The Truth of Yesterday (66 page)

     “You didn't speak to his clients.”

     
“His clients?
You make it sound like he was a dry-cleaner. He was an escort.”

     The waitress came to pour his coffee, and I waited until she left to continue. “I know what he was, and I really don't see how that makes any difference. Why does it matter what he did for a living? He was a nice guy, a good person. Everyone that knew him loved and respected him.”

     
“Obviously, not everyone.”

     I was annoyed that I'd walked into that one. I'd made the same point several times myself. “The point is one of his clients told me that Paul was dating someone, but he didn't know who.”

     “Unfortunately, he didn't leave us an in-case-of-emergency-contact letter.”

     “What about the address book?”

     “What about it?”

     I hadn't known for sure that there even was an address book before just now, but Evans had just confirmed it for me. “Can I see it?”

     
“Absolutely not.”

     
“Why not?
What if it helped solve the case?”

     “It could also help me lose my job. I can't just run around showing key evidence to everybody who asks.”

     “How is Paul's address book key evidence?
Evidence of what?”

     “It was taken from the murder scene, that makes it evidence in a homicide investigation.”

     “Have you at least contacted everyone in it?”

     He gasped melodramatically. “Gee golly! You know what? We didn't even think of that! It's a good thing you came along to remind us how to do our job.”

     I gritted my teeth in frustration. I jumped as the waitress dropped a large glass of chocolate milkshake in front of me with a loud thunk. I hadn't even seen her coming that time.

     “You don't have to get all snotty about it,” I said when she'd gone. “I was just asking. It didn't lead anywhere?”

     
“Nobody knew
nothin
'.”

     “Can you at least tell me what was in it?”

     He sighed. “You don't give up, do you kid?”

     
“Nope.”

     “What do you want to know?”

     “Can you give me the phone number for Paul's family?”

     
“No way.”

     “Come on,” I whined.

     “We've already talked to them.”

     “You'd already talked to a lot of people I talked to and I found out much more than you did.”

     He didn't look too pleased at that reminder, but he couldn't argue with its validity.

     “I won't tell them where I got the information from, I promise.”

     He pressed his lips together and silently whipped out a small notebook from his inside jacket pocket. The notebook was almost identical to the one I carried. I felt a little thrill to realize that a professional police detective used the same notebook I did, then I realized how childish it was to get excited by something like that. I pulled out my pad while he flipped through his pages. I wanted to be ready. I waited with pen poised over paper.

     He rattled off a phone number and the notebook vanished back into his pocket. “Now we're done,” he growled. He threw back the last of his coffee and signaled the waitress. “He's picking up the check,” he told her. He stood up as I gaped at him.

     “The deal was I would pick it up if you thought I didn't have anything to offer,” I sputtered.

     “And you didn't; just some speculation and allegations without anything to back them up. Thanks for lunch.” He nodded at the waitress, who was busy keeping a professionally bland smile on her face, and walked out. As soon as he was gone, the waitress' smile fell.

     “Don't let him get you,
hon
,” she said softly. “He's a real hard ass. From what I heard, he's just mad because you've done a better job on this case than he has. For a guy who's been at this game for as long as he has, that's a real kick in the gut. The other guys on the force are always giving him a hard time about losing his edge.”

     “You know him?”

     “I ought to, he's my ex.”

     “You were married?”

     
“Yep.
It wasn't one of those messy divorces, you know? It's just hard being a cop's wife. I just wasn't cut out for it. We're still friends. That's why he eats here all the time.”

     “Oh. Well, I guess I'll take that check now.”

     “Don't worry about it,” she said. “Owen eats on the house. He was just giving you a hard time.”

     “Can I at least pay for the shake?”

     “That one's on me. Think of it as an apology for the hard time he gave you.”

     I smiled. “Thanks.”

     
“Any time, cutie.”
She moved off to check on her other customers. I finished my milkshake, left a couple dollars on the table, and slipped out before she noticed the money.

     I took the Metro back to
Chris
', but she and Kevin weren't back yet. I sat on her doorstep until they got back. Kevin was looked cranky and
Chris
looked frazzled. I stood up and she caught sight of me.

     “Hey,” she said. “How'd it go?”

     “Eh. Not too well. How's the orthodontist appointment go?”

     Kevin glowered at me.

     “Don't ask,”
Chris
said. She unlocked the door and we all went inside, Kevin immediately disappearing to his room.

     “He hates having his braces tightened,” she explained. “And I hate being his mother.”

     “You could always move out,” I suggested.

