Date: Fri, 29 Jun 2001 08:52:38 EDT
From: Aterovis@aol.com
Subject: Chapter 16 of All Lost Things

Behold, here is Chapter 16 of All Lost Things. Read. Enjoy.

The Name Killian's Car Contest is almost over so if you were planning on
entering, stop by the web site and enter today. There are lots of up-dates
on the site.

http://www.steliko.com/bleedinghearts

Email: Aterovis@aol.com


Chapter 16

	I was very discouraged after my disastrous interview with Caleb. I
had not only failed to learn anything of significance, I had angered him to
the point that he had walked out on me. I dreaded telling Novak of my
ineptitude but to my surprise he was very understanding.

	"It happens to the best of us, kid," he said in an assuring tone,
"It's not your fault if he refuses to help us. It just makes me wonder what
he's hiding."

	"Do you think he's protecting someone?"

	"Either that or he's as guilty as hell."

	I was driving home when I had one of my sudden brainstorms. You'd
think that by now I would have known better than to trust these urges that
came out of the blue, but I turned in the direction of my old neighborhood,
where Asher still lived.

	I drove past the house where I had grown up. A new family lived
there now. After his public disgrace and ensuing legal problems, my father
had been forced to sell the house. It was strange to drive by and see young
children playing on the lawn. I hoped they would be happier there than I
had been.

	I pulled into Asher's driveway and jumped out of the Mustang. I was
barely out of the car when the door to the house flew open and out poured
half the Davis clan. Bethany, Marcus, Jake and Jamie all crowded around the
car to oo and ah and I remembered that only Jake had seen it before. Asher
trailed out after them, looking slightly bewildered to find me in his
driveway.

	"Sweet," Marcus breathed in a slightly awed voice.

	"Yeah, sweet," Jamie echoed.

	"Have you named it yet?" Jake asked.

	I laughed, "What is it with everyone wanting to name my car?"

	"She has to have a name," he insisted.

	"God, that's so sexist," Bethany complained. "Who says it has to be
a girl. Killian's gay so wouldn't it make more sense to be a male? No
offense, Killian."

	"None taken, especially since the queer factor is pretty high here
right now."

	Bethany was now roughly the size of an air craft carrier. I
couldn't imagine that she could get any bigger with out exploding.

	"I think you should name it the Millennium Falcon," Jamie piped up,
"Or no, how 'bout Silver?"

	"Silver? But the car is black, Jamie," Jake pointed out.

	"So? I like Silver, you know, like hi-ho silver and away."

	"If you're going to name it after a horse what about Trigger?" Jake
argued.

	"I like Silver."

	"What about Onyx?" Marcus offered, "It's black and that's a cool
sounding name."

	"How about Midnight?" Bethany jumped in.

	"I like Adonis," Jake said.

	"You would," Marcus sniped and everyone began to talk at once.

	"Whoa!" I yelled and everyone stopped and turned to look at
me. "Thanks for the suggestions, but it is my car so if I decide to name it
I'll pick the name."

	"Good point," Bethany said as she rubbed her large stomach, "I
wouldn't want somebody to name my baby."

	"You won't even name the father," Marcus said with a snort. If
looks could kill she would have dropped him dead on the spot.

	"Anyway," I said quickly, "I came to talk to Asher so if you all
don't mind..."

	They took the hint and they all started towards the house, Marcus
dragging Jamie along without too much of a fuss. Jake gave me a meaningful
look as he passed. Finally it was just Asher and me. He hadn't said a word
since I'd arrived.

	"Hi," I said awkwardly.

	"Hi," he responded softly.

	"I need to ask you a favor."

	His eyes flickered and for a brief second I thought I saw
disappointment in them, but then it was gone, his carefully disinterested
expression firmly in place. I kicked myself mentally for not thinking
ahead. I stood there with my mind racing as I tried to figure out what to
say. Should I go ahead and ask the favor or try to repair whatever damage I
had carelessly inflicted. Asher decided for me.

	"Are you going to ask me this favor or just stand here all night
while I get ate up?"

	I swatted at a mosquito with a sigh and plunged ahead, "It has to
do with the case and Caleb. I need you to find something out for me."

	His silver-gray eyes narrowed suspiciously, "What and how?"

	"I need to, uh, know who Caleb was meeting in the barn."

	"Meeting in the barn? What do you mean?"

	"Um, for, uh, sex."

	Asher's face flushed bright red. I wasn't sure if it was from
embarrassment or anger.

	"Why do you need to know that?"

	"It might be important."

	"How could that possibly matter? I think you just wanted me to know
that Caleb was having sex with someone."

	"What? No, why would I-"

	"You just can't stand it that I might be interested in someone
else, can you?"

	"You're interested in Caleb?"

	"That's none of your business. You don't want me but nobody else
can have me either, is that it?"

