Date: Fri, 19 Jul 2002 10:14:42 EDT
From: MystryAuthr@aol.com
Subject: Chapter 22 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 22

    	I pulled into Danielle's driveway only a little after the time I
had told her to expect me. Danielle's neighborhood was a step up from the
one Craig lived in. At least the houses here were discernibly different
from their neighbors in architectural style.  Danielle lived in a light
blue, two-story Cape Cod with an attached two-car garage. The garage door
was open revealing a matching set of Audi's, one champagne colored and one
dark green. In the drive, outside the garage, was a slightly older Saturn,
which I assumed to be Danielle's.

     	Unlike Craig's house, no one greeted me at the door here. I
approached the front door and knocked. After a brief wait, it was opened by
a middle-aged man with the look of a stereotypical college professor,
sweater vest over a button up oxford, brown slacks, and brown loafers. His
hairline had long ago sounded the retreat and what remained was rapidly
turning from a mousy brown to an equally mousy gray. He peered at me over
his half-glasses with a slightly befuddled expression, as if he expected to
recognize me but didn't.

     	"I'm here to see Danielle," I said, hoping I had the right house.

     	"Oh. Yes. One minute, please," he said as he turned away. His voice
was a surprisingly rich baritone.

    	I stood waiting on the doorstep for about a minute before she
appeared. She looked remarkably like her father, except without the
receding hairline and a little heavier. Her hair was the same mousy brown,
hers hung limply to her shoulders, and she had the same pear-shaped
body. She even peered at me over her glasses in much the same way. She was
wearing what looked like a man's button up shirt with the sleeves rolled up
over a pair of Capri pants with no shoes.

    	 "Are you the guy who called and wanted to talk to me?" she asked.

     	"Yes, I'm Killian Kendall," I said.

     	She nodded. "I've heard of you. Jake used to talk about you and of
course, almost everybody at school knows what you did."

     	"Of course," I muttered.

     	"What?" she asked.

     	"Oh, nothing," I said quickly. She seemed a little sullen and it
appeared to be in my best interest to keep her talking while she was still
willing. "Can I ask you some questions about Jake?"

      She shrugged, so I took that as an affirmative. When she made no move
to either come out or let me in, I asked, "Do you think I could come inside
or you could come outside so we don't have to talk through the door?"

     	She made a face and threw open the door with a dramatic sigh. "I'll
come out there," she said as if she were making a huge sacrifice for my
benefit. "If we go inside my parents will listen."

     	It didn't seem to me that her father would be able to work up
enough interest to be bothered, but I didn't know him and I'd never even
met her mother. She led the way across the lawn to a freestanding lawn
swing with just enough room for two people to sit next to each other if
they didn't mind being a little intimate. I minded, but sat down gingerly
anyway, as far to the other side as possible. Danielle gave me an expectant
look.

	"You're friends with Jake?" I asked.

     	"Not anymore."

     	"What happened?"

     	"Who knows? He never told me."

     	"What do you think happened?"

     	"I think he got bored with us and moved on to greener pastures."

    	"Us meaning you and Craig?"

     	"Yeah."

     	"Was it always just the three of you?"

     	"Pretty much. Every once in a while, some guy would try to get
close to Jake if you know what I mean. He'd be around for a few days and
then we wouldn't see him much anymore. I think Jake's motto was `Use `em
and lose `em.'"

    	 "Do you know for a fact that Jake was sleeping with these guys?"

     	"Not for a fact, no, but it doesn't take a genius."

     	"Who were some of these guys?"

     	"I don't remember their names. They weren't really important, you
know?"

     	I tried not to sigh in frustration. For all I knew, she was making
this stuff up as she went along; she seemed like the type. "So you knew
that Jake is gay?" I asked.

     	She rolled her eyes. "Duh. Everyone knows that. He's not exactly in
the closet."

     	"Did that ever bother you?"

     	"Of course not," she answered quickly, which probably meant that it
had. I was beginning to suspect that Danielle had a crush on Jake and had
resented the other guys. It made me wonder how she felt about Craig, who
had also had a crush on Jake, a crush so obvious that even Kane had noticed
it.

     	"What about Craig?"

    	 "What about him?" she asked obtusely.

     	"What did you think of him?"

     	She quirked her mouth to one side. "Craig is a little wimp. He
followed Jake around like a puppy dog, mooning at him, simpering at him
like some demented Scarlette O'Hara. It was sickening. That's probably why
Jake quit hanging out with him in the first place."

     	I had to bite back a question asking her if that was why he'd quit
hanging out with her too. I rather doubted that Jake's sudden change had
anything to do with Craig or Danielle; it seemed to me that Jake had
enjoyed having his own private fan club.  Something else must have come
along that made lovesick teenagers seem paltry in comparison. Could that
something have been the escort business?

