Date: Fri, 28 Jun 2002 10:33:20 EDT
From: MystryAuthr@aol.com
Subject: Chapter 20 of The Truth of Yesterday

Josh Aterovis is the author of Bleeding Hearts (ISBN: 1930928688) and the
upcoming Reap the Whirlwind (Coming in 2003), published by Renaissance
Alliance Publishing Inc. (http://www.rapbooks.biz) The Truth of Yesterday
is the fourth book in the Killian Kendall series.

Visit "Black Sheep Productions" for more information.
Official Site of the Killian Kendall Mystery Series
http://www.steliko.com/bleedinghearts


The Truth of Yesterday

Chapter 20

	I stood frozen in shock as my brain tried to make sense of what I
was seeing. There was no doubt in my mind that the man in the newspaper
clipping from Jake's room and this man smiling genially while he waited for
me at the table were one and the same. What the implications were in that,
I wasn't sure-and I wasn't sure I even wanted to know-but either way, I was
quite sure that now wasn't the time to attempt to puzzle it out.

	I forced my body to move forward again and attempted to arrange
some sort of pleasant expression on my face. As I approached the table, the
man, Neal, stood and held out a hand in greeting.

	"Hello, you must be Killian," he said in a cultured and slightly
accented voice as we shook hands. I tried to place the accent, but it was
so faint that it was unidentifiable. I hadn't even noticed it on the phone.

	"Yes, and you must be Neal. Thank you for meeting with me."

	"Believe me, it is always my pleasure to share a meal with such an
attractive young man."

	I smiled in acknowledgment of his compliment; it was a measure of
the shock I was still reeling from that I didn't blush. A waiter approached
to take my drink order and refill Neal's water glass. I took advantage of
the moment to study him. The newspaper photo hadn't done the man
justice. He was a strikingly handsome man, darkly tanned with flashing dark
eyes, strong, patrician features, and smartly styled dark hair liberally
shot with silver. I would have been hard pressed to assign him an age if
asked; he could have been anywhere from forty to sixty. He was well dressed
in clothes of the latest fashion that eloquently bespoke wealth without
being flashy. His jewelry, a gold watch on his wrist, a slim chain at his
throat, a ring or two on each hand, were equally understated, but
beautifully crafted. He wasn't at all what I had expected.

	"I am not what you expected," he stated more than asked. I was
startled at the way his words had echoed my thoughts. "The way you took
pause when you first saw me," he explained. "You looked surprised, even a
little unsettled." He chuckled.

	"I'm not sure what I was expecting, sir, but you're right; it
wasn't you." I said. He studied me deliberately and I struggled not to
squirm under his gaze. I picked up the stemmed glass and took a sip of the
ice water, more to give me something to do than because I was actually
thirsty.

	"I must admit that you are not what I was expecting either," he
said after a long, awkward moment. Awkward on my end anyway.

	I raised an eyebrow questioningly. "My age?"

	"Partially that, and partially your beauty."

	This time I did blush.

	"When I think of a private investigator I suppose I think of the
Philip Marlowe type, but I suppose that is my age telling on me. At any
rate, you are nothing like Mr. Marlowe, and I find the reality much more
pleasing than my imagination. But on to business. We are both busy men."

	"Yes, I want to thank you again for taking the time to meet with
me," I said formally, glad to be getting back to something I felt a little
more comfortable with.

	He gave a little shrug. "To be honest, I did not feel as if you
gave me much choice. I am in a rather precarious position and thought it
best to do what I could to help you. You are in the rather envious position
of being the only person ever to meet me in person who would associate me
with the agency."

	"You're very careful."

	"I do what I must. It was good to talk to Micah again. To be
honest, he was always one of my very favorite boys. Such a promising young
man. I am glad to hear he has made good on his potential. And after meeting
you, however, I have to wonder if your relationship with him is more than
just business...?"

	I chose to ignore the rather personal question and asked one of my
own instead. "What can you tell me about Paul Flynn?"