	"I never said-"

	"You didn't have to. You can just drop the whole injured innocence
act. And you can drop dead too while you're at it. I'm sorry I ever asked
you to help."

	"Asher, I-"

	"Save it, Killian. Goodbye." He spun around and stormed into the
house leaving me gawking after him and wondering what the hell had just
happened. How had things gone so wrong?

	I was not, I reflected as I climbed back into my unnamed car,
having a good day.

* * *
	As it always seems to work, for me anyway, I thought of a hundred
different things I could have said, should have said. Unfortunately I was
lying on my bed later that night staring up at the ceiling when these
pearls of wisdom occurred to me.

	"Damn, damn, damn," I muttered to myself.

	"There's more damning going on in here than a Baptist tent
meeting," Kane said from the door, causing me to jump.

	"I didn't hear you coming up the stairs," I said accusingly.

	"Sorry, didn't mean to scare you," he said as he crossed the room
to his bed. "I'm just guessing here, but I'd say you seem a little upset."

	"You've always been the observant one," I said sarcastically.

	"Hey, don't take your problems out on me. What's wrong anyway? Is
the case not going well?"

	"As a matter of fact, the case isn't going anywhere, but that's not
my biggest problem."

	"Then what is?"

	"Asher."

	"Oh, guy trouble. Sorry, can't help you much there. I'm probably
the only person in this house that can't."

	"It's not like there's anything anyone can do anyway, including
me."

	"I take it you're still fighting."

	"I don't want to talk about it."

	"Ok."

	"I mean, at least the first time around I knew why he was mad at me
and I could even understand, but this time he jumped to the wrong
conclusion and wouldn't even let me explain."

	"I thought you didn't want to talk about it."

	"He jumped all over me for nothing! It wasn't even at all like he
tried to make it out to be."

	"Um, that sucks."

	"How are we ever supposed to work through our problems if he keeps
running away every time things get hard?"

	"You know, my longest relationship so far has been three weeks and
I'm not even seeing anyone right now so I'm probably not the best person to
go to for dating advice."

	"It seems like all we ever do anymore if fight. Maybe it's not even
worth it. Maybe I should just move on, find someone else."

	"Do you need me for this? Because you seem to be doing pretty well
on your own."

	"But I love him. I guess that's what it all comes down to, isn't
it? I love him and I want to be with him. I just don't know how it's ever
going to work."

	"I'm at a loss myself."

	"Just forget it. I'm going to sleep."

	"Glad I could help. We should talk like this more often. Brings us
closer together, you know?"

	"Shut up, Kane."

	"Yes, sir."

* * *
	"Ok, so we hit a wall yesterday," Novak was saying the next day as
he paced back and forth in his office. I was lying slouched dejectedly on
the malevolent sofa. Overcoming my irrational fear of the ugly piece of
furniture had been my way of compensating for my lack of control with the
case. Or at least that was how I diagnosed the situation.

	"So now we take a step back, regroup and pick a new plan of
attack."

	"I'm a failure as a detective," I moaned.

	"Oh stop. So you hit a few walls, get over it. We can't get through
the wall, so we'll just go over it, through it, under it, whatever it
takes."

	"And how do we do that?"

	"That's not the most important consideration right now."

	"Oh, so you don't know either."

	"I didn't say that. I'm just saying that right now we've got more
important walls to scale."

	"Why are we talking about walls so much? Are we construction
workers or private investigators?"

	He threw me a deadly look and went on, "Rachel Cohen is not dead."

	I sat up with sudden interest. "You know that for sure?"

	"I know someone who works at the county records office. They did a
search for me and there are no deaths listed for any Rachel Cohen's."

	"Maybe she died somewhere else."

	"No, I think Mrs. Cohen is most decidedly among the living."

	"Then where is she?"

	"That is what I don't know."

	"How do we find out?"

	"The hard way, I'm afraid."

	"What do you mean?"

	"This is where things get tedious, and you're going to have to
shoulder the bulk of the burden yourself. I have to concentrate on my
paying clients. I'll help you out as much as possible, give you some tips
and all, but you're going to do all the work. It'll be great training for
you. The best way to learn something is to just jump in and get your hands
dirty."

	I looked at him doubtfully, "What will I be doing exactly?"

	"A lot of research mostly: boring, dull, monotonous
research. You'll make phone calls, go door to door, and talk to everyone
who ever knew Rachel Cohen. The trail is pretty cold so this won't be easy,
especially if she didn't want to be found. It's a safe bet she changed her
name and I think we can assume she hasn't been using any of her former
identifications, but I'll check those avenues just to make sure."

	"What avenues?"

	"Motor vehicle records, social security numbers, that sort of
thing."

	"We have her social security number?"

	"Well, no, but we may get lucky and get that from the motor vehicle
records."

	"This sounds pretty hopeless," I despaired.