     	It was obvious that Danielle lived in her own bitter little
world. She saw only what she wanted to see. I didn't think I was going to
get anything useful out of her. To be honest, I didn't like her and I
wanted to get away as quickly as I could. Still, I had a few more questions
I needed to ask before I made my escape.

    	"So you don't really have any idea what's going on with Jake?" I
asked.

    	"I already said no. We don't talk anymore."

     	I took a deep breath and decided I was done here. I stood
up. "Thanks for your time, Danielle..." I began, but she cut me off.

     	"Wait a minute!" she demanded. "What was that all about? Why were
you asking all those questions about Jake?"

     	She asks that now? I marveled to myself. The logical time to ask
that would have been when I was asking the questions, not when I was done
and ready to leave. I didn't owe her anything now, but at the same time I
had a feeling that if I didn't tell her she's be on the phone to Jake
before I was out of the driveway. One the other hand, she seemed like the
gossipy type so I couldn't tell her too much.

     	"You know I'm a private investigator, right?"

     	"So you said on the phone," she retorted. "What is this so called
case anyway?  How do I know you're not just hot for Jake's ass like those
other guys?"

     	I gritted my teeth and counted to ten. "The case is classified," I
snapped. Her eyes narrowed and I knew I'd said the wrong thing. For all her
bluff however, I had a feeling that she was really a coward at heart so I
decided to try for a little scare tactic.

     	"Jake may be involved in something very dangerous," I told her in a
tersely, clipping off each word in my annoyance. "Lives may be at stake,
including everyone who he is or was close to." Her eyes widened at
that. This might work after all, and as far as I knew, I wasn't even
lying. "I need you to stay very quiet about our talk or you could put the
whole case in jeopardy. Do you understand?"

     	She nodded.

     	"Good. Thanks again for your time." I turned quickly before she
could ask anything else and strode across the yard to my car. I jumped in
and backed out of their drive before she had even stood up. I hoped I had
been convincing enough to keep her quiet. I also hoped I had overstated the
case. I was afraid that I may have been all too accurate.

     	I drove back to the office with the intentions of calling Paul's
other clients. Once at the office, though, I found a message waiting for me
from Craig, asking me to call him back. I wondered if he was taking me up
on my offer to talk already or if he had something to add to what he'd told
me earlier.

     	I called him back and he answered on the second ring, as if he was
waiting near the phone.

     	"Hi, thanks for calling me back," he said, sounding slightly
surprised as if he hadn't expected me too.

     	"No problem," I said. "What's up?"

     	"After you left I thought I remembered something, but I wasn't sure
about it so I looked it up in my journal. Right before Jake started acting
weird, he was real excited one day at school. I asked him why he was so
happy and he said he couldn't tell me but that he might have met someone
really different from the normal boys around here. He was always going on
about how much better the guys were in California."

     	"He didn't tell you anything about this guy he'd met?" I asked.

     	"No, sorry."

     	"Craig, you don't have to apologize all the time. It's not your
fault, there's nothing to be sorry for. You've just told me something I
didn't know before. That's really helpful."

     	"Really?"

     	"Yes, really. Thank you."

     	"Um, you're welcome."

     	"I have another question for you. Danielle said that Jake dated a
lot of guys but that they were never around for very long. Is that the way
you saw it?"

     	"I guess. Jake always said the guys here were too boring. I got the
impression that he missed living in California."

     	"But he said this guy that he'd met was different?"

     	"Yeah."

     	"Any idea what he meant by that? Even a guess?"

     	"I don't know."

     	"Did he have any specific complaints about the guys here other than
that they were boring?"

     	"He said they didn't know how to party. And, um...he sometimes
tried to get me to do drugs with him. I never would and I don't know where
he got them from, but he said no one here knew how to have fun. He always
said that when I'd tell him I didn't want to do drugs."

     	"What kind of dugs?"

     	"I don't really know. I don't know that much about drugs. I've
never done anything. I don't even drink."

     	"Was it pills? Powder? Needles?"

     	"Pills mostly."

     	"Mostly?"

     	"That's all I ever saw."

     	"But you don't know what kind of pills they were?"

     	"No, sorry. Er...I mean...sorry."

     	I stifled a giggle. "It's ok. Thanks Craig, you've been a big
help."

     	"I have?"

     	"Definitely."

     	"Cool. Um, well, I'll let you get back to work or whatever."

     	"Ok. Thanks again, Craig."

     	"Yeah, you're welcome. Oh, and um, thank you. For, uh, talking to
me and stuff."

     	"You're welcome. And don't forget to call me anytime you want or
need to talk."

     	"Ok," he said softly. "Bye."

     	"Bye, Craig."

