“I sense a but coming…”
“Well, I may have had to stretch the facts a little to get you in, I mean, it is a Saturday.”
“Stretch the facts how?”
“I…uh…I told him you knew who the murderer is and you had proof.”
“You what?” I gasped.
“It was the only way I could get him to agree to meet you!”
“But Chris, I don't have any proof! I don't even know for sure that the guy I suspect did anything. What am I supposed to do when I get in there and he expects me to have solid proof? When he finds out I probably know less that he does, he'll be so pissed he won't help me at all.”
“Then hold off on telling him that as long as possible.”
“Oh great, then he'll lock me up for…for…something.”
“For what?”
“Obstructing justice! I don't know. He'll make something up.”
“Calm down. You're awful high-strung today.”
I sighed. “I didn't get much sleep last night.”
“Long night?”
“You could say that.”
“Why don't you fill me in? You promised to tell me what was going on when you got here.”
“Ok.”
“Can we do it in the living room? I'm getting tired of standing here.”
I made a face at her and she helped me up. Janie trotted along beside us as we went into the living room and sat down. I gave her the rundown on everything that had happened since we talked last, and what my suspicions were. She thought for a minute, and then nodded.
“That sounds reasonable,” she said.
“Yes, but the problem is, in case you didn't notice, I don't have any proof. That was why I wanted to meet with the detective in the first place. What did you say his name is?”
“Owen Evans.”
“What was he like?”
“He sounded busy mostly. The cops here in the city are overworked and underpaid. This isn't his only case, you know.”
“I never said it was. It would be nice, however, if he didn't have to be bribed into working on this one.”
“I didn't…well, ok, maybe I did. Look, it's just natural that I'm going to side with the cops on this, I mean, my dad is one; but that doesn't mean that I don't see your side of it too.”
“I know; I'm just grouchy. You've been a huge help. I couldn't have done this without you.”
“Sure you could have, I've just made it easier.”
“What time do I have to go see Evans?”
She glanced at her watch. “You'd better leave now if you're taking the Metro.”
“You're not coming?”
“No, I have to take Kevin to the orthodontist at two. Assuming he comes home from his friend's before then.”
“Oh. Ok.” I was disappointed and a little nervous at the prospect of meeting with Evans alone. “You'll at least give me directions, right?”
She laughed. “No, I thought I'd let you find it for yourself. By the way, you're not meeting him at the station. He said, and I quote, `If I have to waste time talking to some amateur sleuth, he can talk while I'm eating lunch.'”
She gave me the directions to the restaurant where I was supposed to meet the detective and I headed off to meet my doom. I decided on the way that it would be in my best interest to tell him up front that I didn't have any proof to back my suspicions. It might just forestall any possible harm to my person.
The restaurant turned out to be a little hole-in-the-wall Irish pub. A neon sign in the window proudly proclaimed that they served-what else?-Killian's Irish Red. I pushed open the door and stepped into a dimly lit room. Round tables sat in the middle of the floor and old-fashioned red pleather-upholstered booths lined the walls. They were doing a brisk business; almost every table was full. It only took one look around to see that I was the youngest person there by at least a couple decades.
A waitress carrying an empty tray stopped near me. “Can I help ya, Sugar?” She asked.
“I'm here to meet with Owen Evans,” I said.
She pointed out a man sitting alone in a corner booth at the far back of the restaurant. He was intent on his hamburger and wasn't even looking on our direction. I thanked her and started making my way in his direction. As I walked, I took in the detective. He was on the far side of middle-aged and had to be edging up near retirement, but he looked to be in pretty good physical shape. He was just starting to expand a little in the middle, and meals like that greasy looking burger and that mountain of fries weren't going to help any. He had salt and pepper hair that looked a little shaggy, as if he'd missed a haircut or two. His face was lined, but it didn't make him look old, just interesting. He was wearing a slightly rumpled suit with a fresh ketchup stain on the lapel.
“Detective Evans?” I asked when I reached his table.
He looked up at me with startlingly green eyes. “That's me. You Kendall?”
I nodded and he inclined his head towards the seat across from him. “Have a seat,” he grunted.
I sat down and opened my mouth to tell him I didn't have proof of anything when he asked, “So you're a friend of Chrissie Silver, eh?”
“Chrissie…” I had to struggle not to laugh. I wondered how long it had been since he'd seen Chris. She definitely wasn't the Chrissie type. “Yes,” I finally managed. “And she may have overstated my case when she talked to you.”
