The Truth of Yesterday

by Josh Aterovis

  “Paul?” he asked with a little more attention.

  “Yeah, I need you to call Neal and verify that I'm a private investigator hired by you to investigate Paul's murder.”

  “Paranoia is the name of the game when you are doing something illegal,” he laughed. “God, I'm glad I don't have to worry about that anymore. Yeah, I'll call him. You'll have to give me his number. When does he want me to call?”

  “If you can, call him now, or at least as soon as possible.”

  “Ok, I'll call him now before I go back to work. What's his number?”

  I read the number off to him and he repeated it back to me.

  “That's it,” I said. “Thanks, Micah. I love you.” I was determined to get it in before he hung up this time.

  “I love you, too,” he said.

  As soon as we hung up, I picked up the phone once more. This time to call Chris.

  “I was going to call you tonight,” she said after I filled her in on my appointment with Neal and she agreed to go with me. “You saved me a call.”

  “You were going to call me? Why?”

  “They opened the safe earlier this week. My dad didn't hear about it until last night though, because he's not really on the case.”

  “What was in it?”

  “Since you're coming tomorrow, why don't I just wait and tell you then?” she said. She sounded serious but I was pretty sure she was just kidding.

  “How about if you tell me now,” I shot back, just to be on the safe side.

  “The contents were pretty interesting. There were a few coins that must have been really rare and valuable since he kept them locked up when all his others ones weren't.”

  “That's not very interesting. We knew he collected coins.”

  “I wasn't finished. They also found a bank book for a savings account. Over the last few months, there were regular deposits of a rather large sum of money once a week, but he never made any withdraws.”

  “What is a large sum of money and was it always the same amount?”

  “Dad didn't say. Do you want me to see if I can find out?”

  “Please. Anything else?”

  “Yeah, he had two tickets to New Zealand that were for this coming weekend.”

  “Two?”

  “Yes, both in his name. But most interesting were the letters.” She paused dramatically.

  “Letters?”

  “Well, I should say copies of letters. There were several but from what I understand they were all similar. They were handwritten and signed by Paul, but none of them were addressed to anyone. They were all apparently very vague, insinuating that Paul knew that whomever the letter was for had done something illegal.”

  “He didn't say what?”

  “No, like I said, they were all very vague. He never came out and said anything directly. It was more like he just wanted the person to know that he knew.”

  “That could be our missing motive,” I said, thinking out loud.

  “Do you think he was blackmailing this mystery person?”

  “It sounds like it from everything they found in the safe, but it just doesn't fit what everyone has told me about him. He was well off financially so he didn't need the money and everyone goes on and on about what a stand-up guy he was.”

  “They said he was quiet and kept to himself, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “That's what they all said about Jeffrey Dahmer too, and the Unibomber, and...”

  “Ok, ok. I get the point. I'd like to see these letters. Any chance we can get copies?”

  “That'll be hard. They're evidence in a murder investigation. It's not like they hand out copies upon request.”

  “But you're dad's a cop.”

  “But he's not on this case.”

  I sighed. “This is why I wanted to open the safe myself. Well, can you at least check into deposits? Find out if they were always for the same amount and what that amount was?”

  “I'll see what I can do.”

  “Ok. Thanks, Chris.”

  * * *

  “Welcome back to the Big City,” Chris said as I stepped off the train into the Metro Center and narrowly missed being run over by a boy on a bike.

  I snorted. “With all the time I've been spending here lately, maybe I should have the post office just forward my mail. They allow bikes down here?”

  “Sort of, but they're supposed to walk them. Come on, we need to get on the red line to go to Union.” She set off at a brisk walk and I hurried to keep up with her. As we walked I got a chance to look her over. Today, she was wearing black jeans and a red t-shirt that read, “Warning: Hanging out with me will greatly damage your reputation.” Not exactly camouflage, but hopefully she wouldn't stand out too much.

  “Were you able to find anything out about the amount of the deposits?” I asked as we dodged through a throng of equally hurried individuals going the opposite direction.

  “Right to the point, huh?”

  “Well, we're running on a deadline here. I'm supposed to meet Neal in 15 minutes and it takes that long to just get there.”

  “He'll wait. He can't afford not to.”

  “I hope you're right. The deposits?”

  “I asked Dad and he said he'd check. Hopefully he'll know something when we get done with Neal. By the way, I also asked him if there was any way he could get copies of the letters and he said he doubted it, but he'd see what he could do without sticking his neck out too far.”

  “That's great! I don't want him to get in trouble on my account.”

