home so I didn't
really need assistance. I paused by the door as a thought struck me. I
turned back to Razi, who was still sitting on the sofa.

	"What's your story?" I asked.

	He looked up with a slightly surprised expression, as if he hadn't
expected me to still be there. "What?"

	"Earlier you said that you all had stories. I know Paul's, I know
Micah's. What's yours?"

	He looked away. "My story is my own. Leave now, please."

	I watched him a second more, then let myself out.

	Chris waited until I reached the stairwell before falling in beside
me. "Well?" She asked.

	"I didn't find out much," I told her. "Especially not from Razi."

	"Is he the one that went in after you were already inside?"

	"Yeah. He knows more than he's saying, but whatever he knows he
sure isn't telling me."

	"He wouldn't tell you anything?"

	"Nothing I didn't already know or couldn't find out from
Micah. Well, nothing directly. I did find out that things weren't very good
between Paul and his family, but Razi doesn't seem to think they could have
had anything to do with Paul's murder, not that his opinion carries that
much weight. I want to meet them myself."

	"Do you see this Razi guy as a possible suspect?"

	"Well, Razi says they were friends, and Micah backs that up. Still,
he might have had a motive. He's got a sweet set-up now with Tad. According
to Tad, Paul didn't approve of their, for lack of a better word,
relationship. He said Razi and Paul had a fight about it."

	"What do you mean?"

	"Tad's a runaway. He was a street kid on the fast track to becoming
a hustler when Razi took him in. It wasn't exactly out of the kindness of
his heart. The kid cleans and sleeps with Razi in exchange for a roof over
his head and food. If Paul was threatening to find Tad's father, Razi might
have tried to stop him."

	"You don't sound very convinced."

	"That's because I'm not. He's hiding something, but I don't think
he did it. Actually, if we're talking suspects, as much as I hate to say
it, Tad makes a better one."

	"The kid?"

	"Yeah. He has a lot more at stake if Paul decided to look up his
father. He really doesn't want to go back to him."

	"Do you really think he's a killer though?"

	I sighed. "I'd hate to think it. I like him. But I've been fooled
before."

	She looked over at me. "You're going to have to tell me some of
these stories some time."

	"Sometime before this over," I promised.

	"Back to Razi, did you learn anything else from him?"

	"Not really. He has some history he doesn't want to talk
about-actually, he has a lot of stuff he doesn't want to talk about. If
everyone is like him this is not going to be easy."

	We came out onto the street and stopped. "Where to now?" she asked.

	 "I guess we can try and find Paul's apartment and see if the key
still fits. I hope they haven't cleared it out yet."

	"Probably not that quickly. The police investigation is still open
and I doubt they would have released the apartment already. It would look
really bad if they had."

	"What's the address again?" she asked.

	I gave her the address and she nodded. "That's a better part of the
city, close to Dupont Circle. It's a really pretty area. He must have been
making good money to afford that."

	"Apparently money is not an object when you're a successful
escort," I said dryly.

	"Back to the Metro then," she said and we started back up the road
in the direction of the station.

	"Killian," a voice called from behind me. I turned around to see
Tad running towards us. He'd thrown on a T-shirt and a pair of sandals but
still looked completely disheveled.

	"Tad?" Chris asked under her breath.

	"Yep," I responded as he reached us.

	"Razi's in the shower," he said breathlessly, "I only have a minute
but I didn't want you to leave without saying bye. He didn't say anything
to me after you left but he was in a pretty bad mood. Did he seem mad that
I let you in?"

	"He's hard to read. Why?" I asked, suddenly concerned, "What would
he do if he was mad? Would he hurt you?"

	Tad grimaced. "I hope not. I don't really know. He's never really
been mad at me before. Annoyed maybe, but not mad. I just don't want him to
kick me out."

	I felt bad for the poor kid, and even worse that I may have caused
even more problems for him. I pulled out my wallet, found one of my cards,
and scribbled my cell phone number on the back

	"If he hurts you, call me," I said, handing him the card. "I'll
come get you personally."

	Tad blinked in surprise and for a second I thought he might
cry. "Are you serious?" he asked.

	"Very. Even if you just decide you want out of your arrangement,
call me."

	"I owe him," he said with a frown, "He saved my life. And besides,
where else would I go? I'm not going back home."

	"What if your dad wanted you back? Maybe he's changed his mind
since you left. He might have realized how much you meant to him."

	"You don't know my dad," he snorted. "I'm not going back. I don't
care what anyone says."

	"Well, I won't make you do anything," I told him quickly. I didn't
want him to not call me if he needed me just because he was afraid I'd make
him go back to his father. "Will you call me if you need me?"

	He looked back down at the card in his hand and then slipped in his
pocket. He looked back up and gave me a lopsided grin. "I dunno. Maybe,
maybe not. No promises."

	"It doesn't have to be this way, you know."

	"It's not that bad, really. Better than the streets. Better than
home." He shrugged. "It could be worse."

	"Maybe it could be better."

