The Truth of Yesterday

by Josh Aterovis

  At the top, I found myself once again in a hallway. It stretched a short distance both ways. Four doors opened off it, two on one side, and two on the other. One of the doors on my left stood open so I moved cautiously towards it. Better to get that one out of the way first. As I edged up to the door, I noticed a light at the bottom of the door across from it. I stopped and listened, but I didn't hear anything from either room. The room with the open door was brightly lit from the security light outside. A quick glace showed it to be a home office, sparsely furnished with a simple but elegant antique desk and chair. Bookcases lined the walls, holding not just books, but also various exotic and ancient looking artifacts that would have been more at home in a museum. I had a feeling they probably were not obtained by entirely legal means. The room was empty with no place to hide. I turned back to the door with the light showing under it. I moved slowly until I could press my ear against the door-nothing. I touched the knob hesitantly, gripping the knife handle so tightly my fingers ached. I took a deep breath, turned the knob, and threw the door open in one sudden movement as I jumped back into the room across the hall.

  Nothing happened; no one yelled out. It was just as quiet as it was before. I peeked around the corner. The door now stood open, spilling warm yellow light into the hall. A pair of feet splayed out on the floor were plainly visible through the door. I took a shuddery breath and stepped closer. The feet belonged to another dead body. This one had been shot as well, at least twice in the chest from the looks of things. He'd knocked over a table as he'd fallen. The room appeared to be a sitting room of some sort. There was a fireplace at one end with chairs arranged in conversational groupings. Another door stood partially open on my right.

  I edged around the body, trying hard not to look too closely, and approached the door. I kicked it open and brandished my knife, as if it would stop a bullet. There were no lights on in the room, but enough light spilled in from the sitting room that I could see it was a lavishly furnished bedroom, and from the looks of things, someone was in the bed. Something was very wrong. No one could sleep through all this. I fumbled clumsily for the light switch. The room suddenly filled with bright light and I found myself staring at a very naked, very dead Fenton Black sprawled across the bed. Blood splattered across the pure white silk sheets. He too had been shot. I looked quickly away.

  I realized that everyone I'd found had looked as if they'd been caught by surprise. It was a big house, but they still should have heard the gunshots. Unless the killer was using a silencer. More importantly, I still hadn't found Jake.

  I took a quick look around the spacious room. The king sized bed took up a large part of the floor space. An enormous armoire sat opposite the bed, its front doors open to reveal a large television set. A leather sofa and arm chair sat in front of another fireplace, the back side of the one in the sitting room, I realized. Original oil paintings of what appeared to me to be the Masters hung on the wall. Mirrored sliding glass doors led to what I assumed to be the closet. I was about to leave the room when I noticed a shoe sticking out from behind the sofa. I moved closer, hoping it would just be an empty shoe and I wouldn't find Jake dead as well.

  A muffled sob escaped me when I got close enough to see that it was indeed Jake. It took me a few seconds of panic before I realized that there was no blood and that he was breathing. He was alive, but unconscious.

  I dropped to his side with another sob, this one of relief. Then I noticed the gun gripped loosely in his hand. I felt the knife slip from my numb fingers as I realized the implications. No, no, no. It can't be true, my brain jabbered as I pushed away. Why not? another part of me argued. After all he's been through, you had to expect him to crack eventually. His brother was a killer. Maybe it runs in the family. He looked so peaceful lying there, as if he were simply taking a nap. But only a few feet away lay a murdered body, and here was Jake holding a gun. Passed out? Except for his shallow breathing, he hadn't moved a muscle since I'd found him. I took a closer look and noticed some bruising on his face and around his mouth.

  “Jake?” I said, my voice coming out in a hoarse croak. “Jake?” I shook his foot hesitantly.

  “Freeze, don't move,” a loud voice suddenly barked from behind me. I screamed and lurched forward, throwing myself behind the couch with Jake.

  “This is the police,” the voice identified itself. “You're under arrest. Come out with your hands where I can clearly see them. If you make any sudden moves, I will shoot.”

  “Don't shoot,” I said shakily. “I'm the one who called the police. I'm Killian Kendall. I work for Shane Novak. We're private investigators.”

  “Come out where I can see you,” the police officer ordered. “Keep your hands where I can see them.”

  I edged carefully out from behind the couch, moving slowly and deliberately, keeping my hands in plain sight at all times. The officer was wearing a uniform and pointing a gun right at me. If you've never had the pleasure of such an experience, let me tell you, it's a very unsettling feeling. I wasn't about to make any sudden moves. He looked surprised when he saw me.

  “Let's see your license,” he said, covering his surprise well. He looked to be in his mid-thirties, with dark hair, a carefully trimmed mustache, and heavy eyebrows over dark eyes.

  “I don't have one. I'm still in training.”

  “Is there anyone else in the room with you?”

