All Things Lost

by Josh Aterovis

  “You have police connections?”

  “I'd better. I was a cop for longer than you've been alive. And no good investigator worthy of the name would be caught dead without a couple good contacts at the station. I'll take you there one day and introduce you around.”

  “I may know some of them,” I said dryly.

  “I keep forgetting you're not exactly green when it comes to the whole investigation scene.”

  “I'm far from experienced though.”

  “Well, the first step is getting background. We need to know as many facts as we can about what happened. And I mean evidence, not just suspicions and theories, although they have their place too.”

  “What do I do?”

  “Go to the newsroom at the Chesapeake Times and tell them you want to look at the issues starting when the story first broke. Tell them you're working for me; they know me there.”

  “What am I looking for?”

  “Anything and everything to do with the case; names, dates, location, the officer in charge of the investigation, what they think happened, whatever you can get.”

  He gave me directions and sent me off after telling me to keep record of my mileage on the car. I was driving Adam's, as mine was still incapacitated. I didn't have any trouble getting the newspapers, but as the story began to unfold bit by tortured bit I found myself more and more horrified and less and less sure I wanted to be involved.

  The first story, reported several days earlier, was just a brief account of a house fire in which the firemen said there was at least one victim. No cause of the fire was reported. By the very next day the deceased had moved from the status of an accidental victim of a tragic fire to murder victim. Details were still sketchy at this point. It seemed investigators were staying pretty tight lipped.

  The full story broke on day three. The police released full details of the man, Ira Cohen, a night deskman at a run-down hotel on the edge of town. His earthly remains had been found at the heart of the fire, but he hadn't died in the fire. It seemed that before the fire had been started old Ira had been hacked apart. My stomach lurched just thinking about it. It was also reported that an accelerant had been used to set the blaze.

  A clearer picture of Mr. Cohen began to appear in yesterday's paper. He had a record of minor infractions; DUI's, disorderly conduct and barroom brawls, but it seemed he didn't limit his brawling to the barroom. There were records of several investigations into allegations of child abuse, but nothing ever came of any of them.

  The article ended with the mention that Mr. Cohen's son, Caleb, had been picked up for questioning regarding the murder and fire.

  With a sigh, I closed the tablet I'd been using to take notes, now with several pages full of my sprawling handwriting. I thanked the staff that had helped me and drove back to the office.

  “The damn phone has rung itself off the hook!” Novak barked as soon as I opened the door. He was sitting at my desk.

  “Sorry?” I offered, although I was unsure of what I was apologizing for.

  “Ah, it's not your fault. It's the weather. It makes everyone think their spouse must be cheating on them. But if you're gonna start helping me out on research I'm gonna need to find us another desk jockey.”

  We went into Novak's office while I quickly brought him up to date on what I'd found out at the newspaper.

  He grunted when I had finished my recital. “Good work, kid. I knew most of that already but you did a nice job. My source at the department confirmed all that and gave me a bit more that they haven't released to the newspapers yet. It seems the kid, Caleb, threatened to kill his old man in front of a couple police officers the last time they were called out there, by a neighbor I might add. Apparently it was common knowledge that the guy beat up on his kid on a regular basis. It seems our Mr. Cohen was a real prize, a championship sleazeball. I imagine it's going to get ugly for the child protective services before it's over.”

  “Why?”

  “The kid should have been out of the house long ago, but nothing was ever done. Anyway, the kid was taken out of the home and placed into a group home while yet another investigation took place. The problem is the kid disappeared from the home on the day of the murder and wasn't seen again until some uniforms picked him up on the boardwalk a couple days ago. His story is that from previous experience, he fully expected to be returned to his father and he wasn't having any of it, so he took off. Bad choice as it turns out, especially if he's telling the truth, which the police don't think he is. Right now, he's their favorite suspect. Make that only suspect.”

  “What do you think?”

