Sorry to leave everyone hanging for two weeks, sometimes life just gets in the way. I hope it was worth the wait. I'd love to hear from you about how you feel the story is progressing. Email me at Aterovis@aol.com or visit the website and send your comments from there. Also on the website, you can sign up to be alerted whenever the story is updated. I hope you enjoy Chapter 14 of The Truth of Yesterday.
http://www.steliko.com/bleedinghearts
Chapter 14
My mind was racing. What had just happened? Had I somehow experienced Paul's death? Or had it just been my imagination? The thought that I might have actually felt Paul dying was terrifying. And what purpose was there in that? We already knew that he's been strangled. Then again, who said there was a purpose in any of this? I only knew that I needed to talk to Judy...and soon.
"I want to leave." Sabrina brought me back to the moment with her frightened whimper.
I looked up; she was slowly backing away from me, keeping a wary eye on me as if I had suddenly sprouted a second head, a tail, and horns. I nodded and started to follow her, but before I had taken two steps, I felt as if I had been lassoed and was being pulled towards the bedroom. It wasn't even so much a physical feeling, but more of a psychic sensation. I stopped in mid-step and slowly turned back towards the doorway. The feeling grew stronger.
"What are you doing?" she asked in a shaky voice.
"I...I have to go in there," I answered distractedly.
"No! You can't!"
"I have to."
"I'm not going in there."
"Fine. Stay here." I took the few steps through the door and stopped again. With my body blocking most of the light from the other room, this room was left in deep gloom. It almost seemed like the shadows were alive, or as if there was something or someone hiding in them. There was a definite feeling of pain and anguish within the room. It stopped me at the door as effectively as a wall; I couldn't make myself take another step. Then, without any thought, I reached out for the light switch and was surprised when my hand went directly to it with the surety of someone who lived there. It was behind the tall armoire that stood by the door, a few inches from the wall. It wasn't the sort of thing you noticed or would know where it was. I spared a fleeting thought to wonder how I had seemed to know right where it was, but as light filled the room, all other thoughts fled, along with the awful feeling of death.
This room was as neat as the front rooms were chaotic. For a moment, I wondered why this room hadn't been trashed like the rest of the apartment, but then I realized that it probably had been and the police had gathered everything as evidence. Yet another hint that they weren't done with the apartment. I hoped we hadn't left any signs of our illicit visit.
Thanks to the lack of mess in here, it didn't take long to see that if the coin collection had been on the floor, it was gone now. I wondered where he had been killed, where his body had lain until Razi had found him. No sooner had the thought fluttered through my head than I had the answer. I staggered a little as the room seemed to shift out of focus and then slowly refocused, except this time it was as if I were looking at a double exposed photograph. Over the image of the room as it appeared now I saw a fainter, ghost image of the room as it must have looked when Razi found Paul. Drawers had been yanked from the dressers and dumped all over the floor; clothes lied strewn about everywhere. The mattress had been shoved off the box spring and the bedside table had been knocked over, shattering the ceramic lamp that had stood on it. Coins preserved in little cardboard squares lay scattered everywhere; and in the midst of it all, lying on the far side of the room, between the bed and what I assumed to be a closet door, was Paul's body.
The effect was quite dizzying. I squeezed my eyes shut and shook my head. When I reopened my eyes, the ghost image was gone; the room was back to normal. I'm going crazy, I thought. I'm losing my freakin' mind. This can't be happening. No one ever mentioned anything like this. It has to be all in my head. Somehow, though, I knew it wasn't. The question now was why had I been drawn to this room? What was I supposed to see? I didn't even want to think about what, or who, had drawn me here.
"What?" I said out loud in a low croak that I barely recognized as my own voice. "What am I supposed to see? Why did you want me to come in here?"
As if in answer, a muffled thump came from the door that I had thought to be the closet, causing me to almost jump out of my skin. As much as I really didn't want to go any further into the room, I needed to know what was behind that door. I started edging my way around the edge of the room, carefully avoiding the place where Paul had lain. I reached the door and, covering my hand with my shirttail, tried the handle. It was locked. Now what?
