All Things Lost

by Josh Aterovis

“Yes.”

  “I see.” He thought for a moment, rubbing his chin, then he gathered up all the cards the he had written on while we had been talking. There was quite a stack now. He pushed everything on his desk to one end and beckoned me closer with a crooked finger. I moved to his side as he began to lay the cards out as if he were playing some game that only he knew the rules to.

  A pattern began to form. It started at the top with a single card. It had Ira Cohen's name written in neat, careful printing at the top. Under his name was written all the relevant facts that we knew about him at this point. Under that, branching out, were cards bearing the names Caleb Cohen, Nadine Tingle, Phillip Zaranski, Becky Haynes and one blank card. Under certain names were cards with a single question written on it. Under Caleb's name there were two questions. One read, “Where was he between the time he left and the time the police picked him up?” The other said, “Did he have a boyfriend and if so who was it?” Under Zaranski's was a card that said, “Who else was Ira blackmailing?” Under Becky's was, “Why is she protecting Caleb, and from what?”

  “What's the blank one mean?” I asked.

  “Mrs. Fields, the other neighbor. You can see what I'm doing hear, right? It's like a fill-in-the-blank puzzle.”

  “Right. These are the questions that we need to answer.”

  “Some of the questions. There will be more before we're finished, you can count on that. Most of the time, answering one question only raises a dozen more.”

  “Do they ever all get answered?”

  “Only in the books, kid,” he said with a gesture towards his bookshelf, “but we do the best we can. Right now, these are the questions that we're most concerned with.”

  “What about Nadine? You didn't put any questions under her name.”

  “That's because we don't know enough about her to even know what to ask. Not just yet anyway. Ok, so which one do you want to start with?”

  I looked over the cards. “The neighbors would probably be the easiest to tackle. Might as well get them out of the way.”

  “Great,” he said. He picked up the neighbor's cards and stuck them on a bulletin board that was hanging on the back of his office door, for just that purpose I supposed. “You drive on out there and see if you can't get someone to talk to you. Meanwhile I'll give Sgt. Kaplan a call and make sure he picked up on the connection same as we did. He's a good cop so I'm sure he did. I don't want to seem like I'm trying to do his job, but I do want to make sure we're all on the same page.”

  “Whoa, wait a minute,” I said, trying to keep up, “You want me to go talk to the neighbors by myself?”

  “All by your lonesome.”

  “But just a little while ago you were telling me how unobservant I was.”

  “This is how you learn.”

  “What about learning by observing? What if I miss something important?”

  “Then you learn the hard way.”

  I opened and closed my mouth a few times, but it was obvious who had won the case. I was clearly out of arguments. With a beleaguered sigh I turned and started for the door.

  “Oh, and Killian,” he called just as my hand turned the doorknob, “Don't miss anything.”

  * * *

  I pulled my car into the driveway of the burned out house and turned the engine off. I felt a little twinge as the gentle purr died away. I thought again about what Novak had said about naming my car, and for the first time I began to understand.

  “How does one go about naming a car,” I wondered as I climbed out. I looked across the fallow farm land at Mrs. Fields' house. I briefly wondered why the field hadn't been cultivated; it was well past the time for planting. Then I looked the house over. It wasn't exactly a welcoming house. It badly needed a paint job and didn't look all that weather proof. I could have sworn I saw a curtain flutter at one of the windows, but as I stared nothing else so much as moved a fraction of an inch. I decided that it had just been my imagination working overtime again. Still, I was hesitant to approach the forbidding abode.

  I turned and looked the other way but I couldn't see the Haynes' house for the line of trees that created the windbreak. On a sudden whim I decided to go explore the barn before I took on real people. Build up my powers of observation, I told myself.

  I pushed gently pushed against the barn door but it didn't budge and inch. I braced my shoulder against it and shoved with my whole weight. It swung open with an unhappy groan of protest and I stumbled in amid a shower of dirt, cobwebs and rotten wood. I used my highly-refined powers of detection to deduce that this door hadn't been used in quite some time. I was probably wasting my time, but I was here so I might as well take a look around.

