Date: Fri, 26 Apr 2002 15:19:17 EDT
From: MystryAuthr@aol.com
Subject: Chapter 13 of The Truth of Yesterday

Here is Chapter 13 of The Truth of Yesterday. I hope you enjoy it. If you
would like to receive updates whenever a new chapter is posted, go to the
website and sign up for the BH mailing list on the "Contact Me" page.

http://www.steliko.com/bleedinghearts

Contact me at Aterovis@aol.com


Chapter 13

	This was definitely not good, I thought as I froze where I was and
slowly raised my hands above my head. Getting caught was not part of my
plan. Assuming I survived this, Chris and I were definitely going to have
to work out a better way for her to warn me. As my eyes adjusted to the
light, I began to get a better look at my assailant. To my great surprise,
it turned out to be a woman. A very small, slender woman to be exact, with
distinctly Asian features and long, glossy black hair. And in her dainty
little hands was a deadly looking pistol, aimed directly at my chest.

	"Who are you?" she repeated in a surprisingly deep and husky
voice. She didn't sound at all like she looked. "And don't think for a
minute that I don't know how to use this thing," she added.

	"My name is Killian Kendall," I said as calmly as I could manage
while having a gun pointed at me. "Are you a police officer?"

	"I'll ask the questions, thank you. What are you doing in Paul's
apartment?"

	She said Paul's apartment, I noted, so she is most likely not a
cop. Didn't Micah say something about a neighbor of Paul's that he was very
close to? What was her name? Not for the first time I wished I was better
with names. I tried to decide if I should lie and say I was a friend of
Paul's, or tell the truth. I decided that, in this case at least, the truth
was the best policy.

	"I'm a private investigator," I told her. "I'm investigating the
murder of Paul Flynn."

	"You look a little young to be a private investigator."

	"I can't help that."

	"Who hired you?"

	"Micah Gerber. He asked me to look into Paul's murder since the
police don't seem to be taking a great interest in it."

	"Micah?" she asked warily, the gun wavering ever so slightly.

	"Yes."

	"How do I know you're telling the truth?"

	Good question. Just then, the name I was searching for
surfaced. "Are you Sabrina?" I asked. Her eyes widened. I took that as a
yes and went on, "Micah said you were a good friend of Paul's. Maybe you
can help me find out who killed him."

	The gun dropped a little farther, but I kept my hands in the air. I
wasn't about to risk my life with any sudden moves.

	"How'd you get in here?" she asked.

	"Micah gave me a key."

	That seemed to be what she wanted to hear. The gun dropped to her
side and she stepped back from the door.

	"Will you help me?" I asked, lowering my hands very slowly, but
keeping them in her view.

	"I'll talk to you, but I think we should go to my apartment. If
someone comes along, I don't want to be standing here with Paul's door wide
open. It would not look good."

	There was no arguing with her logic, so I moved slowly forward,
still not willing to risk spooking her as long as she held that gun. I
ducked under the police tape, locked the door, and pulled it closed behind
me. The door next to Paul's was standing open and Sabrina stepped to one
side of it and motioned with the gun as if to say 'after you'. She wasn't
going to give me the chance to get behind her, a smart move on her part had
I been someone dangerous. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Chris peek
around the corner and I motioned surreptitiously for her to remain
hidden. I stepped into her apartment and took a quick look around. As you
entered the apartment you found yourself in a large open space that served
as a living room/dining room. The kitchen opened off of it straight ahead,
and to the right of the kitchen was a closed door that I assumed led to a
bedroom. It wasn't large, but Sabrina had tastefully decorated her living
space with a blend of antique furnishings and Asian art.

	"Have a seat," she said casually, as if she entertained guests at
gunpoint all the time. Then again, for all I knew, she did.

	I sat gingerly on the edge of her scroll-backed Victorian sofa and
looked at her expectantly. She sat across from me on an uncomfortable
looking carved wooden chair. Seeing her clearly for the first time, I
realized how beautiful she was. Her features were delicate and refined,
making her look remarkably like a finely-sculpted china doll. And then she
spoke and ruined the effect.

	"Would you like a drink?" she asked in her strangely hoarse voice.

	"Er, uh, no thanks," I managed. It wasn't a question I had
expected.

	"So Micah asked you to find Paul's killer?" She fiddled with the
gun in her lap, making me more than a little nervous.

	"Yes. Um, do you think you could set the gun down? It's making me a
little uncomfortable. I promise I'm not going to hurt you, but if it makes
you feel better you can set it on the table right next to you where you can
grab it if you need to."

	"Oh!" she exclaimed. She looked down at the gun in surprise, as if
she'd forgotten she was holding it. "This?" She aimed the gun at my chest
once again and pulled the trigger before I could react. I flinched but
nothing happened. "It's not real," she explained. "I bought it at a women's
safety conference I went to a few years ago. It's just meant to scare
people. I don't like real guns."