That was one skill Novak hadn't taught me yet, how to pick a lock. I made my way back to the door to the rest of the apartment to find Sabrina huddling by the front door, her arms wrapped tightly around her thin body.
"I don't suppose you know how to pick a lock?" I asked her. She stared back at me blankly.
"Didn't think so. You wouldn't happen to know where Paul kept the key to his closet door, would you?"
That seemed to surprise her. "Paul's closet door has a lock? Mine doesn't."
I shrugged. "Maybe he wanted a little extra security."
"But how did he get a lock?"
"He could have changed the handle. That's not the point. The point is, I need to get in there but it's locked."
"He gave me a key to his front door, but that was all. I don't know where he kept spare keys."
"And apparently neither did his killer."
"What do you mean?"
"Well, it seems pretty obvious that whoever trashed this place was looking for something, and taking out their frustration as they went. Maybe it was the key to the closet that they were looking for."
"Maybe they found the key, got into the closet, took what they wanted and left. For that matter, how do you know they weren't looking for something else?"
"I don't. Not really. That's just a guess. But I do think that if they found what they were looking for, they wouldn't have kept on trashing everything. I can't imagine they would have wanted to spend more time in here than necessary."
"Who knows how a murderer thinks?"
"True, but right now I'm more concerned with how Paul thought. Where would he have kept the key to the closet? It must not have been on his key ring or the killer would have found it right away, that's the most obvious place to look."
"I really don't have any idea."
With a sigh, I returned to the bedroom.
"Ok, Paul...or whoever you are," I whispered. "You gotta help me out here. I can't get into the closet unless you tell me where the key is."
Nothing happened. I was just about ready to decide that I had really and truly lost my marbles when I heard the slightest hint of a sound behind me. It sounded like the soft rustle of material against material. I turned to face the antique armoire by the door. It was an enormous piece of furniture, almost reaching the ceiling and with a set of double door on the front. It must have been a bear to move in. I wasn't at all sure that the sound was any sort of clue, but what did I have to lose? I approached it carefully and reached out to open the doors. It was completely empty. I frowned. So I really was going crazy.
Then the sound came again, but now that I was closer, I realized it was coming from the top of the wardrobe. I looked around for something to step up on so I could see the top, but there was nothing in the room. Back out into the living room I went in search of a suitable item.
"What are you doing now?" Sabrina asked.
"Looking for the key. Is there anything I can stand on?"
She looked at me for a second, then shook her head slightly. "I have a stepping stool in my apartment," she said in a weary voice.
"Do you think I could use it?"
"Why not? Anything to get this over with faster." She cautiously slipped out the door and returned a minute later carrying a small folding stepladder.
"That's perfect," I said, taking it from her and heading back into the bedroom.
The first thing I thought when the top of the armoire came into view was that Paul must have been a meticulous housekeeper. There was no sign of the thick dust and cobwebs that one would expect to find in an out of the way place such as this. The next thing that occurred to me was that there was no key in sight. The top of the piece of furniture was slightly inset with a rim of about two inches around the edge. A small block of wood about three inches by one inch was attached on each side of the top. Almost like handles, I thought. It was as if a light bulb lit up over my head. Back when Steve and Adam were buying antiques for the bed and breakfast, I remembered Steve talking about how some of the old pieces had hidden compartments built into them; desks often had hidden drawers, chests had false bottoms...and most important for me, armoires had false tops.
I grabbed the blocks of wood, a task made more difficult by the fact that I only had about six inches of space to work in, and lifted up. Slowly but surely the top began to slide upwards. Soon I had the false top off and I was staring down into a four-inch deep cavity, well camouflaged from a cursory examination by the clever way in which it had been built. No one would ever notice the difference in height inside the cabinet and out unless they knew what to look for. I would have never noticed if I hadn't seen the blocks of wood. All the hiding space held was a single envelope. It must have been pretty important to go to all that trouble to hide it. I picked up the envelope and discovered that it hadn't been sealed, just tucked into itself. I lifted the flap and pulled out the single slip of paper inside. As I did, a key fell out and bounced on the carpet below. I quickly climbed down and retrieved the key before reading the note.