  “Yes, there's another person behind the couch, but he's unconscious.” I decided not to mention the gun just yet. The cop looked a little nervous as it was. “He might need medical help.”

  “Guys,” he said, as he stepped farther into the room, his gun never once wavering. Two more uniformed police officers stepped around him, guns drawn, and approached me carefully.

  “Turn around,” one of them ordered. I quickly did as he said and I was grabbed roughly from behind, pushed down onto the sofa, and handcuffs were swiftly snapped around my wrists. It all happened so fast I didn't have time to do more than gasp. After patting me down and removing my wallet, they left me on the couch, the first cop still holding the gun on me, while the other two checked Jake.

  “He's got a gun,” one of them said tightly.

  “Is he out?” the first one, who seemed to be in charge, asked.

  “Looks like it.”

  “Get Deacon and have him get some shots before you move him then. We don't want to fuck this one up. This is high profile.”

  One of the officers stood up and started to leave the room.

  “Take the other kid with you,” the one in charge snapped.

  He hauled me roughly to my feet and shoved me in the direction of the door. He led me downstairs and into the front room, which appeared to have been taken over as headquarters. The place seemed to be crawling with cops. As we passed, I saw flashes coming from the kitchen. Apparently, the crime lab was already getting started. My escort left me sitting awkwardly on a chair; hands still cuffed behind my back, and placed another young cop to watch over me. He wasn't very talkative and I wasn't exactly feeling chatty myself, so we sat in uncomfortable silence while police bustled busily around us. I had plenty of time to study the guy they'd chosen to watch me. He couldn't have been more than a few years older than me. He was probably fresh out of police academy. He had close-cut light reddish-brown hair and hazel eyes. A smattering of freckles across his pug nose made him look even younger. His thin lips were pressed together in a nervous expression and I realized that this was probably his first big case. He looked almost as scared as I felt.

  After about half an hour, they wheeled the guy from the kitchen out in a body bag.

  Soon after, the officer in charge from upstairs came into the room and spotted me. He frowned and walked over.

  He looked down at the clipboard in his hand. “Killian Kendall,” he announced in a dark voice. “What do you know about these murders?”

  “Less than you do, probably.”

  His frown deepened. “What were you doing here?”


  “Am I still under arrest?”

  “Considering I found you at the site of a multiple homicide, yes.”

  “Then maybe I should wait to talk until I have a lawyer.”

  “Damn kids. You've watched too many movies. You got something to hide?”

  “No, sir. I just think it would be best if I wait to be questioned until I have a lawyer.”

  He sucked in a deep breath between clenched teeth. “Marshall, take him to the station and lock him up,” he growled to my young guard. “And be sure to let him call his damn lawyer first.”

  The officer nodded sharply. “Yes, sir,” he said. So he could speak. He helped me up and led me out the front door and towards the cluster of police cruisers parked on the lawn. I noticed he was being a lot gentler than the guys who'd cuffed me. The whole thing was kind of surreal. I'd never been arrested before. I was pretty shaken, but I would have been a lot more scared if I thought there was any chance of being charged with anything. I knew I hadn't done anything to be charged with though...unless you counted breaking and entering. And possibly interfering with a crime scene. Hmm, maybe I should be a bit worried after all.

  “I'm going to switch your cuffs to the front,” the cop said, stopping next to one of the cars.

  “Thanks,” I said, unsure of what else to say to that. I was relieved though. It was very uncomfortable with my arms locked behind my back.

  “You're Killian Kendall?” he asked softly as he unlocked one side of the handcuffs. I gratefully dropped my arms to my side, but he quickly pulled my wrists forward and cuffed them again in front. “I've read about you in the paper.”

  “About me?”

  “Yeah, I...”

  “Killian!” a familiar voice called from the direction of the street.

  I turned and spotted Micah by the front gate behind the police tape. Another officer stood nearby, arms crossed over his chest, making sure no one dared cross the line.

  “The reporters are here already?” Officer Marshall grumbled. “They're like vultures.”

  “Actually, he's with me,” I said and then I called to Micah, “Find Novak and Judy.”

  “You shouldn't be talking to him,” Marshall said uncertainly.

  “Sorry,” I said and allowed him to push me gently into the back seat. He buckled me in and then he slid in behind the wheel. A metal grill separated the front seat from the back. We didn't speak again until we were on the road.

  “What did you mean you've read about me in the paper?”

  “After you solved that ax murder case. I wasn't on the force yet, but there was a big article about you. It said you'd solved another case too, when you were younger.”

  “Oh, um...I don't know that I solved either of them really.”

  “The article said you did. Is that what you were doing here?”

  “I probably shouldn't say anything...”

  “I'm not going to tell anyone. I think it's awesome that you're so young and you're out there solving crimes that the police can't figure out.”