  “I don't have enough information to think anything at this point. From what little I do know there isn't any real evidence against the boy. All they have is a threat that almost anyone would have made in the same situation and his disappearance, which may have been just as he said. On the other hand, it doesn't take an overactive imagination to understand the rage and helplessness the kid must have been feeling. Cornered people do desperate things and this murder was definitely a crime of passion.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  “Simple. You don't chop someone up who you mildly dislike or just want out of the way. That takes an intense hatred or a psycho, as I mentioned earlier. Now, I've spent enough time today on a case that I'm not even getting paid for. I'm going to get back to my paying cases and I suggest you get back to work as well. We'll look at this again on Monday if I have time.”

  I took the dismissal for what it was and returned to my desk. The phone began to ring before my bottom even hit the chair. The rest of the day was fairly routine. I thought all the excitement was over for a while. Boy, was I wrong.

  Chapter 7

  Chaos greeted me as I walked through the front door of our house that evening. The sounds of pot and pans banging around came from the direction of the kitchen, where I deduced that Adam must be cooking. Steve was struggling to add the extra leaf to our antique (and very stubborn) dining table. Kane was busily vacuuming and over all this, the radio was loudly blaring dance music.

  I rushed over to help Steve with the table. “What's going on?” I asked as I tugged on my end. It slowly slid grudgingly open far enough to accommodate the leaf.

  “We're having company,” Steve grunted as he dropped the leaf into place. “Push,” he ordered.

  “So I gathered,” I gave the table a shove and it slid back together. “Of the last minute variety I assume. Do I get to know who it is or do I have to wait until they arrive?”

  “Judy and Jake. It was Adam's idea.”

  My stomach did a funny little flutter at the mention of Jake's name but I tried to just ignore it. I thought that Steve sounded a little disgruntled by our eleventh-hour guests, but then again I may have been reading too much into it.

  I wondered into the kitchen and decided I wasn't just imagining things. Adam was wearing a very grim expression as he attacked a large bowl of salad as if the greens had offended him.

  “What did that lettuce do to you?” I asked lightly. He jumped and looked up.

  “Killian,” he said, as if surprised to see me.

  “Yeah, I live here, remember?”

  “I didn't hear you come in.”

  “Sorry, didn't mean to startle you. Are you ok?”

  “Me? Yeah, why do you ask?”

  “Well, with you roughing the roughage and all…”

  “I'm fine, just a little stressed with having to throw together a dinner at the last minute like this.”

  “I thought it was your idea.”

  “Who said that?”

  “Steve.”

  Adam rolled his eyes, “He would. Technically I invited them, but you know Judy. She called here fully intending to eat here tonight. She dropped hints until I invited her and then she was all, `oh we couldn't, too much work, blah blah blah,' but of course she accepted.”

  “Is there anything I can do to help?”

  “No, not really. Thanks though,
Kill. It's not as bad as I'm making it out to be; I'm just blowing off steam. The chicken breasts are in the oven, the risotto is almost done, I've ravaged the romaine enough and we have plenty of desserts around. All I have to do is mix up the vinaigrette and I'm all done. Besides, you're a working stiff now. You go on and relax until dinner.”

  “I don't do anything except sit behind a desk all day. The most strenuous thing I do is answer the phone. Although I did get to do some research today at the newspaper.”

  “That's different. Is it for one of Mr. Novak's cases?”

  “He hates to be called mister. And not exactly, but that's a long story.”

  “Which I want to hear in full, just not right now.”

  “Ok,” I said, trying to hide my relief. I wasn't quite ready for Adam to know that I was getting involved in another murder investigation. I made my exit while I could and took the stairs two at a time up to my room. I was checking my email, nothing but get-rich-quick offers and penis enlargement advertisements, when Kane came in.

  “Hiya, Kill,” he said as he pulled his stained, raggedy t-shirt over his head, “Dad said I hafta change.”

  “No wonder, you look like some street kid in that nasty shirt.”

  “Hey, you know it's my favorite. It was Seth's. What should I wear?”

  “Clothes.”

  “Come on, you're the gay guy. You're supposed to be good at fashion stuff.”

  “Don't even start!”

  “I'm just kidding,” he said with a grin. He pulled a short-sleeved knit shirt out of my dresser and held it up. “I know how you are about stereotypes. Can I wear this?”