It was handwritten and dated about a month ago. It read, "I never thought when I bought this armoire that I'd have any use for the secret compartment on top, and up to a few weeks ago I didn't. If you've found this, then one of two things has happened. Either you were looking for it, in which case, congratulations; or something has happened to me and you are probably the new owner of this beautiful piece of furniture. If it's the latter, feel free to throw this away. It's no longer of any use to me. If it's the former, then you've got what you wanted. I hope you are happy. Sincerely, Paul Flynn."
I was more confused than ever. It seemed as if Paul had felt his life was in danger, but from whom? He'd gone to a lot of trouble to hide this key, what was so important to keep safe? It was time to find out.
I once again made my way carefully to the closet door. The key slid easily into the lock and the handle turned with a satisfying click. I pulled the door open to find a small closet. A row of shirts and jackets hung neatly from the clothes rod. A shelf above that held a few designer shirt boxes. What caught my attention though was the small fireproof safe sitting on the floor next to several pairs of shoes lined up in a neat row.
I was sure that was what Paul had been trying to keep safe. Just to be on the safe side I quickly went through the boxes, which held nothing but tissue paper, and the pockets of the jackets. I came up with a matchbook, a couple pieces of sugar-free candy, a box of Tic-Tacs, and a condom thankfully still in its package. That done, I turned my attention back to the safe. It had a combination lock. I growled in irritation. There was no way I was going to figure the combination out, and if Sabrina hadn't even known Paul had put a lock on his closet door, I seriously doubted she would know his combination.
Now what was I supposed to do? I'd found what I was meant to find, but now what did I do with it? I couldn't very well tuck it under my arm and waltz out with it while Sabrina waited for me, but I couldn't very well leave it here either. What if the killer came back? He or she would be more prepared this time, and a simple lock wouldn't keep them out of the closet. It was probably only fear of the police that had kept him or her away this long.
"Killian," Sabrina called from the other room, "I think we've been here too long. We have to go."
She was right; we had been here for a while. With a sigh of frustration, I stood up and shut the closet door after making sure it was locked. "Coming," I called back. "Let me put things back."
I quickly slid the letter back into the envelope. After a moment's hesitation, the closet key went into my pocket. I replaced the envelope in its hiding place and slid the top back into place. Once again using my shirt and a cleaning cloth I carefully wiped the armoire clean of my fingerprints-or so I hoped. Then, grabbing the stepladder, I went to meet Sabrina.
"Did you find the key?" she asked.
I paused for a second, then shook my head no. "No luck," I said.
"You were in there a long time, what were you doing?"
"Looking for the key. I thought you were ready to get out of here."
"I am. It gives me the creeps. Come on." She cracked open the door and peeked out. Apparently, the coast was clear, because she slid out with me right behind her. She locked and shut the door and then opened her own door. I carried the ladder in, set it down, and turned to face her.
"I appreciate your help," I told her. "I know it wasn't easy for you."
"What...what happened in there?" she asked haltingly, as if she wasn't sure she wanted to know the answer.
"What do you mean?" I asked, playing dumb.
"When you said you felt like you were being strangled. What happened?"
I shrugged, hoping I seemed more nonchalant than I felt. I had avoided thinking too much about it while I searched for the key, and I wasn't quite ready to think about it yet either.
"Are you some sort of psychic?" she asked.
"What?" I snapped sharply, causing her to flinch slightly. "Why would you think that?"
"It just seemed like the only explanation."
"Maybe I just have an overactive imagination."
"I saw you; you didn't look like you were imagining anything. You looked...you looked like you were being strangled, except there was no one else there."