He raised an eyebrow questioningly and took a bite of his hamburger.
“I don't really have any proof to back my suspicions; that's actually what I wanted to talk to you about.”
He finished chewing, swallowed, and chased it down with a gulp of his soda. He eyed me for a moment and then said, “Then why are you still sitting there?”
“Why don't you just let me tell you what I've found out and then you can decide if there's anything to it or not. You're not losing anything; you have to finish eating anyway. If you get done and you still think I'm wasting your time, I'll pay for your lunch and leave you alone.”
He took a huge bite of his burger, making half of what was left disappear in one gulp. “Deal,” he said. Or at least that's what I think he said. His mouth was a little full at the time. He wasn't leaving me much time to talk, so I didn't waste any time jumping right in.
I outlined my investigation so far as succinctly as possible, leaving out such trivial details and breaking and entering and tampering with evidence. Even without those particulars, it added up nicely, or so I thought. What really mattered however was what the detective thought.
When I had finished my recital, he swallowed the last of his burger and signaled the waitress over. I held my breath as she approached. I was certain he was going to tell her to give me the check and walk out, leaving me with nothing more than I came with, but he surprised me by ordering a chocolate milkshake and a cup of regular coffee.
“You look like a chocolate kind of guy,” he said after she'd left. I nodded my agreement, still too surprised to know what to say. “I have to give it to you,” he said, “You've done a good job on this investigation. I suspect that you left out a few things, but that's neither here nor there. Unfortunately, you've also left out the most important part. You don't have any evidence. So you suspect this Fenton Black character? So what? What do you want me to do? I can't go after this guy just because you say so.”
“I've seen copies of the letters that were in the safe,” I told him. He raised an eyebrow but left it alone, much to my relief. “What if Paul was writing them to Black?”
“And what if he was writing them to the Pope? We need proof.”
“I know I could get it if I just had more information.”
“What kind of information?”
“Do you know who Paul was dating?”
“I didn't know he was dating anyone. Everyone we spoke to said he was single.”
“You didn't speak to his clients.”
“His clients? You make it sound like he was a dry-cleaner. He was an escort.”
<
br /> The waitress came to pour his coffee, and I waited until she left to continue. “I know what he was, and I really don't see how that makes any difference. Why does it matter what he did for a living? He was a nice guy, a good person. Everyone that knew him loved and respected him.”
“Obviously, not everyone.”
I was annoyed that I'd walked into that one. I'd made the same point several times myself. “The point is one of his clients told me that Paul was dating someone, but he didn't know who.”
“Unfortunately, he didn't leave us an in-case-of-emergency-contact letter.”
“What about the address book?”
“What about it?”
I hadn't known for sure that there even was an address book before just now, but Evans had just confirmed it for me. “Can I see it?”
“Absolutely not.”
“Why not? What if it helped solve the case?”
“It could also help me lose my job. I can't just run around showing key evidence to everybody who asks.”
“How is Paul's address book key evidence? Evidence of what?”
“It was taken from the murder scene, that makes it evidence in a homicide investigation.”
“Have you at least contacted everyone in it?”
He gasped melodramatically. “Gee golly! You know what? We didn't even think of that! It's a good thing you came along to remind us how to do our job.”
I gritted my teeth in frustration. I jumped as the waitress dropped a large glass of chocolate milkshake in front of me with a loud thunk. I hadn't even seen her coming that time.
“You don't have to get all snotty about it,” I said when she'd gone. “I was just asking. It didn't lead anywhere?”
“Nobody knew nothin'.”
“Can you at least tell me what was in it?”
He sighed. “You don't give up, do you kid?”
“Nope.”
“What do you want to know?”
“Can you give me the phone number for Paul's family?”
“No way.”
“Come on,” I whined.
“We've already talked to them.”
“You'd already talked to a lot of people I talked to and I found out much more than you did.”
He didn't look too pleased at that reminder, but he couldn't argue with its validity.
“I won't tell them where I got the information from, I promise.”
He pressed his lips together and silently whipped out a small notebook from his inside jacket pocket. The notebook was almost identical to the one I carried. I felt a little thrill to realize that a professional police detective used the same notebook I did, then I realized how childish it was to get excited by something like that. I pulled out my pad while he flipped through his pages. I wanted to be ready. I waited with pen poised over paper.