     “Nah,” she sighed. “Dad needs me.
Maybe someday, when Kevin's a little older.
So anyway, what happened with Detective Evans?”

     “He wasn't very cooperative. I had to do some fast-talking just to get him to listen to me. Still, I did manage to get him to give me Paul's mother's phone number. Can I use your phone to call her?”

     “Sure. Where does she live?”

     “I'm not sure. Do you recognize the exchange?” I showed her the number.

     “Yeah, I think that's
Arlington
, just outside DC. You can take the Metro there if she lives within walking distance.”

     “Let me call her first. She might not even agree to meet with me.”

     
Chris
showed me the phone and I dialed the number the detective had given me. It rang three times before someone picked up. The woman on the other end had a pleasant, sunny voice.

     “Mrs. Flynn?” I asked.

     “Yes. May I ask who is calling?”

     “My name is Killian Kendall, Mrs. Flynn,” I said. “I'd like to talk to you about your son Paul.”

     “Paul?” she asked, her voice suddenly lost its brightness. “Why do you want to talk to me about Paul? You do know he is dead, don't you?”

     
“Yes, ma'am.
That's what I wanted to talk to you about actually. I'm investigating his death; I'm trying to find out who killed him.”

     There was no response. The silence stretched out to the point that I began to think she'd hung up on me. “Mrs. Flynn?”

     “It's very hard to lose a child,” she said at last.

     “I can't even imagine your pain.”

     “I lost him twice. I got him back after the first time; nothing can bring him back now.”

     “You don't think his killer should be brought to justice?”

     “Its not that…it's just…My older son, James, he doesn't like me to even talk about Paul. He wouldn't like it if he knew I was talking to you about him. We're a very religious family. My husband and James could never accept-they couldn't understand…”

     “That Paul was gay?”

     “You know?”

     
“Yes, ma'am.”

     “My husband is dead now, but James still won't even speak of Paul.”

     “Is James there now?”

     “No, he's at work. He won't be home until after five.”

     “Could I come to your house and talk to you before that? He wouldn't have to know.”

      “I don't like to lie…”

     “You wouldn't have to lie.”

     “I suppose, if it will help to catch Paul's killer, it would be ok.”

     “Can you give me your address?”

     She gave me here street and house number, which I jotted down under her phone number in my notebook.

     “I'll be there soon,” I told her.

     “About half an hour,”
Chris
whispered into my ear. She'd been reading over my shoulder.

     “In about half an hour,” I amended.

     “I'll be looking for you,” Mrs. Flynn said.

     I hung up and turned to
Chris
. “Should I drive or take the Metro?”

     She pulled two maps out of a drawer, one of the Metro system and one of
Arlington
. She spent a minute comparing them. “I think you should drive, it's not very close to the Metro stop. Or actually, maybe I should drive. Do you want me to go? You look really tired.”

     When she that, I realized just how tired I was. I was running on adrenaline and when that ran out, I had a feeling I would drop. Still, that urgency I'd felt earlier was even more intense now. I had to keep going. “I am tired but I'm ok.
Besides, what about Kevin?
Can you leave him here alone?”

     “He's old enough that he doesn't need a babysitter,” she said, although she didn't sound too sure.

     “I'll be fine. Mrs. Flynn might be uncomfortable if two of us showed up,” I said.
Chris
showed me where Mrs. Flynn lived and how to find it on the map, and I set off to find my way through the confusing maze of DC streets, beltways, and highways.

     Somehow, I managed to find Mrs. Flynn's home and it only took me an hour. She lived on an attractive, but crowded street with homes that looked like they'd been built during the post World War 2 boom in the Fifties. Large old tress lined the street and kept everything shaded. The lawns were immaculately groomed and the homes well cared for. I parked on the street in front of the address Mrs. Flynn had given me. Her home was a small cottage sized house, part brick and part white clapboard, with a chimney on each end. Enormous mums exploded with autumn color along the brick path that led to the door and against the foundation. Dark green ivy climbed its way up one chimney. It made an idyllic scene.

     I walked up the path, breathing deeply the smell of fall, a pleasingly earthy scent. I knocked on the door and it was quickly answered by a small, plump woman wearing white cotton pants and a blowsy, emerald green top-Mrs. Flynn I presumed. I was surprised to see that she was older than I had expected. She had short curly brown hair, shot liberally with gray. Her round face was relatively smooth, but deep creases cut into the skin at the corners of her mouth and eyes. She looked like a woman who smiled often, but she wasn't smiling at the moment.