A shiver raced its way up my spine. "I don't know what happened in there, and I'm telling you the truth. Nothing like that has ever happened to me before. I don't understand it any more than you do. Now, I really appreciate your help, but I have to be going."
"Can I at least have your card? In case something else turns up?" she asked as I turned away.
I reluctantly fished out a card and handed it to her. I knew it was unprofessional of me, but I wanted to put as much distance between me and that whole experience as possible. And then I thought of the safe sitting in the closet. I did not want to go back in there, but I knew I was going to anyway. With a deep sigh, I turned and let myself out of Sabrina's apartment without another word.
I found Chris sitting on the stairwell, head propped on her hands looking eminently bored. She glanced up as I appeared at the top of the stairs, relief written plainly on her face. I expected to hear recriminations about taking so long, but before I could say a word, she bounced to her feet.
"We have to come up with a better communication system," she said firmly.
"Agreed," I said.
"Good, I have an idea. But first, how'd it go? Did you find out anything useful?"
"Yes and no."
"Explain, please?"
"I found something, a safe, but there was no way for me to open it. It was locked in a closet and I'm pretty sure that's what the killer was after. They place was torn to pieces, it was pretty obvious that they were looking for something. I think they were looking for the key to the door."
"And you found it?"
"Yes."
"But they couldn't?"
"It was very well hidden."
"Where was it?"
"In a hidden compartment in the top of an armoire."
"A what?"
"It's a big piece of furniture, like a wardrobe. People kept their clothes in them before they started building in closets."
"How in the world did you know to look in there?"
"I, uh, had a little help," I said quickly before rushing on. "But the point is, I couldn't open it and I couldn't very well carry it out with Sabrina standing right there."
"That would have been a bad idea anyway. You don't want to remove evidence from the scene of the crime. Being in there in the first place is bad enough; taking stuff would be more than I could even away with. And who is Sabrina? Was she the chick with the gun?"
"Yeah, she was a friend of Paul's."
"That scared the hell out of me. I didn't know what to do."
"It wasn't even a real gun."
"I didn't know that."
"Well, it's over now. What was your idea?"
"My idea?"
"For our new communication system?"
"Oh yeah. Well, it's logical really, especially being the daughter of a cop. We need a pair of walkie-talkies."
I blinked. Why hadn't I thought of that? It seemed painfully obvious now that she's mentioned it. Then again, it did have its drawbacks. They were loud. Even if I turned it way down, if I could hear it, which I'd have to be able to do if it was to be useful, then someone could possibly hear it; and in a dangerous situation, that could be fatal. It would also be difficult to hide and when I'm trying to get someone who is already nervous to talk to me, a big official looking radio on my side might not inspire confidence, especially from the type of people I'd probably be talking to before this case was over. And then I had an even more brilliant idea.
"My cell phone!" I exclaimed.
"Huh?"
"We can use cell phones! I already have one, we just to get you one. You could call and warn me if anything happened and it wouldn't even ring. I can just put it on vibrate. You can even put me on speed dial!"
"I already have a cell phone, but it's at home."
I frowned. "I really wanted to go back in and get the safe tonight."
"Hello?" she said leaning over and knocking lightly on my forehead. "Is anyone home in there? Didn't you hear me say that you shouldn't be taking anything out of the apartment? It would be suicide. Why don't we just call the police and let them handle it?"
"And say what? Oh, by the way, I just happened to be snooping around Paul Flynn's pad today and you won't believe what I found in the closet!"
"It doesn't have to be like that. We could make an anonymous tip."
"And say what?"
"You know, just say that we're a concerned friend and we know that Paul kept a safe in his closet. We can say we think there might be evidence in it. Or we could just tell my dad and let him handle it."
"Then I'll never know what was in it."
"We can find out. My dad knows people."
I hated to admit it, but I was beginning to think that she might be right. "Only one problem," I said out loud.
"And what's that?"
I reached into my pocket and produced the key.