  The interior of the building was dim compared to the bright outdoors. Sunlight shafted through the windows that weren't grown over, doing what it could to dispel the gloom but failing miserably. Dust motes danced thickly through the beams making me feel like I needed an oxygen mask just to breathe. A row of stalls ran down one wall. An elderly tractor took up most of the remaining space. Rusted and forgotten, it gave me the impression that it was sad to have been so rejected. Several old, wooden-handled tools stood propped against one wall, the kind no farm should be without: a shovel, a pitchfork, a rake, and something that looked like it would have been right at home slung over the shoulder of the Grim Reaper. A moldering pile of straw took up one corner and the very sight of it set my nose to twitching.

  Several sneezes later, a quick walk down the length of the barn told me that the stalls held nothing but more cobwebs. I was turning to leave when I remembered that the barn had a second floor. I hadn't seen any means of reaching the upper story so I searched again. It took me a minute to find a rickety looking ladder nailed to one wall in a corner. It led up through a hole in the ceiling.

  I spent the next few seconds debating the wisdom of climbing the unsteady looking structure but finally decided that the possible benefits outweighed the risks. I started up the ladder to find that it was a lot sturdier than it looked. In fact, it seemed to me that someone had been maintaining it. If I wasn't mistaken a couple of the rungs had been replaced, their nails shiny and new. I soon found out why.

  Someone had set up house in the loft of the barn. A small glass oil lamp, half full of fuel, sat on a milk crate next to makeshift bed that was really little more than an old mildewed feather mattress covered by a sleeping bag. A couple cans of baked beans sat nearby and there were several empty bags of Doritos. I had found Caleb's hideaway. Either that or a hobo had taken up residence in the Cohen's barn.

  I poked around a bit, I didn't really want to touch the grungy looking bedding but I decided that if I was going to be a detective I couldn't be that fussy. I lifted the sleeping bag and shook it out, nothing. I pulled the mattress back and found a few surprising discoveries; a well-worn copy of a gay porn magazine, a bottle of lube and…a couple condoms. The magazine and the lube weren't so surprising; they could have been for Caleb's personal amusement. The condoms, however, were a different story. Unless, of course, they were just a teenage boy's hopeful fantasy.

  I scanned the surrounding area but didn't see much else. Then something caught my eye in the deep shadows under the eaves. I crawled back until I could see that it was what I had thought it was: a used condom. I left it where it was. Evidence or not, I wasn't about to touch someone else's used condom.

  I looked around some more but didn't see anything else. As I climbed back down I found myself sorting out what I had discovered into Novak style card-sized factoids. Caleb kept a secret retreat in the barn, probably for when things go too intense in the house. It seemed very likely that he entertained someone there on occasion. The new question was who?

  Maybe the neighbors would have the answer to that question. I decided to start with the Haynes's since I had already met Becky. I was about to walk around by the road when I noticed a very slight path worn into the grass that led through an even slighter gap in the trees that separated the two yards. I pushed thr
ough the branches to find myself in the Haynes' backyard. A man working on a riding mower a few feet away looked up in surprise.

  “Can I help you?” he asked in a somewhat challenging voice. I guess he didn't have too many visitors pop through his shrubbery. He was a short, stocky man, clean shaven and short hair parted on one side. He looked like he might have been a football player in high school.

  “Are you Mr. Haynes?” I asked him.

  “Yes, and you are?”

  “My name is Killian Kendall,” I said. I proudly pulled out one of my brand new business cards and offered it to him.

  He wiped a greasy hand on his jeans and took the proffered card.

  “I was wondering if I could talk to you for a few minutes.”

  “Is this about Ira's murder?”

  “Yes, sir, it is.”

  “Are you the same people that talked to my wife a few days ago?”