  “Just don't get anything on it.”

  “I'll try. Are you and Asher still on the outs?”

  “Yeah, why?” I said warily.

  “Are you going to start something up with Jake again?”

  “What?”

  “You two had something going on once, before Asher, right?”

  “That's ancient history, Kane.”

  “Hmmm, a bit touchy, aren't you? Maybe you protest too much?”

  “Don't misquote Shakespeare at me,” I said a trifle grumpily.

  “Fine, I think thou dost protest too much. That better? Anyway, the only reason I asked is because I met this really nice guy today at the library and I think he might be gay.”

  “Ok, first off, I do not need you fixing me up. I am perfectly capable of finding my own dates if and when I decide I'm ready to date. Second, what makes you so sure he's gay? Did he talk with a lisp and have a limp wrist?”

  “Now who's throwing around stereotypes?”

  “I was making a point.”

  “I've been around enough gay guys to know one when I see one. Besides, he was hitting on me, not real obviously or anything but definitely flirting. And no, I wasn't imagining it. And then,” he paused dramatically before delivering his final argument, “he gave me his phone number before he left.”

  “Oh,” I said, feeling properly chastised. I turned back to the computer and started reading an article about Madonna's latest publicity stunt.

  “Aren't you going to ask me if he was cute?” Kane asked after a minute.

  “It doesn't matter since I'm not about to call him. Besides, you're straight, how would you know?”

  “I'm straight, not blind. I still know if a guy is hot or not. I'm just not attracted to him if he is.”

  I shrugged and kept reading. I lasted a full thirty seconds before my curiosity overcame me. “Well, was he cute?” I demanded, carefully keeping my eyes on the screen.

  “Well, I am only straight,” his voice dripped with sarcasm, “but I'd have to say he was a major hottie.”

  I struggled for another half a minute before asking, “How major?”

  “You know that guy from Cruel Intentions?”

  I spun around, “Ryan Philippe?”

  “Yeah, that's him. Well he didn't look anything like him.”

  I laughed out loud as Kane collapsed into a fit of giggles.

  “Good one. You made the whole thing up, didn't you?” I said.

  “No, he's for real, honest. I just couldn't resist. He's got brown hair and eyes, cute in an all-American sort of way. Actually he looked a little like that guy from that movie you like.”

  “That narrows it down.”

  “The gay movie.”

  “Beautiful Thing?”

  “No, that other one, with Rachel from friends.”

  “Oh, The Object of My Affection.”

  “Yeah, that one.”

  “You mean Paul Rudd?”

  “If you say so. His name is Micah.”

  “That's a nice name.”

  “He seemed like a nice guy. He overheard me asking the librarian about where to find books on local history. He said that he'd just finished a great book on the subject.”

  “Since when have you cared about local history?”

  “I don't. It was for Steve. He's doing some sort of research about this house he's so obsessed with. Anyway, Micah showed me the book he was talking about and a few others. Wasn't that nice of him?”

  “A regular boy scout,” I said dryly, “And how old was this font of knowledge and goodwill? 50? 60? 70?”

  “I'd guess in his early 20's. He's a reporter. That's why he knew all that stuff. He was doing research for an article.”

  “Oh. Well I'm still not calling a complete stranger. And you don't even know for sure that he's gay. He might have just given you his number as a professional courtesy; you know, in case you had more questions.”

  “Get real. My gaydar is probably better than yours. I could introduce you.”

  “Forget it, Kane. I'm not going on a blind date with some stranger you just met in the library. Do you really think I'm that desperate?”

  “You're still hung up on Asher aren't you?”

  “For the love of…where did that come from?”

  “If you're not ready to date just say so.”

  “Has everyone lost their freakin' minds around here?”

  The phone started ringing at the moment and Kane scooped it up. I gratefully escaped back to the computer.

  “Speak of the devil,” Kane said as he dropped the phone into my lap.

  I looked up questioningly, but he walked out of the room without a backwards glance.