"Please tell me that's not the key to the closet."
"Afraid so."
"Killian! You didn't!"
"I did. I can go put it back though."
She shook her head and sighed. "Too risky. It doesn't really matter. If they don't know about the key, they won't know that it's missing. And they aren't too likely to go looking for a hidden compartment in the armoire thingy; especially since they won't have the help you had." She gave me a meaningful look, letting me know full well that subject wasn't yet closed. "They have ways of getting in that door without using a key."
"So what do we do? Anonymous call or tell your dad?"
"Well, this isn't his precinct, but my dad knows some of the guys here. They're old buddies. I think he would know the best way to handle it."
"Won't he be mad that I went in there?"
"He would be if I told him, which I don't plan on doing. I'll just tell him you discovered that the safe is there in the course of your investigation and that you suspect it might hold important evidence, which has the added bonus of being 100% true. You don't even have to lie."
"Except as far as not telling the whole truth is still considered lying by some people."
"Semantics," she said waving her hand dismissively.
"Ok, Clinton," I laughed. "So we're telling your dad?"
"I think so."
"Fine. Are you going to handle it on your own?"
"Actually, if we're done for the day, why don't you come back with me? He wanted to meet you anyway."
"I guess we're pretty much done. Until I can find out how to get in touch with Paul's family or the guy that owns the escort agency Paul worked for, I don't really have anywhere else to go."
"So we're off to see my daddy?"
"Um, sure." I was a little nervous. Chris' father sounded a little authoritarian and authority figures tended to make me a little uncomfortable. A psychiatrist would probably say that was leftover baggage from my father. I would say they are probably right.
"Don't worry," she said, reading me like a book. "Dad's a big teddy bear, really."
"Teddy bear. Right."
"Really!"
She looped her arm through mine and started dragging me down the stairs. We let ourselves out of the building and headed for the Metro station. From there it was short trip to the neighborhood where she and her dad lived with her 12 year-old brother. Her mom had passed away a few years ago from cancer, she told me on the ride.
They lived in a two story brownstone townhouse, like the ones I'd seen in Paul's old neighborhood, but not quite as nice. Still, it was well-kept and very welcoming.
Chris let us in. "Dad?" she yelled at the top of her lungs.
I took in the entry way while we waited for an answer. It was paneled with wood on the bottom part of the wall, old dark wood that held a patina that only comes from years of polishing. Above the paneling, the walls were painted white. A mirror hung over a small table by the door and an old-fashioned brass coat tree stood in the corner, bearing an assortment of outerwear, including a police uniform jacket. A carpet runner went down the hallway that ran next to the staircase leading up to the second floor. Doors opened up on the right and left here at the front of the hall and again farther down.
"In here," a man called back from the room to our left.
She stuck her head in. "I have Killian with me," she told him.
"Well, don't make him stand in the hall! Come on in and have a seat."
"I didn't want to interrupt if you were busy," she said, walking into the room and motioning me to follow.
The room we entered was a cozy den-like room. A ratty old sofa sat facing a big screen TV with an equally beat-up looking recliner off to one side. Against the front wall, under the window overlooking the street, a large wooden desk had been set up and that was where Chris' father sat now. He was a big man, tall and broad shouldered with the beginnings of a beer belly. His short dark hair was beginning to gray and his pale blue eyes seemed tired, but kind. He pushed away a stack of papers he'd been working on and smiled a warm greeting in my direction.
"I welcome the interruption. The problem with police work is there's too much damn paperwork. You must be Killian."
I shook his outstretched hand and smiled in return. "Yes sir. And trust me, Mr. Silver, there's plenty of paperwork in the private investigator business, too."
He laughed. "I don't doubt it. And none of this Mr. Silver business. Call me Louis. Have a seat."
I took a seat next to Chris on the sofa.
"So how'd the first day on the case go, Christina?"
"It went ok I guess. Mostly I stood around waiting."
"I told you most investigative work is hurry up and wait," he said with a smile.