     	I hung up and thought about the difference between him and
Danielle. One was sweet and gentle; one had the grace of a bulldozer. Jake
couldn't have chosen two hangers-on that were more different. The only
thing that they had in common was their fascination with Jake Davis.

     	I took out my notebook and jotted down the little bit of
information that I had managed to glean from Craig and Danielle, most of
which had been from Craig. That done, I retrieved the papers Neal had sent
me. I pulled out the guy who had hung up on me and Luis, who I had already
talked to.

     	I called the guy on top. He was home but after a brief
conversation, it became obvious that he wouldn't have much to add. His
visits with Paul had been out-calls, which meant that Paul went to him. He
was amazingly unobservant and only remembered Paul's name because he had it
written down so he could remember who to ask for when he called.

     	The next guy I called still wasn't home, or at least there was
still no answer. The guy after that said that he didn't know anything about
Paul, that Paul never talked about personal things and always kept
everything focused on giving as much pleasure as possible. "We never really
talked all that much, if you know what I mean," he'd said. I was beginning
to think that this was going to be a waste of time. It didn't look like
Paul talked to anyone very much. I decided to keep calling though. You
never knew when you just might strike gold.

     	I thought I'd turned up a nugget with my next call, but it turned
out to be pyrite, better known as fool's gold. The guy started out talking
as if he knew Paul well, but I quickly realized he was only interested in
keeping me on the line so he could talk dirty to me. I ended up hanging up
on the pervert.

     	I called the last two guys and struck out with both of them as
well. Paul obviously didn't let anyone inside the emotional walls that he'd
built up around himself. Maybe it was self-preservation. In this business,
you'd have to keep some sort of distance from the clients. You couldn't
very well get emotionally involved with all of them, after all. And that's
all it was, a business.

     	I almost didn't call the last number back, but I decided I might as
well be thorough. I dialed the number and listened to it ring. I was just
about to hang up when a young sounding male voice answered.

     	"Hello?" they said.

     	"Oh, hi," I said automatically, caught off guard; I hadn't been
expecting an answer. "Is this, um..." I scanned the page in front of me
for his name. "...Howard Rich?"

     	"Are you trying to sell me something?" he asked politely.

     	"No, I just have a few questions to ask you. I won't take much of
your time," I told him.

     	"So this is like a survey?"

     	"No, I..."

     	"Do you want money from me?"

    	"No!"

     	"Well, in that case, it's Howie, please. I hate the name Howard."

     	"Um, ok, Howie. My name is Killian Kendall, I'm a private
investigator."

     	"Really? How interesting. And you want to talk to me?"

     	"Yes," I said, wondering if he would ever allow me to get more than
one sentence out at a time.

     	"About what?"

     	An opening! I didn't waste any time taking it. "Paul Flynn. He was
an escort that I believe you were familiar with. He was..."

     	"Murdered," he finished for me sadly.

     	"You know?"

     	"I saw it on the news. Actually, can I take this in my office? I'll
be able to talk to you more freely there."

     	"Yes, of course. I'll wait."

     	I heard him call someone named Eileen to the phone and asked her to
hang up after he took it in his office.

     	While I waited, I glanced down at the page of notes on Howie and
raised an eyebrow in surprise. It appeared that Howie had been seeing Paul
for much longer than most of the others had.

     	"Ok, I'm back," he said. "You can hang up now." He waited until
Eileen had done as he'd requested before he continued. "Yes, I knew Paul. I
was shocked to hear about his death. To be honest, I've been having a hard
time dealing with it. He was a good person."

     	"You'd been seeing Paul for quite a while," I fished. "In fact,
quite a bit longer than any of hs other clients." Howie refused to rise to
the bait. When the silence had stretched out a little longer than was
comfortable, I asked, "How well did you know Paul?"

     	"How well do you ever know anyone?" he countered.

     	I wasn't about to get drawn into an existential conversation. "It
would be very helpful if you could answer my questions."

     	"Why? What are you looking for? Who are you working for? Why are
you concerned with Paul's death?"

     	"I'm afraid I can't tell you who I'm working for, that's
confidential, but I can tell you that I've been hired to look into Paul's
death by someone who cared about him. They hired me because the police
don't seem to be putting much effort into finding Paul's killer."

     	"So you're trying to find Paul's killer?"

     	"Yes."

     	"Sounds dangerous."

    	"Possibly."

     	"What's in it for you?"

     	"What?"

     	"What do you get out of it?"

     	"It's my job."

     	"Ok, if that's what blows your skirt up, but what does any of that
have to do with how well I knew Paul?"

     	I felt like pounding my head against the desk. First Danielle, then
the pervert, and now this. Had I been a bad boy recently? Was I being
punished for something? I took a deep breath and tried again.