	He looked at me for a minute without saying a word, but his
expression spoke volumes. It was obvious he was torn between what he felt
he owed Razi and wishing things could be different. His eyes shifted to
Chris, as if noticing her for the first time.

	"I'm his assistant," she said quickly.

	"You guys won't turn me in, will you?"

	I sighed. "No, I won't turn you in."

	He looked to Chris. "Hey, I only do what he tells me to do," she
said.

	He seemed satisfied and started backing away. "I need to get back
up there before he gets out of the shower," he said.

	"You'll probably be seeing me again," I told him. "And remember,
call me if you need me."

	He grinned. "Okey dokey," he said before spinning around and
running back into the building.

	I stood staring after him even after he was gone.

	"Cute kid," Chris said. "Shitty deal." She glanced over at me and
noticed my frown. "What are you thinking?"

	"I wish there was something I could do for him."

	"There's hundreds more where he came from," she said sadly. "I've
heard that at least 30% of all teenage runaways are gay kids. At least, he
has a roof over his head and food."

	"But for what? He's essentially a sex-slave."

	"You gave him an option. That's more than he had yesterday. If he
decides he wants out bad enough he'll call you."

	"He's just a kid. He has a family somewhere who doesn't even know
where he is."

	"He made it pretty clear that he didn't want to go back to
them. Are you going to go back on your word and turn him in?"

	"No, I won't do that. I just wish there was something more I could
do. I don't even know what his last name is or if Tad is even his real
first name."

	"I have an idea, but first, let's start moving. We can talk while
we walk, unless you're too blonde to handle that."

	I laughed, breaking my melancholy mood. "I think I can handle
that," I said as we turned once more towards the Metro station and started
walking. "What's your idea?"

	"How long has he been running?"

	"I think he said he'd been in the city for about a month. Why?"

	"At the police station, they have a book with pictures of all the
kids that have been reported missing. We can look through the most recent
ones and maybe find out who he is at least. Then, if you want, you could
anonymously check in with his father or something. You'd at least know if
he wanted him back or what."

	"That's a good idea. We'll have to do that. But first, let's go
check out Paul's apartment. I want to get as much done as I can while I'm
here."

	"Are you going back tonight?"

	"That was the plan."

	"Well, if you need a place to stay, you can stay at our place."

	"Thanks," I said with a pleased smile. I was definitely beginning
to genuinely like Chris. She was turning out to be a good partner.

	The trip to the Dupont Circle stop took about twenty minutes; and
from the station, it took us another twenty minutes to find Paul's
address. Just as Chris had said, it was in a very nice neighborhood. Stone
and brick faced townhouses lined the street, each with its own tiny patch
of lawn, most filled with flowers. Paul's building was actually a brick
apartment building tucked between two sections of townhouses. You had to be
buzzed in but we just stood nearby and waited for someone to go in or come
out. We didn't have to wait long before a woman with two small dogs came
out. We slipped in behind her before the door could close and she never
even noticed. Paul's apartment was on the third floor. We took the stairs
but stopped at the second floor landing to decide how to set up the watch.

	"We need to decide how I'm going to warn you if someone heads for
the door," Chris said. Last time I didn't know what to do when Razi went
in. I was ready to come in if you yelled or something but it was hard not
knowing what was going on."

	"I don't know what else we can do without you being very
conspicuous. As it was, Razi noticed you. If he hadn't gotten distracted by
me being there I don't know what he would have done. We don't want someone
calling the police."

	"Well, if they do I'm pretty sure I can get out of it because of my
dad, but still, it would be a pain we don't need."

	"Right, so I think we'd better just stick with the plan where you
come to the rescue, should I need it."

	"Ok, but I don't like it," she agreed reluctantly. "And I'm only
going along with this because I don't have a better plan. We have to work
out something better before we do something like this again."

	I gave her a smile and took the rest of the stairs to the third
floor. It was easy to identify Paul's door. It was the only one with police
tape across it. I took notice of the other doors opening off the short
hallway; there were only four apartments on this floor. The other doors
were closed and blank looking. There was no way to know if anyone was
behind them or not. I took a deep breath and fished out the key Micah had
given me. If it didn't fit, I wouldn't have to worry about any of this. I
approached the door and slid the key carefully into the lock. It went in
easily. I turned it and my stomach flipped as the lock clicked and
released. I pushed the door open slowly until it was wide enough for me to
slip inside. I ducked under the tape and quickly shut the door.

	It smelled musty inside and it was so dark I couldn't see anything;
heavy shades blocked out most of the sunlight at the windows. Only a thin
crack of light along the ceiling even showed me where they were. Well, that
could work to my advantage. No one could see in either, so I could turn a
light on and actually see what I was doing.

	 I fumbled along the wall for a light switch, but before I could
find one, I heard the door handle rattle behind me. I froze in place,
praying it was just Chris. The door swung open suddenly and the
comparatively bright light from the hallway temporarily blinded me. A dark
figure stood in the doorway. "Don't move, I have a gun," a harsh voice
ordered. "Who the hell are you and what are you doing here?"