	A tiny smile played around the corners of Neal's lips, as if
something I had said amused him in some way. "What would you like for me to
tell you about Paul Flynn?" His voice wasn't quite mocking, but closer than
I appreciated. It made me want to make him squirm. He'd had control of the
situation since I had arrived and it was time I took the control back.

	"Let's start with how long he worked for you at the agency."

	"A little under three years."

	"That's a long time for an escort to work for an agency, isn't it?"

	"Perhaps. The arrangement seemed to meet his needs. It was not for
me to question."

	"What kind of employee was he?"

	He cocked his head slightly. "You must understand it's not as if I
am the manager of a supermarket and Paul was the bag boy. He was a popular
escort. He had a look not unlike yours, blonde hair and blue eyes-young,
fresh...pretty. That look is always in demand. Paul was honest, he always
gave me what was due and never tried to deceive me. I never had any
problems or complaints from the clients. In fact, they always seemed quite
satisfied with his services. In all these ways, I would say he was a very
good employee. A model employee, really."

	"Did you ever meet him personally?"

	"No, I make it a point to never meet my escorts in person."

	"And you never had any problems with him?"

	"None that I can recall."

	"Did he seem any different the last few months?"

	"Different? No, but then, I am not sure that is something I would
notice. We were not close; our contact was minimal and almost always by
telephone. The only way I would have known if he had changed would be if
his clients noticed a remarkable enough change that they felt compelled to
report it to me, which as you can imagine is not very likely."

	"You said his clients were, ah, very satisfied by his services," I
said, trying not to blush. That wouldn't be very professional.

	"Is that a question?"

	"No, I was just wondering if he had repeat customers."

	He raised an eyebrow. "Paul tried not to encourage repeat clients,
at least not clients that came back over a long period of time. They often
have a way of forming attachments, which can become rather bothersome."

	"But did he have any?"

	"I believe he had a few, yes."

	"Do you keep records of your clients?"

	"Do I keep records of the clients?"  0
	"Yes, sir. That's what I asked."

	His eyes narrowed slightly. He still wasn't squirming, but I had a
feeling this was a man who never squirmed. Slightly peeved might be as
close as he got.

	"Even if I did, they would be held in the utmost confidence. It
would be the only way I could maintain my reputation for discretion."

	"So you do."

	"I did not say..."

	"You're a little too defensive there, Neal. It's a dead
give-away. But if it'll make you feel any better, we'll refer to them as
the alleged filed for the sake of this conversation. Now, seeing as how I
don't plan on making these alleged records public, I don't see where it
would be a problem for me to have a look at them. And while we are
discussing your filing system, I'd also like to see Paul records."

	Neal's face had lost all traces of humor. I got the impression that
he was taking me very seriously now.

	"I agreed to meet with you as a courtesy, Mr. Kendall," he said
icily. His voice had taken on a steely quality that sent a shiver down my
spine, but I kept my expression carefully nonchalant. "I do not see how
viewing these confidential files could be at all advantageous to you and I
have no intention of just handing them over."

	I leaned forward over the table with a sudden intensity. "In case
you've forgotten, this is not a social visit. This is a murder
investigation we're talking about. Someone strangled Paul to death in his
own apartment. I intend to find out who that someone is. Whether or not I
look like Philip Marlowe, I'm the private investigator here, and I say I
need to see those files. Do I need to remind you that you're not exactly in
a position to argue with me about this? If I get those files, that's as far
as they go. If I have to call in the police to get them, and believe me, I
will if I have to, a lot more people get involved. People who may not be so
understanding about your particular business venture. Do you see where I'm
going with this, Neal?"

	"Oh, I see it quite clearly, Mr. Kendall. I also see that I
underestimated you, something I do not often make the mistake of doing." He
sat back in his chair and studied me as if seeing me for the first
time. Suddenly he broke into a beaming smile. I wasn't surprised to see
that his teeth were blindingly white and even. "If the situation were not
quite so serious I think I would quite enjoy being bested by such a
disarmingly beautiful opponent," he said. "If I produce these alleged
files, as we have agreed to call them, can you guarantee me that you will
make every effort to keep them confidential?"