	"Oh, we'll find her; it just may take a lot of work."

	"What do I do first?"

	"It would be nice if we knew her maiden name. I can probably pull
that up on the computer from vital records. Then I can start the process of
searching for possible aliases using combinations of her first, middle and
maiden names. That's what women use most often when they change their
names. Of course, she may have changed it to something completely different
and we'll come up with zip. Meanwhile, why don't you head over to the
newspaper office and see if you can't talk to the reporter who's covering
the case. No sense going over the same territory twice. You could get lucky
and find out something useful there."

	"He'll let me look at his files?"

	"Not bloody likely. You'll have to ask questions and hope he's
cooperative."

	"And if he's not?"

	He shrugged. "We'll be forced to be creative. Now stop asking
questions and get going."

	"I somehow thought it would all be more exciting than this," I said
as I stood to leave.

	"Welcome to the world of the private eye, kid. This is what it's
really all about. Of course, maybe you'd rather take my place. I'm getting
ready to go on a high speed chase down Rt. 50 while hanging out the window
shooting wildly at the car behind me."

	I stuck my tongue out at him and left. I drove to the newspaper
office and pushed open the tinted glass door to the lobby. An attractive
older woman sat behind the receptionist's desk. She was tanned and had
shoulder length pure white hair and wearing a blue dress and a string of
pearls, all very professional. Her name plate read Rose Mitchell. A young
man was working behind her at a copier. I was pleased when Ms. Mitchell
remembered me from the last time I was there.

	"We don't get many young guys your age in here," she said with a
smile.

	"Well, I'm working for Shane Novak now so I guess you'll be seeing
more of me," I told her.

	"Lovely," she said in a voice that made it clear she had no idea
who Novak was, "What can we help you with today?"

	"I need to speak to the reported that's been covering the Cohen
murder case."

	Her expression told me all I needed to know about the chances that
would happen. I just about turned and walked out.

	"That would be Mr. Walters. Why don't you wait right here while I
go see if he can spare a few minutes," she said, "Do you have a card I can
give him?"

	I pulled one out and handed it to her and she left. As soon as she
was out of the room the guy at the copier turned around.

	"He won't talk to you," he said.

	"Huh?" was my witty reply. He was really quite cute. Slim and about
average height, he was in his early twenties with straight brown hair that
he wore cut short and parted in the middle. He'd made an effort to comb it
back with gel but it had exerted its own will and flopped forward over his
dark brown eyes. He pushed it back impatiently with an unconscious motion
and flashed me a brilliant smile that was all white teeth and dimples.

	"I said he won't talk to you. Walters is a notorious jerk."

	"Oh, well it was a long shot anyway," I said.

	"Did you say you're working for Shane Novak?"

	"Yeah, do you know him?"

	"Know of him, he's a PI, right?"

	"Yeah."

	"So, are you, like, a PI too?"

	"Something like that, I guess you could say I'm an apprentice PI."

	"That's awesome," he said enthusiastically. "Our jobs aren't that
different then I guess. We're both searching for the truth, just for
slightly different reasons."

	"Um..." I didn't quite know what to say to that so I just stood
there and looked brilliantly stupid.

	"Look, when Rose gets back and tells you Walters won't talk to you
just say ok and meet me in the parking lot." Before I could answer he
grabbed up a stack of papers from the copier tray and left the room. I was
still staring after him, mouth agape, when Rose reappeared.

	"I'm sorry," she said in an apologetic manner, "I'm afraid
Mr. Walters is a little, er, tied up at the moment and can't talk to you."

	"Oh, well, is there a better time to talk to him? I can come back."

	"No, I don't think there is ever a good time to talk to
Mr. Walters," she said without expression.

 	"Oh, ok. Well, thanks anyway."

	"I'm sorry," she said again as I turned to leave.

	I gave her a reassuring smile. "It's not as if it's your fault," I
told her.

	True to his word, the copier guy was waiting for me in the parking
lot. He fell into step next to me as I walked to my car.

	"He wouldn't talk to you, huh?"

	"No, he was too busy."

	"Too busy, my fanny," he scoffed. "He's just a self-important,
anal-retentive, over-inflated blow hard who won't lower himself to talk to
anyone except to cut them down."

	"I take you two don't get along," I commented wryly.

	"Does it show?" he asked in mock concern.

	"Just a bit."

	"Only a bit? I'll have to use stronger epitaphs next time."

	I laughed. "So is this just general dislike or is there a reason
behind your carefully hidden animosity?"

	"Sheesh, and I thought reporters were nosy!"

	I blushed. "You're right, that was nosy. I'm sorry. I shouldn't
have-"

	"I was just kidding, it's ok. Ya see, I'm the low guy on the totem
pole around here, new to the job, fresh outta journalism school. You could
say I'm cutting my teeth on this position, or you could if I had any teeth
which so far I don't. Not really. And mostly because of Walters."

