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.
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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.