	"I can promise to do what I can."

	"You are cautious, an admirable trait. I suppose that will have to
do, since as you pointed out, I am not in a position to quibble over
details. As I said when we spoke on the phone, I am going out of town
indefinitely..."

	"I need the records before you leave."

	"Of course. I was going to suggest that I send them to you
overnight delivery, certified mail. Would that be suitable?"

	"That would be ideal. Just be sure that all the files I need are
there. If I even suspect that you have held back on me I'll call in the
authorities."

	"Somehow, I do not doubt that, young friend. Is our business
concluded?"

	"I have one more question."

	"Ask it."

	"Do you have any ideas about who might have killed Paul?"

	"None," he answered without hesitation. "I've thought much about
this and I have not thought of anything or anyone. Paul was a good person,
I cannot imagine who would want to hurt him, let alone kill him."

	"Then I guess we're finished. Please, don't forget to include
Paul's file with the clients'."

	"Oh, I wouldn't dare." The slight mocking tone was back as he
stood. "You know, Killian, if this private investigator line of work
doesn't work out for you, I have a feeling you'd make a fine escort."

	"Thanks, but no thanks. I'll be looking for those files."

	"You can expect them tomorrow. It was a pleasure." He made a slight
bow and turned crisply on his heel before walking away, never once looking
back. I sat at the table for a second, collecting my thoughts. I had the
feeling that I had just taunted a very powerful and possibly dangerous
man. I should probably be glad he had found me amusing, but somehow I was
still pissed. And then there was the whole fact that Jake had his picture
in his room...

	I was still sitting at the table when Chris slid into the seat
recently vacated by Neal. "So...how'd it go?" she asked.

	"It went..."

	"Is this fill in the blank? I couldn't really see you so guys up
here, so I had to content myself with loitering around at the bottom of the
stairs. They almost escorted me out a few times, but I told them I was
waiting for my aunt, Senator Sampson. They left me alone after that."

	"Is Senator Sampson really your aunt?" I asked momentarily
distracted.

	"No, but they didn't know that. So why are you looking so
concerned? Did the interview go badly?"

	"Not really."

	"Did you find out anything interesting?"

	"Not really."

	"So it was a total waste of time?"

	"No..."

	"Not really," she finished for me. "Would you care to elaborate on
any of this?"

	"He didn't really tell me anything useful," I explained. "He's
sending me the files I was hoping to get, so it wasn't a total bust or
anything. He was very...cautious. He admires caution."

	"Does he? Hmm. Well, caution is very admirable. Especially when
crossing the street. So is that it? Are we done? I have a class at two and
if we get moving now I won't have to miss it."

	I shook my head in an attempt to clear it. I pushed away from the
table and stood up. "Yeah, we're done. Let's go."

	As we walked back down to the Metro, Chris was rattling on about
something, but I couldn't have told you what if my life depended on it. My
thoughts were completely caught up with the questions I had pushed aside
earlier. Why did Jake have a newspaper clipping of Neal stashed away in his
room? Was there a connection to the wad of cash somehow? I didn't like
where that thought took me. Judy would like it even less.

	I thought about it all the way back to my car, and then I thought
about it some more all the way home. I hadn't come to any conclusions by
the time I pulled into the driveway. The only vehicle in the driveway
belonged to Kane, which suited my purposes just fine. I couldn't do any
more on Paul's case until I received the files from Neal, but I had put off
Jake's case long enough. Now that it seemed the two cases might even be
connected, it seemed more important than ever that I get back to work on
Jake's, and Kane was going to be my first stop.

	I found him in the room we shared, typing away at the computer.

	"Homework?" I asked as I walked in.

	He jumped a little and spun around. "Killian!" he gasped. "I didn't
even hear you come in. When did you get home?"

	"Just now. Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you. Can I interrupt you
for a minute?"

	"Please interrupt me. Take as long as you want. I hate
Shakespeare."

	"How can you hate Shakespeare?" I asked, forgetting for the moment
why I had come looking for him.

