Read The Truth of Yesterday Online
Authors: Josh Aterovis
The Truth of Yesterday (28 page)
As
Razi
blew through the door, I was afraid it was going to be the worst case scenario.
“Damn it, Tad, I don't know why you have to lock this place up like fucking
I tried not to bristle at the condescension in his voice. “My name's Killian.”
“Like the beer,” he said. He was wearing obviously expensive clothing, dark slacks with a high quality white button-down shirt open at the collar. The white shirt set off his dark complexion and his black hair was pulled back into a pony tail at the nape of his neck. “So what do I owe the pleasure of your company?” he asked. He spoke English with only the slightest hint of an accent, but his careful pronunciation made me think that it wasn't his native tongue.
“I'm a private investigator,” I told him. His eyes widened in surprise for a second, but his polite mask quickly slipped back into place. This guy was an excellent actor; I would have to watch every nuance. “Micah has asked me to look into Paul's murder.”
“Paul Flynn?” he asked.
I nodded.
“Is that why you were at Michelangelo's? I thought you were dating Micah.”
“I was-I am dating Micah. He didn't even know Paul was dead before he ran into you.”
“Oh. Well, what do you want with me?”
“I'd like to talk to you. You knew Paul, you knew what his life was like,
you
were the one who found him.”
“I don't know what I can tell you.”
“Can we sit down?”
“Oh yes. Please excuse my horrible manners. Sit down.”
I took the chair I'd been sitting in before, and
Razi
took Tad's place in the couch. When Tad made a move to sit down next to him
Razi
shot him a look that I couldn't quite interpret but Tad seemed to have no such trouble. He paused for just the slightest second,
then
cast a quick glance in my direction before leaving the room.
“Now we can talk in private,”
Razi
said, watching Tad leave the room. “I hope you weren't here too long with just him. He's not the most fascinating conversationalist.”
I shrugged. “We were fine. I like him, he's a nice kid.” His eyes narrowed slightly at the word kid but he didn't comment. “Is he related to you?” I asked innocently, as if I hadn't just received the whole story of how he'd ended up here.
“Do we look related?”
Razi
asked with an arched eyebrow. I was having a hard time guessing his age. The closest I could get it was in his 20's, but he had the type of hawkish features that make it hard to pin it any closer than that.
I shrugged in answer. “I've known siblings who didn't look anything alike.”
“We'd certainly be disparate siblings. No, we're not related. He's a friend. I'm doing him a favor. He needed a place to live; I let him stay here in exchange for cleaning the place and a few other small favors.”
“That's really kind of you,” I said, hoping I was keeping the sarcasm out of my voice. Something of it must have slipped through because his eyes narrowed again, although the rest of his face remained set in its carefully bland expression.
“I know what it's like to be in his position.”
“Really?”
“Yes, but that has nothing to do with the subject at hand. You came to talk about Paul.”
It wouldn't be as easy to weasel information out of
Razi
as it had been with Tad. Tad was younger, naïve and innocent in many ways, and looking for someone to trust and confide in.
Razi
was older, more experienced, and obviously a lot more suspicious.
“Yes, I did. How well did you know him?”
“He was one of the very few people I called friend.”
“What was he like?”
“Nice.
Kind.
Good.” He shrugged. “I know those words sound empty but they describe Paul very well.”
“He was an escort?” I didn't mean anything by the question, but I could tell
Razi
took it wrongly. His body stiffened and his jaw tightened.
“Yes, he was an escort. That doesn't make him any less nice, kind, or good. Paul had his reasons, he had his story.”
“What do you mean?”
“We all have stories. Most of us get into it for the money; some of us need it more than others. Paul was a senior in college when he decided to come out to his parents. They were very religious and didn't take it very well. They cut off all his support. He had to finish out the year and one of his friends was in the business so they got him an interview. He was perfect; he has this sort of innocence about him that the clients just loved. He was so successful that he stayed in it even after he graduated. You make more money on your own since there's no middleman, so most guys go solo eventually. They don't usually stay with an agency. Paul did.”
“Why?”
“I guess he wasn't the ambitious type. He said he was making plenty of money and he didn't have to do anything but show up for his appointments.” He shrugged. “Who can argue with that?”