  “Yes, actually I was wondering if she had thought of anything else that might be helpful.”

  “Talking about it upset her the other day. She's lying down right now. She gets migraines sometimes; they've been worse since this whole mess started.”

  “I'm very sorry; we didn't mean to upset her. Do you think you add anything to what she told us?”

  “She told you about Nadine, right? Boy if she isn't a piece of work.”

  “Yes, we went and talked to her after your wife told us how to find her.”

  “Did Becky tell you how they used to fight?”

  “Nadine and Ira?”

  “Yeah, and I mean fight, not just raised voices. They'd be screaming and yelling, cursing at the top of their lungs, throwing and breaking things, once she smashed his windshield with a baseball bat. Becky and I aren't the type to get involved in something like that, we keep to ourselves, but I think old Mrs. Fields called the sheriff a few times.”

  “Were they physically violent with each other?”

  “I never saw either of them hit the other, but I wouldn't be surprised. God knows he hit Caleb enough.”

  “You and your wife looked after Caleb?”

  “As much as we could, I wish we could have done more. He's a good kid. If he did this, what they're saying he did, he was driven to it by that no good dad of his.”

  “Do you have children?” I asked suddenly.

  His face changed, his eyes dimmed as if a switch had been thrown. I knew I had overstepped my bounds. “No, we don't,” he said sharply. It was obvious from his tone of voice that the conversation was now over, or at least this line of questioning. I would have switched tactics if I'd had any other tactics to switch to. As it was I couldn't even think of any more questions.

  “Oh, well...um…I'd better go,” I finished lamely.

  He nodded his agreement and I started back into the bushes when I remembered the condoms in the barn.

  “Mr. Haynes, one more question. Did you ever see anyone else at the Cohen's, someone around Caleb's age, maybe? A friend?”

  “Caleb doesn't have any friends. He's a loner.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “How can I be sure? It's not like I followed him around. I can't even see his house from ours. He never mentioned any friends; that's all I can tell you.”

  He watched me until I was safely back on the other side of the hedgerow. I looked across the empty stretch of land between the burned out home of the Cohen's and Mrs. Fields' house. She had an unobstructed view of the Cohen's yard, and more importantly, the barn. But then again, Caleb had said she was half blind.

  I trudged across the yard anyway, figuring my assignment wouldn't be complete unless I at least tried knocking.

  Once again, no one came to the door but I had an eerie feeling that someone was there, inside, watching me from behind the curtained windows. I resisted the urge to run screaming back to my car like a little girl. I was a professional investigator now, and somehow that didn't seem like professional behavior. Instead I slipped one of my cards into the doorjamb and walked calmly away. I felt as if eyes were boring into my back with every step but I forced myself to maintain a steady pace and not turn around. Nevertheless, I was inordinately relieved to reach the relative safety of my Mustang.

  “Ok, I'm back. Nothing happened. No one's home. I'm just being silly,” I told the car as I slid behind the wheel. Great, now I was talking to it. A name couldn't be far away now.

  Chapter 14

  I drove back to the office fairly happy with my day's work. I thought I had done pretty well considering it was my first real solo venture. I hadn't discovered anything earth shattering but maybe I'd filled in a few holes. I'd definitely raised more questions.

  “You must have found out something good,” Novak commented as soon as he saw me.

  “How'd you know that?” I asked. I was a little disappointed; I'd been hoping to surprise him.

  “You look like the proverbial cat that ate the canary, much too pleased with yourself. Spill it.”

  I was going to have to work on my poker face. I quickly filled him in on everything I had learned. When I had finished he pushed his chair back and began to rub his chin.

  “So, Nadine and Ira waged war on a regular basis, huh?” he mused aloud, “I can't say it surprises me. I knew she wasn't telling us everything. Sounds like another visit with our favorite hairdresser is in order.”

  “What about Caleb and his friend?”