	"Not everyone loves Hamlet, Kill. Besides, it's not even so much
Shakespeare as it is having to write a paper about him. Why'd he have to be
so damn prolific anyway? But enough about the dead guy, I need a break from
him. What's up?"

	"Who are Jake's friends at school?"

	Kane made a face. "You mean who were his friends. He doesn't have
any friends anymore and that seems to be just the way he wants it."

	"What happened?"

	"I don't know. We weren't exactly in the same circle. I just know
that he's pretty much a loner these days; he doesn't really hang out with
anyone."

	"But he used to?"

	"Yeah."

	"Who did he hang out with?"

	"Um, Danielle and Craig I guess."

	"What are their last names?"

	"Why?"

	"I want to talk to them, see if I can find out if they have any
ideas about what's going on with Jake. If they were friends they might have
more of an idea than anyone."

	Kane shrugged. "You can try, but I get the impression that nobody
really knows what's going on with Jake. It's Danielle Lewis and Craig
Martin."

	"And they were close friends?"

	"I don't know how close they were. Danielle was like Jake's fag
hag. I think Craig had a crush on him. He always followed Jake around like
a puppy dog. Craig's not out or anything but everybody knows he's gay."

	I frowned. "How do they know?"

	"He's just really obvious, flamey, you know? And you should have
seen the way he used to look at Jake."

	"That's so stereotypical. Just because someone acts flamey it
doesn't necessarily mean he's gay."

	"Don't go getting all preachy with me," Kane cut me off before I
could work myself into a full self-righteous rant. "You know that I know
better than to stereotype people. Don't you think I can recognize a gay guy
when I see one? I live with three gay men and my brother was gay. I think I
am well qualified. I probably know who's gay in my school before they do,
and trust me; Craig is gay, whether he knows it yet or not."

	"Ok, ok. Sorry. You're right. You wouldn't happen to have their
phone numbers or anything would you?"

	"Nope, you'll hafta work for those, Nancy Drew."

	"Ha-ha. You're a riot. No, really. Just for that, I won't help you
with your homework. I was going to offer to help, but not now."

	He grinned. "So when are we going to hang out? You said we were
going to spend more time together and I've hardly seen you since."

	"I'm sorry, Kane. I've just been so busy with this damn case. Hey,
you like to dance, right?"

	"Um, I guess so," he said suspiciously. "Why?"

	"You want to go to a dance with me?"

	"Wouldn't that be a bit weird? I mean you're my brother and all..."

	"Oh stop. You're nowhere near as funny as you think you are. I'm
going with Micah, but you can come along. It'll be fun. It's a Halloween
dance at Pemberton, sponsored by Haven."

	"What's Haven?"

	"It's the gay/straight alliance on campus."

	He looked skeptical. "No offense, but is it going to be like all
gay guys and lesbians?"

	I laughed. "A lot of straight girls go too. Just think, you'd
probably be the only straight guy there. Easy picking."

	"Sounds like my kind of dance," he leered.

	"Are you dating anyone right now?"

	"No," he sighed. "I seem to be going through a dry spell right
now. Maybe some a change of pace is just what I need. College women sound
about right. So when is this dance?"

	"Thursday night. You hafta wear a costume."

	"A costume? How...juvenile."

	"Oh come on, it'll be fun,"

	"What are you going as?"

	"I don't know yet. Any ideas?"

	"Let me think about it. Remember the last costume party we went to
together?"

	I did. It had been a huge, elaborate affair at Jake's old
house. Kane had just moved in with Adam and me, so he came along. It had
been an unmitigated disaster from start to finish, culminating with a
shattered windshield, a death threat, and a murder.

	"Let's hope this one ends a little differently," I said.

	"Let's," Kane agreed.

	"Well, I'm going to run to the office and see if there's any
messages for me and maybe get a start on finding those phone numbers before
I head back to the B&B."

	"It's back to old Billy for me," he said as he turned back to the
computer. "I'll see ya later, Kill."

	"Later, Kane." I started out the door.