	I stared at her in disbelief. "What would you have done if I'd
attacked you?"

	She blinked as if the thought had never occurred to her. "Hit you
with it?" she asked hesitantly.

	"Do you even know any self-defense?" I pressed.

	"Yes. What does any of this have to do with Paul?"

	"It doesn't have anything to do with Paul, but if you're going to
run around pointing a toy gun at people you'd better be able to defend
yourself."

	"I don't run around pointing it at people," she said
defensively. "Can we get back to the subject at hand?"

	"Your right, I'm sorry," I apologized. "It's really none of my
business."

	"It's ok," she said with hesitant smile. "I sort of made it your
business when I pointed it at you, I guess. So anyway, Micah hired you. Do
you actually know him, or did he just hire you?"

	"I know him. We've been dating for a few months."

	Her mouth formed a little "o" of surprise. "So...wait...you're
dating Micah, and you're investigating the murder of his ex-lover?"

	I gave her a wry grin. "That about sums it up."

	"Wow. Either you're a better man that I am, or you guys have a
weird relationship."

	"The latter most likely."

	"Well, how is Micah?"

	"He's...good, I guess. He's been shaken up over Paul's murder. I
don't think he was completely over him."

	She frowned. "Did you know Paul?"

	"No, I'm not from around here. Can you tell me about him?"

	"Where do I start?" she sighed. "He was a sweetheart. I miss him so
much. I keep thinking I'm going to run into him in the hall, I don't think
it's really sunk in yet that he's gone."

	"Were you good friends?"

	"Yes, very good friends. We talked pretty much every day, and I
don't just mean in the hallway. He'd come over for a drink in the evening
if he wasn't working or I'd go over there. Sometime he'd call me at work
just to talk."

	"Where do you work?"

	"I work at the daycare center in the Pentagon."

	It was my turn to look surprised. I was going to have to work on my
poker face. "Were you there...?"

	"September 11th? Yes. I've never been so scared in my life. Paul
was waiting here for me when I got home after what seemed like forever. He
just held me while I cried myself to sleep. He was a good person, he didn't
deserve to die." She broke off and visibly tried to regain her composure.

	"I talked to Razi Akiba earlier today, do you know him?"

	Her expression changed to look as if she'd bit into something
rotten. "Oh, I know him, alright," she said disdainfully.

	"I take it you don't like him?"

	"No, I don't."

	"Any particular reason or just general dislike?"

	She thought a moment before answering. "I'm not really certain,"
she said finally. "There's just something about him that I don't trust. I
always got the impression that he was using Paul, although I couldn't quite
explain why. And I know he tried to break Paul and Micah up when they were
still dating."

	"He did? Did Micah know?"

	"Well, I never told him. I talked to Paul about it, but he wasn't
concerned. He said they had a solid relationship and it didn't matter what
Razi said or did. It was well before Micah started talking about moving."

	"Why did he want to break them up? Did he want to date Paul?"

	"That's what I thought at the time. But when Micah moved away and
Paul was free Razi never made a move that I knew of, which seems
strange. If he wanted Paul so badly why didn't he go after him when he was
available?"

	"Maybe he's the type that only wants what he can't have."

	"Well, he does strike me as that type, but still..."

	"Or maybe Razi was dating someone else by then."

	"That's possible. I certainly don't keep up with his love life. I
don't really spend much time in his company. Only if it's one of Paul's
rare get-togethers."

	"After Micah left, did Paul date anyone else?"

	"Not seriously. He always said he was so busy with work that he
didn't have the time or energy to date socially. I always thought it might
have had something to do with him still being hung up on Micah."

	"So there's no angry, jilted ex-boyfriend?"

	"Not that I'm aware of."

	"Did he have any enemies that you know of?"

	"No. That's what's so scary about all this. It seems so random, and
yet, the way he died-it seems more like a murder with a lot of passion
behind it."

	"Passion?"

	"Yes, strong emotion. Somehow, it doesn't feel-what's the word
police use? Premeditated? There are so many ways to kill someone if you
just want to get rid of them; poison, shooting, a planned
accident. Strangling someone seems like a very heat of the moment thing to
do. It's a very personal way to kill someone. They're actually in your
hands as their life leaves them."

	I shuddered at the thought. "You sound like you've given this a lot
of thought."

	"Oh I have, trust me. I've lain awake almost every night since it
happened wondering. Wondering what it was like for poor Paul in those last
seconds. Wondering why on earth someone would want to kill him. I just
don't understand it."

	"And you probably never will. Most murder is senseless. There's no
way you can understand it."

	"I just wish I could do something."

	"You can. You can answer my questions and tell me everything you
can remember."

	"I'll do my best."

	"Great. Were you in a position to know who came to his apartment?"