  “Don't worry, he'll be careful.”

  We boarded the red line train and found seats. Once settled, we chatted for the next few minutes about the case in general, throwing ideas back and forth. We agreed that we really needed to talk to the family and that the two tickets to New Zealand raised some interesting questions.

  “He was obviously planning on taking someone with him,” Chris pointed out logically. “He must have had a lover, but why was he trying so hard to keep this guy a secret from his friends?”

  “He wasn't necessarily keeping it a secret from Sabrina. She admitted that she's been really busy the last few months and hadn't paid much attention to Paul. It could have just been a matter of both of them being too busy with their own lives to catch up.”

  “What about Razi?”

  “Sabrina said Razi was difficult when Paul and Micah were dating, always trying to break them up, but as soon as they broke up, he lost interest. Maybe Paul was trying to avoid a similar situation as long as he could.”

  “That's reasonable. So how do we find out who this mystery guy is?”

  “I don't know,” I admitted, “but now we have two mystery guys. Paul's lover and the recipient of those letters.”

  “The letter recipient isn't necessarily a guy you know.”

  “True. I don't suppose there would be any chance they're the same person. That would be too simple.”

  “Why would Paul be involved with someone he knew was doing something illegal?”

  “It's happened before. You know what they say; love is blind. Maybe he thought he could change him. This is all just speculation until we know more details.”

  We through around a few more wild ideas before discarding them as too outlandish before we pulled into Union Station.

  Once in the station, we laid out our game plan.

  “Do you know where this restaurant is that he was talking about?” I asked.

  “Yeah, the Center Café. It's in the middle of the main concourse. You know, this used to be a train station. When it opened, it was the largest train station in the world, and probably the most ornate. The ceiling was actually gold plated.”

  “You sound like a tour guide.”

  She flipped me the bird, accompanied by a dirty look. “This is one of my favorite places in the city,” she said. “I love to shop here.”

  I was surprised at that revelation, but then I scolded myself for stereotyping. You shoul
d know better, I thought fiercely. Just because Chris doesn't look like your typical mall rat doesn't mean she doesn't like to shop.

  “Well, maybe we'll have time for shopping after I talk to Neal,” I said in an attempt to atone myself, even though she had no idea what I'd been thinking. I glanced down at my watch. “You can give me the history lesson later. Right now, we need to get moving. I want you to follow me from a discreet distance. I'm supposed to go to the restaurant and ask for Neal; they'll show me to his table. Keep me in sight just in case he does something weird, although I doubt he would in a public place like this.”

  “Still, it's better to be safe, right?”

  “Exactly.”

  We went up to the main level of the train station cum mall and Chris showed me how to find the restaurant where I was supposed to meet Neal. I took a deep breath and muttered, “Here goes nothing,” before striding purposefully across the floor. The restaurant was in the center, as implied by the name, of the large open area that had once been the main concourse. It was two floors with the second floor being open to the large room with a rail going around the edge. I approached the well-dressed young man standing at the greeters' podium.

  “I'm here to meet with Neal,” I told him.

  He looked me over from head to toe. I felt a little like a prize bitch at a dog show. “Are you Killian Kendall?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Follow me.”

  He led me up the flight of stairs and towards a table set off to itself in one corner. At first, the waiter was in my line of vision so I couldn't see the man I was meeting, but as he shifted to one side, I stopped in mid-step. Sitting at the table waiting for me with a pleasantly bland expression was a man I had seen before. Not in person, mind you, and I'd only seen him once, but I recognized him immediately. The last, and first, time I'd ever seen him was in Jake's room. It was the man from the newspaper clipping. It looked like my cases might be connected.

  Chapter 20

  I stood frozen in shock as my brain tried to make sense of what I was seeing. There was no doubt in my mind that the man in the newspaper clipping from Jake's room and this man smiling genially while he waited for me at the table were one and the same. What the implications were in that, I wasn't sure-and I wasn't sure I even wanted to know-but either way, I was quite sure that now wasn't the time to attempt to puzzle it out.

  I forced my body to move forward again and attempted to arrange some sort of pleasant expression on my face. As I approached the table, the man, Neal, stood and held out a hand in greeting.

  “Hello, you must be Killian,” he said in a cultured and slightly accented voice as we shook hands. I tried to place the accent, but it was so faint that it was unidentifiable. I hadn't even noticed it on the phone.

  “Yes, and you must be Neal. Thank you for meeting with me.”

  “Believe me, it is always my pleasure to share a meal with such an attractive young man.”