	"Hey," he called, stopping me. I turned back. "How about making our
own costumes? We can come up with ideas and get the stuff we need and then
make them one day this week after school."

      I was hardly the craftiest person you'll ever meet, I didn't even
want to think about what any costume I had to make would turn out to look
like, but he looked so hopeful that there was no way I could turn him
down. "Sounds great," I said cheerily. "You come up with the idea and call
me with a list of stuff you need. Ok?"

      "Ok," he said with such a huge smile that I was very glad I'd agreed.

	I drove to my office, but there were no messages on my desk. In
fact, it didn't even look like Novak had been in today. The mail was still
in the box and a yellow post-it note from a delivery service was stuck to
the door. They would be back the next day to try again and after that, it
was tough luck.

	"We need a secretary," I grumbled as I sorted through the mail
making two piles, one to give to Novak, and one to toss in the trash. Once
that task was finished, I flipped open the phonebook to the M's. At four
columns, calling every Martin in the book was a bit more than I wanted to
take on. Lewis turned out to take up almost seven columns. It looked like
the easy way was out.

	Then again, maybe there was an even easier way. I picked up the
phone and dialed Judy's number. Luckily, she answered and not Jake.

	"Judy, this is Killian," I said.

	"Hi, Killian. Has Amalie shown up yet?"

	"No, actually I'm calling about Jake."

	"Oh, have you found something?"

	"I don't know yet," I said carefully. "Maybe. I need to check some
things first, before I say anything."

	"It sounds serious."

	"I don't want to say anything at this point. I don't know
enough. I'm hoping you can help me. I'm trying to get phone numbers for
Danielle Lewis and Craig Martin; they were friends of Jake's."

	"I know Danielle and Craig, Danielle especially, but I don't think
I have their phone numbers. Jake might have them somewhere, though. Hang
on, I'll go look."

	While I waited, I picked up a pencil and doodled absently on the
back of an envelope destined for the trash can. It was a few minutes before
Judy came back on the line.

	"Found them," she said triumphantly. She read off the numbers and I
jotted them down on the envelope. "You know," she said, "I don't think he's
really friends with them anymore. I talked to them when I first became
suspicious and they said they didn't know any more than I did."

	"What they might not be willing to tell a mom they might be willing
to tell me," I said. "You know that parents are like the enemy at that
age. You just don't tell them any..." I glanced down at the envelope and
stopped in mid-sentence.

	"Killian?" Judy asked. "Are you still there?"

	While I had been waiting for Judy, I had drawn words in bubble
letters. Looking at them now, I was struck by the words my subconscious had
chosen. Escort. Jake. Money. It was the only conclusion I had been able to
come up with and the one I had been trying to avoid. Looking at the fact
objectively, it was obvious. It would explain where the Jake's cash came
from. Micah had even mentioned how much money he had made working as an
escort. It would explain why Jake had a picture of Neal, actually, it
didn't quite explain it since Neal claimed he never met his escorts, but
how did I know he was telling me the truth? Maybe Jake was just too much to
resist and he made an exception. Or maybe Jake figured it out somehow. He's
a smart guy. It would explain where he kept disappearing to after school
until late at night and even occasionally overnight. It would explain the
expensive clothes. It would even explain the ticket to the Ball, one of his
clients was taking him. It all just fit too perfectly. I didn't like it,
but it just made too much sense. Then again, I didn't have to like it. I
just had to prove it. All I had now was circumstantial evidence.

	"Killian? What's wrong?" Judy asked again. I had forgotten I was
still holding the phone.

	"Oh, um, nothing's wrong," I said quickly. There was no point
getting Judy all upset until I knew for certain what was going on with
Jake. "I just realized I'm late meeting Micah," I fibbed.

	"Oh, then I'll let you go. Tell him I said he did a great job on
that article. It's about time we shook up those fat cats."

	"Yeah, thanks. Bye Judy."

	I hung up and sat staring at the envelope and those three
words. Jake an escort? Was he somehow connected to Paul's death? Could he
be in danger? I didn't even want to consider it, but it was too late. I was
in too far. I had to know the truth.