	"Well, it's not like I spied on him, or anything, but yeah. Living
next door to him and being friends I saw people come and go."

	"Who came?"

	"Besides Razi, mostly just his clients. He did in-calls and
out-calls."

	"Meaning?"

	"In-calls are when the clients come to you, out-calls are when you
go to them."

	"So a lot of clients came here?"

	"I don't know about a lot."

	"But some came here?"

	"Yes."

	"Did any come more than once?"

	"You mean like regulars?"

	"I guess so, yeah."

	"I'm sure there were regulars, but I didn't really pay that much
attention. It wasn't really any of my business, you know?" She paused
thoughtfully. "Although, there was this one guy that I did seem to see
fairly often. I assumed he was a client, although I don't really know that
for a fact."

	"Can you describe him?"

	She screwed up her face in concentration. "He's kind of hard to
remember. He wasn't strikingly handsome, but he wasn't ugly. He was just
kind of ordinary."

	I groaned silently. Ordinary people were the hardest to
describe. People tended to take less note of them, and what they did notice
could apply to just about anyone. Just like the insurance rep that deals
with Novak who I can never remember. I made a stab at it anyway.

	"What color is his hair?"

	She frowned. "Brown? Gray? I'm not really sure."

	"Eyes?"

	"I have no idea. I'm not being very helpful am I?"

	I smiled but didn't answer. "Was he tall or short? Fat or skinny?"

	"I can answer those at least. He was average height and weight."

	Of course he was. "Did you notice any distinguishing features? Any
moles or scars? A particular piece of jewelry?"

	She shook her head. "I'm sorry. I just didn't pay attention."

	"Are you even sure it was the same guy each time?"

	"Yes, I noticed that much. It's just hard to describe him."

	I gave up and went on to the next question. "Did you ever see
anyone else who stood out? Maybe they didn't seem like they belonged or you
saw them repeatedly?"

	"The only thing I can think of is the last couple weeks Razi's been
showing up here with this kid. A pretty boy, curly red hair, big blue
eyes. He looks like he's 13 or 14 at the most. I don't know where he got
him; probably bought him off some crack whore."

	"We've met. His name is Tad. He was a homeless kid that Razi took
in."

	"At what price?" she asked with a raised eyebrow. "Razi never does
anything without an ulterior motive."

	I shrugged. It wasn't my place to go into that with Sabrina. "Did
Paul confide in you much?"

	"I don't think Paul confided in anyone very much. Still, he
probably confided in me more than most."

	"A few people I've talked to said he seemed a little different
recently, more withdrawn and almost secretive. Did you notice that?"

	"Now that you mention it, yes. It didn't really register at the
time because I was really busy; my sister was getting married and I was the
maid-of-honor. I hadn't thought about it at all, but he didn't invite me
over very often and we definitely didn't talk as much."

	"Do you have any idea why? Was something bothering him? Do you
think he was hiding something?"

	"I honestly don't have any idea," she admitted. "I was so caught up
in my own life that I didn't even notice anything different. My God, what
kind of friend am I? What if Paul was killed because I couldn't even be
bothered to notice something was wrong?" Her voice was escalating to the
point that I was afraid she'd burst into tears any moment.

	"You can't blame yourself for this," I said quickly, and I hoped
convincingly. "We don't even know what happened yet, if it even had
anything to do with why he was withdrawing. Or for that matter, we don't
even know for sure he was withdrawing. Maybe his life got busy at the same
time yours did. It could have nothing to do with his murder. We just don't
know enough yet to make any kind of educated guess. And even if it was
connected in some way to his murder, he could have come to you and I'll bet
you would have dropped everything to help him, right?"

	She sniffled a bit and nodded. "You're right. I would have."

	"See? You don't have any reason to blame yourself for Paul's
death. The only person to blame is the person who killed him. And you can
help me catch whoever it was."

	"I can?"

	"Yes. Can you think of anyone, no matter how remote, who might have
wanted Paul dead?"

	"I can't. I'm sorry, I just can't think of anyone."

	"What about Razi?"

	She shook her head. "No, I don't think so. He's a sleaze ball, but
if he was going to kill someone, I don't think it would be as direct as
strangling. He'd be more of the type who'd poison someone slowly. Or maybe
stab them in the back."

	"So you don't have any ideas?"

	"No, not really."

	I sighed. I was not coming up with an abundance of suspects so
far. Or motives either, for that matter. I needed to get back into his
apartment.

	"You've been in Paul's apartment, right?" I asked, as an inkling of
an idea began to form.

	"Many times."

	"Would you walk through it with me? You can tell me if anything is
missing. Razi said he didn't think so, but you would know better than me."

	"But we shouldn't be in there; it's a police crime scene."

	"The police don't seem very eager to solve this crime. There might
be something in there that would help me find Paul's killer. Besides,
they're done with it by now."

	"What if we get caught?"