     	"I'm trying to get a grasp of what was going on in Paul's life the
last few months.  His friends have told me that he became distant and
secretive, but no one knows why.  What little we've managed to find out has
only muddied the waters. I'm hoping to find someone that might be able to
clear things up for us. If you knew him well, I was hoping you might be
able to help. If you didn't know him well, just let me know now and save us
both some time."

     	He was quiet for so long that I began to wonder if he had hung up.

     	"Howie?" I asked.

     	"Yeah, I'm here," he answered. "I guess you could say I knew Paul
pretty well.  We'd become friends. He did see me longer than most of his
other clients because he was doing me a favor. Paul's the only man I've
ever had sex with. You see, I'm married to a wonderful woman. I was in
denial for much of my life and I was married with children before I finally
realized that I was gay. I've never told my wife, she's an incredible
person and she's the best friend I could ever ask for. I could never leave
her and my children, she deserves better than that. But I still had a need
to be with men, so I hired Paul. It took care of my needs very well. Paul
knew all of this so he agreed to allow me to keep seeing him."

     	I didn't know what to say so I didn't say anything. After a moment,
Howie went on. "Paul was perhaps the sweetest, most gentle man I have ever
met. He gave of himself completely and I don't just mean that sexually. I
like to think we became friends, I know I cared for him very deeply."

     	"Did you...did you ever talk about Paul's personal life?"

     	"To some degree, yes."

     	"Did you notice any change in his over the last few months before
his death?"

     	"Yes."

     	"Do you know what was causing those changes?"

     	"Yes."

     	My heart caught in my throat. Could this be the answers to all my
questions?

     	"Let me clarify that," Howie said quickly. "I knew some of what was
going on, but not by any means everything. I don't know details, Paul was
too much the professional to name names or give too many details, but I
know vaguely what was troubling him."

     	"Can you tell me what you know?"

     	"Paul and I did a lot more than just have sex. I'd take him to
dinner at nice restaurants that we knew were discreet, we'd take walks
along the river, we'd talk for hours after sex. It was while we were
talking that I learned that he suspected someone he knew of being involved
in something illegal, something serious. He didn't specify what and I
didn't ask. Those were the unspoken rules of our conversations like
this. He asked me what I thought he should do. I told him that it would
depend on what this person was to him. If he was just a casual acquaintance
then maybe he should just go straight to the authorities. If it was someone
he respected or cared about, I suggested that maybe he should go to that
person and speak to them directly."

     	"Did he indicate what he was planning to do?"

     	"No, like I said that wasn't how it worked. But you know, ever
since I heard that he was murdered, I've worried that it might have been my
advice that got him killed."

     	That was a very real possibility, but I wasn't about to tell him
that. He already sounded upset as it was. "You have no way of knowing
that," I told him truthfully enough. "You don't know if Paul took your
advice or not, and even if he did, if it had anything to do with his
murder. That's what I'm trying to figure out. He didn't give you any
indication as to who this person was?"

     	"No, none."

     	"And that was the last time you saw him?"

     	"Yes."

     	"Which was about a month ago?"

     	"About a week before he was killed."

     	My thoughts went to the letters the police had found in the
safe. It sounded like Paul had taken Howie's advice and confronted the
person he suspected of illegal activity.  Had it ended with his death? It
seemed the more I found out, the more questions I had.

     	"One more thing," I said, thinking about the other contents of the
safe. "Do you have any idea who Paul might have been planning on going away
with? Maybe on a vacation?"

     	He was quiet for a second, then said, "No, but I think Paul might
have met someone."

     	"What do you mean by met someone?"

     	"Just what I said, I think he'd met someone that he really
liked. The last couple times I saw him, he was different somehow, happier
and more relaxed. This was before he asked for my advice. I asked him what
was going on to put that smile on his face and he just smiled all the more
and shook his head. I asked him if he'd met someone special and his smile
just grew bigger, if possible. I said he must be someone very special
indeed to bring about a smile like that. Then I told him that whoever he
was, he was a very lucky guy. Paul changed the subject after that, he never
really liked talking about personal things, at least not when it was his
personal life being discussed. He was perfectly content to act as my
confessional, counselor, and adviser."

     	I fought a sigh. Paul's reticence certainly didn't make
investigating him any easier.  It would have been so much easier if had
just been a little gabbier.

     	"Well, thank you, Howie. You've been a help," I said, adding I
think, silently.

     	"I'm glad I could help. I hope you catch the bastard that did
this. Paul was a...he was a good person."

     	I hung up and sat back in my chair, propping my feet up on the
desk. I had so many questions about these cases swimming around in my
head. I was having trouble making sense of it all. I was rubbing my chin
when I realized I was unconsciously imitating Novak. With a snap of chair
springs, I yanked my feet off the desk and sat up straight. I chuckled at
myself as I grabbed my keys and headed out the door. I guess there are
worse things than discovering you're becoming like your teacher.