  “Let's not jump to any conclusions. We don't know that there even is someone else. Sure it seems logical, but things aren't always as they seem, and we're not in the business of making false leaps. Why don't you talk to Caleb again, see if he'll spill anything about a friend.”

  “Me?”

  “Yes, you. You've met him; you've already established a relationship with him.”

  “I wouldn't say that. We met once and I got the impression he didn't like me.”

  “It's more than I have. He doesn't know me from a soap stick. Chances are I'd intimidate him. He'll be more likely to open up to someone closer to his age, like you.”

  I snorted. He hadn't met this kid.

  “Don't make rude noises. You sound like a rooting pig. On second thought, why don't you hold off on that visit until we talk to all the neighbors? There's still Mrs. Fields to talk to, she might tell us something we don't know.”

  “That wouldn't be hard,” I commented. “What did you find out from Sgt. Kaplan?”

  “About what I expected to find out. Hank's a good cop and he's far from stupid. He'd come to the same conclusions we had and they're checking things out. So far, nothing, but then, who in their right mind would admit they were being blackmailed, it will most likely turn out to be a dead end.”

  “He wouldn't tell you who any of the people on the tapes were?”

  “Are you kidding? I didn't even ask. There would be about the same chance of that as me riding a pig to Kalamazoo.”

  “I see,” I didn't but why ask why? “What do we do now?”

  “We keep digging. Sooner or later something will turn up.”

  * * *

  When I arrived home I found Steve pacing back and forth in the hallway with his cell phone pressed to his ear. Adam and Mom, pink from her day at the beach, were in the kitchen where Adam was busily making enchiladas from scratch.

  “He's been glued to that phone all afternoon,” Adam grouched when he saw me, “If he stays on there much longer he's going to get a brain tumor.”

  “Who's he talking to?” I asked.

  “Who isn't he talking to?” he answered.

  “He's trying to line up his work crews for the house. He wants then all working at the same time so things will get done faster, but they can't be getting in each other's way.”

  “Do you have any idea how hard it is to coordinate that many different crews?” Steve asked as he came into the kitchen.

  “How many are there?” I asked him.

  “Well, let's see, there's the electrical contractors who have to rewire just about the whole place, the p
lumbers and the painters, none of which can finish until the construction crew finishes the addition.”

  “What addition?” Mom interjected.

  “The existing kitchen is hopelessly out of date and much too small. We're adding on a new kitchen that will be much larger, modern and up to code. I'm also thinking about building a separate cottage for us to actually live in. There used to be a guest house out back but it burned down in the 30's. We've managed to come up with a couple photographs so we think we can build it so it looks pretty much like the original.”

  “What did they need a guest house for?” I jumped in, “the house is enormous.”

  “It wasn't original to the house. I think one of the later tenants had it built, around the turn of the century from the looks of it. It was a bit Victorian looking. But anyway, besides the crews I've already mentioned I've got some guys coming in next week to start clearing the undergrowth in the wooded areas, some botanical lady to start cataloging the gardens and restoring what is salvageable and marine experts building a dock and gazebo over the river.”

  “Good grief! Is there anything you haven't thought of?” Mom exclaimed.

  “Yeah, how I'm going to get all this done in time for our grand opening this fall.”

  “What's the rush?” Mom asked.

  “I work better with a deadline,” Steve deadpanned.

  The phone rang in his pants pocket. He pulled it out and flipped it open. After talking for a few minutes he snapped it shut with a satisfied smile.

  “There is a God and he still works miracles,” he declared.

  “She,” Mom corrected with a wink.

  “He, She, Them, whoever, the crews start work on Monday. It's a go!”

  * * *

  The next day was Saturday so the case was officially on hold until Monday. Mom and I went shopping and I tried to just enjoy the day with her, but I just couldn't keep my mind off the investigation.

  “Hello? Earth to Killian,” Mom shouted and I blinked her into focus.

  “Huh?”

  “I just asked you like three times where you want to go for lunch,” she said in the voice of someone who has had to repeat herself one too many times.