He rattled off a phone number and the notebook vanished back into his pocket. “Now we're done,” he growled. He threw back the last of his coffee and signaled the waitress. “He's picking up the check,” he told her. He stood up as I gaped at him.
“The deal was I would pick it up if you thought I didn't have anything to offer,” I sputtered.
“And you didn't; just some speculation and allegations without anything to back them up. Thanks for lunch.” He nodded at the waitress, who was busy keeping a professionally bland smile on her face, and walked out. As soon as he was gone, the waitress' smile fell.
“Don't let him get you, hon,” she said softly. “He's a real hard ass. From what I heard, he's just mad because you've done a better job on this case than he has. For a guy who's been at this game for as long as he has, that's a real kick in the gut. The other guys on the force are always giving him a hard time about losing his edge.”
“You know him?”
“I ought to, he's my ex.”
“You were married?”
“Yep. It wasn't one of those messy divorces, you know? It's just hard being a cop's wife. I just wasn't cut out for it. We're still friends. That's why he eats here all the time.”
“Oh. Well, I guess I'll take that check now.”
“Don't worry about it,” she said. “Owen eats on the house. He was just giving you a hard time.”
“Can I at least pay for the shake?”
“That one's on me. Think of it as an apology for the hard time he gave you.”
I smiled. “Thanks.”
“Any time, cutie.” She moved off to check on her other customers. I finished my milkshake, left a couple dollars on the table, and slipped out before she noticed the money.
I took the Metro back to Chris', but she and Kevin weren't back yet. I sat on her doorstep until they got back. Kevin was looked cranky and Chris looked frazzled. I stood up and she caught sight of me.
“Hey,” she said. “How'd it go?”
“Eh. Not too well. How's the orthodontist appointment go?”
Kevin glowered at me.
“Don't ask,” Chris said. She unlocked the door and we all went inside, Kevin immediately disappearing to his room.
“He hates having his braces tightened,” she explained. “And I hate being his mother.”
“You could always move out,” I suggested.
“Nah,” she sighed. “Dad needs me. Maybe someday, when Kevin's a little older. So anyway, what happened with Detective Evans?”
“He wasn't very cooperative. I had to do some fast-talking just to get him to listen to me. Still, I did manage to get him to give me Paul's mother's phone number. Can I use your phone to call her?”
“Sure. Where does she live?”
“I'm not sure. Do you recognize the exchange?” I showed her the number.
“Yeah, I think that's Arlington, just outside DC. You can take the Metro there if she lives within walking distance.”
“Let me call her first. She might not even agree to meet with me.”
Chris showed me the phone and I dialed the number the detective had given me. It rang three times before someone picked up. The woman on the other end had a pleasant, sunny voice.
“Mrs. Flynn?” I asked.
“Yes. May I ask who is calling?”
“My name is Killian Kendall, Mrs. Flynn,” I said. “I'd like to talk to you about your son Paul.”
“Paul?” she asked, her voice suddenly lost its brightness. “Why do you want to talk to me about Paul? You do know he is dead, don't you?”
“Yes, ma'am. That's what I wanted to talk to you about actually. I'm investigating his death; I'm trying to find out who killed him.”
There was no response. The silence stretched out to the point that I began to think she'd hung up on me. “Mrs. Flynn?”
“It's very hard to lose a child,” she said at last.
“I can't even imagine your pain.”
“I lost him twice. I got him back after the first time; nothing can bring him back now.”
“You don't think his killer should be brought to justice?”
“Its not that…it's just…My older son, James, he doesn't like me to even talk about Paul. He wouldn't like it if he knew I was talking to you about him. We're a very religious family. My husband and James could never accept-they couldn't understand…”
“That Paul was gay?”
“You know?”
“Yes, ma'am.”
“My husband is dead now, but James still won't even speak of Paul.”
“Is James there now?”
“No, he's at work. He won't be home until after five.”
“Could I come to your house and talk to you before that? He wouldn't have to know.”
“I don't like to lie…”
“You wouldn't have to lie.”
“I suppose, if it will help to catch Paul's killer, it would be ok.”
“Can you give me your address?”
She gave me here street and house number, which I jotted down under her phone number in my notebook.
“I'll be there soon,” I told her.
“About half an
hour,” Chris whispered into my ear. She'd been reading over my shoulder.
“In about half an hour,” I amended.
“I'll be looking for you,” Mrs. Flynn said.
I hung up and turned to Chris. “Should I drive or take the Metro?”
The Truth of Yesterday Page 41