“What about his family?”
“What about them?”
“You said they didn't approve of his being gay.”
“That would be putting it mildly. More like they totally flipped out; told him he was a sinner and going to hell, the whole works. They wouldn't have anything to do with him for a long time. His father died and he had to find out from the newspaper. That was really hard on him. He went to the funeral and no one would even acknowledge him. But then a few weeks later his mother called and he started going to see her every once in a while.”
“How was that?”
“I don't really know. Paul didn't talk about it really. He was very reserved. He never really told you how he was feeling. Sometimes it was obvious, like when his father died, but most of the time you never really knew what was going on in his head.”
“Do you know if the rest family was still antagonistic?”
“I don't know. For all I know they were still preaching at him every time he went over there. I think he would have put up with it if it meant seeing his mother again.”
“Did you ever meet them?”
He let out a short bark of laughter. “You must be joking. No, I was the last person Paul wanted to introduce his family to; his family was rather racist as well as religious zealots.”
“So you don't really know if any of them were unbalanced or anything?”
“Are you thinking one of them killed him? I don't think so. It would seem to me as if they would have done it a long time ago if they wanted to kill him.”
“How long ago did his dad die? Maybe his showing back up again sent someone over the edge.”
“It was a couple months ago, maybe six at the most.”
“So it's possible then.”
“Perhaps.”
“Do you have any other ideas? Did he have any enemies?”
“Paul? No. Everyone loved Paul.”
“Everyone keeps saying that, but obviously someone didn't like him.”
“Perhaps it was just a random burglary gone wrong.”
“I thought the police had pretty much discarded that theory.”
“They did, but then they don't really care much either way. As far as I am concerned, it is still as valid a theory as any.”
“You found him, right?”
“Yes.” His eyes shifted away.
“Can you tell me about that?”
He took a deep breath. “It's hard to talk about,” he said slowly.
“Take your time.”
“I hadn't heard from him for a few days. That wasn't all that unusual lately but if he didn't call me, I'd usually call him after about three or four days, just to make sure everything was ok. He didn't answer his phone so I started getting worried. Finally, I just decided to go over. I had a key so I could feed his fish when he was going to be gone for a few days; he had this huge fish tank with all kinds of exotic fish. I let myself into his apartment. It was trashed.
Completely and totally trashed.
All his paintings were off the walls and destroyed, he loved art. His fish tank was shattered. Every table had been tipped over, lamps smashed. It was horrible.” His eyes had unfocused and I had the feeling he was seeing it all again. “And in the middle of all the mess was Paul. He was just lying there, as if he was a doll that someone had just thrown away. I knew he was dead as soon as I saw him. I've seen dead people before and he didn't look like he'd had a peaceful death. It wasn't one of those things where they just look like they are sleeping. I don't know if you've ever seen a strangling victim. I hadn't. Not before that. It's horrible. I…I'll never be able to forget it.”
I let him sit in silence for a few minutes to collect
himself
before asking my next question. “Did you notice anything missing?”
“Nothing that anyone could say.
He collected coins, some of them quite rare and expensive. The collection was scattered across the floor, but it all there. Paul wasn't a big jewelry person, but what he did have was still in the bedroom. His TV, stereo, computer, everything was still there.”
“So that's why the police ruled out burglary?”
“You'd have to ask the police. It's not as if they confide in me.”
“If you don't think his family could have done that, who do you think did?”
“I don't have any ideas.”
“None at all?
What about coworkers? Did he have another job?”
“No, he didn't need another job; he was making more than enough doing what he was doing.”
“What about other escorts?
Clients?”
He shrugged. “Anything is possible.”
“Do you know how I could get in touch with any of them?”
“Sorry.”
“Sorry you don't know or sorry you won't help me?”
A shrug.
“What about the guy that owns the agency?
Neal, right?”
“I don't know.”
“You used to be with the agency, didn't you?”
“Yes.”
“And you don't know how to get in touch with Neal?”
“We don't exactly send
Chris
tmas cards, you know?”
“Why are you avoiding my questions?”
“I'm answering your questions.”
“They're non-answers. Don't you even care about finding out what happened to Paul?”