  I smiled in acknowledgment of his compliment; it was a measure of the shock I was still reeling from that I didn't blush. A waiter approached to take my drink order and refill Neal's water glass. I took advantage of the moment to study him. The newspaper photo hadn't done the man justice. He was a strikingly handsome man, darkly tanned with flashing dark eyes, strong, patrician features, and smartly styled dark hair liberally shot with silver. I would have been hard pressed to assign him an age if asked; he could have been anywhere from forty to sixty. He was well dressed in clothes of the latest fashion that eloquently bespoke wealth without being flashy. His jewelry, a gold watch on his wrist, a slim chain at his throat, a ring or two on each hand, were equally understated, but beautifully crafted. He wasn't at all what I had expected.

  “I am not what you expected,” he stated more than asked. I was startled at the way his words had echoed my thoughts. “The way you took pause when you first saw me,” he explained. “You looked surprised, even a little unsettled.” He chuckled.

  “I'm not sure what I was expecting, sir, but you're right; it wasn't you.” I said. He studied me deliberately and I struggled not to squirm under his gaze. I picked up the stemmed glass and took a sip of the ice water, more to give me something to do than because I was actually thirsty.

  “I must admit that you are not what I was expecting either,” he said after a long, awkward moment. Awkward on my end anyway.

  I raised an eyebrow questioningly. “My age?”

  “Partially that, and partially your beauty.”

  This time I did blush.

  “When I think of a private investigator I suppose I think of the Philip Marlowe type, but I suppose that is my age telling on me. At any rate, you are nothing like Mr. Marlowe, and I find the reality much more pleasing than my imagination. But on to business. We are both busy men.”

  “Yes, I want to thank you again for taking the time to meet with me,” I said formally, glad to be getting back to something I felt a little more comfortable with.

  He gave a little shrug. “To be honest, I did not feel as if you gave me much choice. I am in a rather precarious position and thought it best to do what I could to help you. You are in the rather envious position of being the only person ever to meet me in person who would associate me with the agency.”

  “You're very careful.”

  “I do what I must. It was good to talk to Micah again. To be honest, he was always one of my very favorite boys. Such a promising young man. I am glad to hear he has made good on his potential. And after meeting you, however, I have to wonder if your relationship with him is more than just business…?”

  I chose to ignore the rather personal question and asked one of my own instead. “What can you tell me about Paul Flynn?”

  A tiny smile played around the corners of Neal's lips, as if something I had said amused him in some way. “What would you like for me to tell you about Paul Flynn?” His voice wasn't quite mocking, but closer than I appreciated. It made me want to make him squirm. He'd had control of the situation since I had arrived and it was time I took the control back.

  “Let's start with how long he worked for you at the agency.”

  “A little under three years.”

  “That's a long time for an escort to work for an agency, isn't it?”

  “Perhaps. The arrangement seemed to meet his needs. It was not for me to question.”

  “What kind of employee was he?”

  He cocked his head slightly. “You must understand it's not as if I am the manager of a supermarket and Paul was the bag boy. He was a popular escort. He had a look not unlike yours, blonde hair and blue eyes-young, fresh…pretty. That look is always in demand. Paul was honest, he always gave me what was due and never tried to deceive me. I never had any problems or complaints from the clients. In fact, they always seemed quite satisfied with his services. In all these ways, I would say he was a very good employee. A model employee, really.”

  “Did you ever meet him personally?”

  “No, I make it a point to never meet my escorts in person.”

  “And you never had any problems with him?”

  “None that I can recall.”

  “Did he seem any different the last few months?”

  “Different? No, but then, I am not sure that is something I would notice. We were not close; our contact was minimal and almost always by telephone. The only way I would have known if he had changed would be if his clients noticed a remarkable enough change that they felt compelled to report it to me, which as you can imagine is not very likely.”

  “You said his clients were, ah, very satisfied by his services,” I said, trying not to blush. That wouldn't be very professional.

  “Is that a question?”

  “No, I was just wondering if he had repeat customers.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Paul tried not to encourage repeat clients, at least not clients that came back over a long period of time. They often have a way of forming attachments, which can become rather bothersome.”

&n
bsp; “But did he have any?”

  “I believe he had a few, yes.”

  “Do you keep records of your clients?”

  “Do I keep records of the clients?”

  0

  “Yes, sir. That's what I asked.”

  His eyes narrowed slightly. He still wasn't squirming, but I had a feeling this was a man who never squirmed. Slightly peeved might be as close as he got.

  “Even if I did, they would be held in the utmost confidence. It would be the only way I could maintain my reputation for discretion.”