  “It's not always that they can't,” I said, thinking about Seth and Paul. “Sometimes it's because they don't really care.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Some cases don't seem to get the same priority. Fenton Black was a killer and a criminal and there must be twenty to twenty-five cops crawling around his house, just because he was rich and powerful. I had a friend who was murdered because he was gay and no one cared about finding his killer. The case I'm working on now involves a young guy who was murdered in his own apartment, but because he was a gay escort, nothing happened on his case for over a month.”

  “So you were on a case. Black was involved?”

  I sighed. “I'm not saying anything more about it.”

  Marshall looked disappointed. He looked at me in the rear view mirror, his eyes catching mine. “I'm gay too,” he suddenly blurted out.

  I blinked in surprise. I couldn't believe this was actually happening. I was sitting handcuffed in the back of a police car while the cop driving came out to me. This day kept getting more and more bizarre.

  “I've never told anyone before,” he went on.

  “Oh.” I didn't know what else to say.

  “Was that reporter your boyfriend?'

  I nodded. “How did you know he was a reporter?”

  “You get to know the reporters pretty quick around here. It's not like there's that many, and he's been working on that corruption case.” He was quiet for a minute. “I've never had a boyfriend.”

  He obviously wanted to talk about it. “How long have you known?” I asked.

  “That I'm gay? A long time. Since junior high at least.”

  “Why didn't you ever tell anyone?”

  “I don't know. I grew up in a small farming town, very rural. All my friends were rednecks. I wasn't like...you know, queer acting, so I fit in. It just seemed easier not to tell anyone. I dated a couple girls in high school but it wasn't serious. I never even kissed one of them. Man, it feels good to be telling all this to someone.”

  “Um, glad I can help.”

  “My dad used to be a state trooper, but he was injured in an accident when I was a kid. He always wanted me to become a cop too, so when I graduated high school, I went to community college and went into the police academy as soon as I was old enough. I've never even kissed a guy, but I've thought about it a lot.” He looked at me in the rearview mirror again and I got the feeling he was thinking about it right then.

  “You should, uh, meet more people. Gay people I mean,” I said awkwardly.

  “I don't know where,” he said, blushing. “And I'd be scared. I don't think the guys in the department would be very happy if they found out.” His eyes widened as he thought of something. “You won't tell anyone will you?”

  “No, I won't tell anyone,” I assured him. “I promise. It's not my place to out anyone else.”

  He gave me a tentative smile. “Thanks. Maybe I'll come out some day, but not yet.”

  We arrived at the police station just then, and all conversation about being gay was abruptly dropped. He led me inside, where the officers had apparently been warned of my impending arrival. I was photographed and fingerprinted, just like a real suspect, and then I was allowed to make my phone call. I looked up the phone number for the only lawyer I knew, Ilana Constantino. She was a family lawyer, but she was the only person I could think of to call. I didn't want to panic Adam. Ilana agreed to get there as quickly as possible and said she'd call Adam to let him know what was going on.

  I was then led to the holding area. My cuffs were removed and I was locked inside the small featureless cell. My stomach sank as the door swung shut with a loud clang. I sat down on the metal bed built into one wall and suddenly everything caught up to me at once. The lack of sleep, the shock of finding the dead bodies, my fears for Jake, being arrested...whatever had been holding me together completely collapsed and tears began to fall, slowly at first, and then faster as my sobs built. Eventually, I cried myself into an uneasy sleep.

  I startled awake as keys jangled outside my cell. I sat up with a jerk to find the officer who had been giving orders back at Black's house. He didn't look any happier than the last time I'd seen him.

  “You're lawyer is here now, Kendall,” he said as he unlocked the door. “If you'd be so kind as to follow me, we'll have that little chat now.”

  I didn't really follow him; he walked a few careful steps behind me, directing me where to go with terse commands. At least he didn't put the cuffs back on. We arrived at an interrogation room, a small room with a table and a few chairs. Ilana was waiting at the table, looking as calm and self-assured as always. She was the lawyer that handled all the legal proceedings when Mom gave Adam custody of me, and when Adam had fought his ex-wife for custody of Kane. She was a close friend of the family. It was a comfort just to see her.

  I sat down at the table and the officer sat down across from me. “I'm Detective Rosen,” he told me. “This
will all be recorded. Please state your full name.”

  “Killian Travers Kendall.”

  “Please tell me what you were doing at the estate of Fenton Black this evening when police responded to an anonymous call that a murder had taken place at that address.”

  I looked over at Ilana and she nodded. I took a deep breath. “Actually, the anonymous call was me. I was there because I work for Shane Novak; he's a private investigator, retired from the Baltimore City PD.” Rosen didn't look impressed. “I'm working on a case involving a murder in Washington DC, a strangled escort. In the course of my investigation I discovered that Fenton Black was actually the murdered escort's...er, employer. Then I discovered evidence linking him to the killing itself. I turned the evidence over to a Detective Owen Evans of the DC this afternoon and they were planning on moving to arrest Black within the next 24 hours.”