  “Hello?” I said, half expecting to hear the mysterious Micah on the other end.

  “Killian?” It was Asher.

  “Oh, hi.”

  “Don't sound so excited,” he said.

  “I was just…never mind. What's up?”

  “You said you'd call me.”

  “No, I said we would talk.”

  “Well, now we're talking. What's going on?”

  “You're lucky. Novak agreed to help out in his spare time. I think he's just curious about the case.”

  “Great! When do we start?”

  “We started today. We did some research and stuff. We won't be doing much more until Monday.”

  “Monday? We have to move faster than that! Caleb's in jail!”

  “I thought he was fifteen.”

  “Well, it's juvie jail, but still.”

  “Look, we have to do this on Novak's time. He's doing us, no, you, a favor by doing this at all.”

  “We don't have to wait on him for everything. You could meet me tomorrow and we could go visit Caleb. I had him add you to his visitor's list. It's not like he has that many. Don't you want to meet him?”

  I started to argue but once again, my curiosity won out. “What time?” I said with a sigh.

  “How about 11?”

  “Fine,” I said, “I have to go. Judy and Jake are coming over for dinner.”

  “I know. They're staying here while they get moved into their house. It's a full house.”

  “I bet. I have to go help Adam now.” A small fib but I was eager to get off the phone before I got drawn into anything else.

  “Ok, see you tomorrow.”

  I
hung up and decided to go down and see if there was something I could do so it wouldn't be a total lie. As I stood up I noticed a cream-colored business card lying next to the keyboard.

  “Micah Gerber,” it read, “Journalist.” His phone number and email address were printed beneath that. For a crazy moment, I thought about sending the guy an email, but I quickly shook it off and ran downstairs.

  I was setting a basket of rolls on the table when I heard voices in the hallway. Apparently Judy and Jake had arrived. My stomach did a triple somersault before settling into what felt like jumping jacks.

  I couldn't make myself go out to greet them so I waited for them to come to me. I didn't have to wait long since dinner was ready. Judy and Jake came into the room, led by Steve with Adam and Kane trailing behind. Jake stopped cold when he saw me standing there. He looked better than I remembered. He'd grown up since I saw him last; he now looked several inches taller than me. His hair had darkened to a light brown with blonde highlights and his skin was a warm golden tan, making his bright blue eyes look even brighter. He was, in a word, beautiful. He grinned and his teeth flashed white. I smiled back uncertainly. No one in the room missed the exchange but thankfully everyone had the grace not to mention it.

  We settled into our places around the table and somehow it was maneuvered so that Jake and I were sitting side by side. I was beginning to feel like things had been orchestrated to throw us together. I didn't much like the feeling.

  Adam left the room and returned with the bowl of salad. After a brief blessing, we all dug in. Conversation was light; we mostly talked about Judy and Jake's recent move, her new business, and the house that Steve was buying. I noticed that every time the subject of the house came up that Adam didn't have much to say. Or maybe I was just making mountains out of molehills.

  Steve filled us in on his latest research on the house, “From what I've been able to find, everything Victoria told us is pretty accurate. The house was built in the late 1840's and Captain Marnien did build it for his young bride, Amalie. The Captain was quite a local celebrity, a bit of an eccentric. There's a whole little booklet about him that was published in the 1940's because he was apparently very influential in the area. That's the book that Victoria was referring to, with the letters from Amalie in it. He married Amalie in 1846 and they moved into the original house while the new one was being built. They had one child but he died before he was a year old which was very common then. Captain Marnien was thought lost at sea in 1851. It was in all the local newspapers at the time, even made the Baltimore papers. It was considered quite a tragedy. Apparently, his ship was lost in a storm, but he was rescued by a nearby fishing boat. When he made it back, he returned to the house to find Amalie dead. Now this is all from newspaper accounts and one brief, flowery mention in another book that I'm not sure is very accurate, but they suggested that she died of a broken heart when she believed that the Captain was dead. It makes you wonder if maybe she really committed suicide or something. Either way, the Captain lived alone in relative seclusion after that until he died in 1860.”