	"How do you mean?"

	"Walters has been here forever. I think he probably reported Adam
and Eve's exile from Eden. He's survived about a half dozen different
owners and that gives him some sort of seniority. He has a strong dislike
for anyone under 30 and especially young guys right out of school. He keeps
saying, 'Just because you went to some fancy shmancy school doesn't make
you a reporter; it has to be born in you and trust me, it's not in you.' He
makes sure that I get assigned the shittiest assignments. I never get
anything good so I can't prove myself."

	"That must be frustrating," I sympathized.

	"You'd better believe it. Just once I'd like to scoop him, to be
able to show everyone that I am a good journalist."

	"And humiliate him in the process?"

	"Icing on the cake, my friend, icing on the cake," he said with a
cheeky grin. I couldn't help but like my new loquacious acquaintance. He
was charming, self-assured and funny, not to mention gorgeous, but I still
didn't know what he wanted from me.

	"So, why did you ask me to meet you in the parking lot?" I asked.

	He spun to face me. "I have a proposal to make to you, a mutually
beneficial arrangement, if you will."

	"What kind of arrangement?" I asked warily.

	"I find out the information you need. That won't be a problem. I
just wait until Walters goes home for the day and go through his files. I
know where he keeps his files for his working stories. They're locked but I
know where he keeps his spare key. I make copies of the relevant info and
lock everything back up just the way I found it. He never knows."

	"Uh huh, and what do you get out of this? You said it was mutually
beneficial."

	"You mean besides the satisfaction of knowing I screwed Walters
over."

	"Yes, besides that. I get the feeling that there's a rather big
'but' coming."

	He spun around and twisted to look at his posterior. "Looks fine to
me," he said lightly. I tended to agree but thought it best not to say
so. "Ok, ok, seriously," he went on, "It's simple really; you get the
better end of the deal."

	"Why do I feel like someone's trying to sell me a used car?"

	"No, really! All I want is information. I want to be in on the rest
of the investigation."

	"What?"

	"I want to be kept abreast of things, maybe even be involved,
although that isn't a deal breaker."

	"I dunno," I said dubiously.

	"Come on, these kinds of arrangements are made all the time. It's
an exchange of information, a give and take, cooperation. How else are you
going to get what you need? What have you got to lose?"

	"Well..." I said slowly.

	He sensed my weakening and pounced on his opportunity. "Just tell
me what you need to know and I'll hand it to you on a platter."

	I sighed and he grinned triumphantly; he knew he had won.

	"Ok," I said, "We need to know everything there is to know about
Rachel Cohen, Ira's wife and Caleb's mother. Specifically, we need to know
her maiden name, when she was last known for a fact to be alive and with
Ira, if anyone has any idea where she is, that sort of thing."

	He frowned. "I thought she was dead," he said. Obviously he'd been
keeping up with the case.

	"If she is then we need some proof of that, death notice, obituary,
whatever. Vital statistics has no record of her death, though, so we're
thinking she still might be alive."

	"Whoa, a real mystery. I can't believe no one would have checked
that, though. Where's she been all this time? And why did she leave in the
first place?"

	"We don't know where she is, that's what we're trying to find
out. And we know that her husband was abusive to Caleb, so it's possible
that he abused her too and she ran to escape it."

	"And left her kid behind?"

	I shrugged. "It happens."

	"Ok," he said, sounding a little less enthusiastic than he had
before. Maybe the reality of the situation was starting to sink in. "I'll
see what I can come up with. It may take me a while to go through his files
though. You might have to give me a few days."

	"Why don't I give you my card and you can call me when you have
something?"

	"Good idea."

	I dug out a card and handed it to him. He studied it a moment then
looked up with that charming and disarming smile of his. "Is this a home
number or a work number?" he asked.

	My hearts skipped a beat and I tried to figure out if he was
flirting with me or if that was just his personality. "Work," I finally
managed to spit out. "Uh, do you have a card or something? I don't even
know your name."

	"Oh! Geez, how could I be so stupid?" he exclaimed. "My name is
Micah, Micah Gerber, like the baby food," he said as he rummaged through
his wallet.

	That name rang a bell but I couldn't quite place it. Where had I
heard it before?

	"Ah, here we go," he said as he produced a slightly tattered
business card and presented it to me on his open palm with a flourish.

	With an amused smile I picked up his card and looked at it. As I
did I suddenly remembered where I had heard his name before. About a month
ago when Kane had tried to fix me up with the cute reporter he'd met at the
library. He had been sure that he was gay. Could it be that this beautiful
guy really was flirting with me? I raised my eyes to study his face.

	"Um, why are you looking at me like that?" he asked, sounding
slightly self-conscious.

	"You're gay, aren't you?" I asked.