I almost laughed at how much he sounded like Novak when he said that.
"Still, we did manage to find out something that I think you might be able to help us with."
He raised his eyebrows questioningly.
"Killian found out that Paul Flynn supposedly kept a safe in his bedroom closet and that may be what the killer was looking for when they ransacked the apartment."
"Really? Do the investigating officers know about this safe?"
"I don't know. That's where we were hoping you'd help out. You can tell whoever is in charge of the case that you've heard about this safe. If they already know about it, no harm done, but if not then maybe you've given them a big clue."
"And in this job we just love when an officer from another precinct tells us how to conduct a case on our own turf."
"Oh come on, Dad. You aren't a bunch of street gangs in a turf war. Isn't the point to solve the crimes?"
"I supposed I could pass this information along. And I suppose you want to know what's in the safe once they open it?"
Chris beamed. "That would be wonderful."
He chuckled. "Just like you're mother. Consider it done, but remember, I can't guarantee anything."
"We understand, sir...er, I mean Louis," I said.
He turned his attention back to me. "So how is old Shane Novak these days?"
"He's good."
"Is he keeping busy?"
"Busier than he'd like, according to him, but really I don't think he'd have it any other way."
"You're right about that!" he laughed. "He was one hell of a cop, I can tell you that. You've got a good teacher when it comes to learning the investigative process."
"You don't have to tell me."
"How about the home front? Has he moved on after his wife's death?"
"You're one to talk, Dad," Chris interjected.
"Hush," he said, but his eyes were warm. "That's my business. I'm prying into Shane's right now."
I laughed. "I don't think he'd mind. He's been dating someone for a little while now. Her name is Judy."
"Have you met her?"
"Oh, yes. I introduced them."
"She a good woman?"
"The best."
"Good for him. He deserves it."
"If the inquisition is over," Chris spoke up, "I'd better get Killian back to his car so he can head home."
"You're welcome to stay here tonight," Louis offered.
"Thank you, but I'd really like to get home," I replied.
"The offer stands anytime you need it. Shane says you're a fine young man, and that's all the recommendation I need."
I blushed at the compliment and nodded awkwardly. Chris saved me from further embarrassment by grabbing my arm and dragging me toward the door.
"It was nice to meet you," I called out at the last minute as I remembered my manners.
"You too, Killian," he called back.
Just as we were heading out the door a skinny kid with dark hair and eyes just like Chris' came down the hall.
"Hey, Chris," he said, eying me over.
Chris stopped with a small sigh. "Hello, Kevin," she said. "I don't have time to talk right now. We have to go."
"You aren't even going to introduce me?"
"Kevin, Killian, Killian, Kevin," she said from behind clenched teeth.
"Is he your boyfriend?" Kevin asked in that annoying sing-song voice kids use. "What happened? Decide to switch teams?"
Chris merely shut the door firmly and started towards the Metro station.
"That was my twerpy little brother," she said in an aggrieved tone.
"Hey, I have one too," I told her. "I can't tell you how many times he's embarrassed me in front of people. And it's usually at the front door too."
She laughed. "He's not so bad, really. It was hard on him when Mom died."
"That would be hard on anyone."
She shrugged. "I was prepared. Or at least as prepared as you can be for something like that. She'd suffered a long time. At least she's not suffering now."
I nodded and we walked the rest of the way to station in silence. Once there I turned and prepared to say goodbye. To my surprise, Chris was inserting money into the fare card dispenser.
"What are you doing?" I asked. "I can get back fine on my own now; you don't have to go with me."
"I know I don't have to. I want to. I have a few questions for you."
"What kind of questions?" I asked warily, although I had a sinking feeling that I already knew what the answer to that.
She finished getting her fare card before she answered, turning to face me with a look of resolve. "Earlier today we both agreed that we couldn't be partners unless we were honest with each other. You avoided the issue when I asked, but now I want to know about this help you got finding the key and you're going to tell me the whole story if you want my help from now on."