	"I have a contact on the police force here," I said, hoping that
was true.

	She was quiet for what seemed like an eternity. I could almost see
the wheels turning in her head and tried to decide what to do. Finally, she
took a deep breath and looked into my eyes.

	"Fine. Let's do it."

	We crept out of her apartment like a couple of cat-burglars after
she checked to make sure no one was in sight. I caught a glimpse of
movement in the stairwell, so I knew Chris was still on duty, for whatever
that was worth. I unlocked the door again and Sabrina quickly slipped in
with me close behind. The first thing I noticed was an unpleasant odor that
I hadn't smelled the first time. I probably hadn't had time for it to
register before Sabrina had charged in. I couldn't quite place it, although
it smelled faintly rotten.

	Sabrina knew where the lights were so this time there was no
fumbling around in the dark. She gasped as the room was revealed. After a
quick glance around, I couldn't blame her. It was a disaster scene. I'd
never seen anything quite like it. Before the tornado had struck, it must
have been a mirror image of Sabrina's apartment. It was laid out the same
way. Paul's decorating taste seemed to have had an Asian flare as well, but
from what I could piece together in my head, his had a little more Indian
influence. Now, though, the room had been deliberately and maliciously
demolished, item by item. Razi's description of the chaos didn't even begin
to describe it. The beautifully embroidered cushions that had covered the
wooden couch had been ripped to shreds, their innards strewn across the
floor. Ceramic and glass shards covered the parts of the floor not hidden
by the cushion stuffing. Art that had once hung around the room, much of it
original oil and watercolor paintings, had been torn off the wall and
destroyed. Even the TV sitting on the entertainment center had its screen
shattered, its insides exposed and looking strangely vulnerable. A huge
fish tank took up most of one wall. Its front had been smashed and its
contents must have washed across the floor judging from the mess in front
of it, which included a few dead fish. At least now I knew where the rotten
smell was coming from.

	"Oh my God," Sabrina whispered.

	"Is this the first time you've been in here since it happened?" I
asked her in a low tone. It seemed somehow inappropriate to speak loudly in
here, or to even voice the reason we were here, Paul's murder.

	She nodded.

	"I don't even know where to begin," I said, hoping I didn't sound
as overwhelmed as I felt.

	"How did the police find anything? Wouldn't they have to collect
all this as evidence or something? They always do on TV."

	"I don't know," I confessed. "Maybe they aren't done in here after
all. Don't touch anything."

	"I already touched the light switch," she hissed, a touch of panic
entering her voice. "I should have never agreed to this."

	"Calm down. I'll wipe the light switch off." I grabbed a scrap of
material off the floor and carefully wiped the light switch
clean. "There. If you have to touch something, make sure you put your shirt
over your hand or use something like this. And for God's sake, don't take
anything."

	"I'm not touching anything. I think we should leave."

	"We're here now. We might as well look around."

	"I'm not moving."

	"Can you tell if anything is missing?"

	"How could I tell that? How can you tell anything in this mess?"

	"What did he have of value?"

	She took a deep breath. "His electronic equipment." That was all
plainly visible on the entertainment center and amidst the rubble on the
floor. "His art collection." Also readily identifiable. "And his coin
collection."

	Razi had mentioned that, making a point of saying that it had been
left. "Where'd he keep that?" I asked her.

	"In the bedroom."

	I started making my way carefully across the room, glass crackling
under my feet. As I passed the kitchen, I saw that the destruction
continued in there. All the dishes had been pulled from the cabinets and
shattered on the floor. I pitied whoever had to clean this place up.

	I made it to the bedroom door and carefully opened it using the
scrap of cloth I still held in my hand. I reached in to find the light
switch, but before I could find it, my breath caught in my throat and a
feeling of complete and total terror overcame me. I couldn't breathe; I
tried to scream, tried to gasp, but I couldn't seem to force air into or
out of lungs. My chest began to burn and the room started to fade into
black. I clawed at my throat and stumbled back from the door. In the
background, I vaguely heard Sabrina yelling something, but the words
wouldn't penetrate, it was if she was far, far away.

	Suddenly, just as quickly as it had begun, it was over. I gasped in
great gulps of air as I slumped against the door frame.

	"What happened?" Sabrina asked fearfully.

	"I don't know," I gasped. "I couldn't breathe, it felt like..." I
broke off as I realized what it had felt like. It had felt like I was being
strangled.

	"What? Felt like what?"

	"It felt like I was being strangled," I finished shakily.

	Her eyes grew wide and she took a step back. "What?"

	"I couldn't breathe. It felt like my throat was closed
off...exactly like I was being strangled."

	She looked through the open door into the dark bedroom, her eyes
full of fright. "That's where Paul was killed," her voice was tight with
rising panic. I felt my own panic rising right along with hers. "What the
hell's is going on?" she asked hoarsely. I only wished I knew.