The Truth of Yesterday (73 page)

     My stomach lurched violently as I staggered back in horror. I barely made it to the trashcan before I lost the entire contents of my stomach. He wasn't the first dead body I'd seen, but apparently, it didn't get any easier with repetition. Dead bodies were officially out of my league. I quickly searched for a phone, finally finding it on the counter, and dialed 911 with shaking hands. I carefully kept my back to the dead guy the entire time.

     When the dispatcher answered, I quickly told her that there'd been a murder and gave her the address. When she asked for my name, I hung up. I was still holding onto the idea that I might somehow find Jake and get him out of here before the police arrived. It suddenly occurred to me that I had no way of knowing whether the killer was still here in the house or not. A chill ran up my spine as I spun around. The hallway beyond the door was pitch black; anyone could have been hiding in the shadows, aiming the gun, preparing to shoot me right where I stood. With a stifled gasp, I dropped to the floor, getting an up close look at the gore splattered across its surface. The room began to spin and my stomach heaved again as I realized it was blood and brain matter. I fought down the nausea and waited for the dizziness to pass.
Then pushed myself into a crouching position.

     No one had come into the room and it was only a matter of time before the police arrived. I had to move quickly. I wasn't about to leave the kitchen without a weapon of some sort. I wished desperately that I had a gun, and it occurred to me that the guy at the table might be a security guard and therefore have one, but I wasn't about to get close enough to find out. I remembered seeing a knife block on the counter when I was looking for the phone. I stood up and pulled several out, choosing the largest one and leaving the rest. Still feeling terribly vulnerable, I eased back into the hallway and waited anxiously for my eyes to adjust to the darkness. So far, the house was still deadly quiet. For the first time, I began to truly fear for Jake.

     I moved down the hall as quickly and quietly as possible.  My ragged breathing sounded unnaturally loud in the stillness. I grew more tense with every second spent searching the first floor. Finally, I ended up at the bottom of the stairs to the second floor. I looked up into the blackness above me and felt as if I was looking into the mouth of some great beast, waiting to swallow me whole. I stood there for what felt like an eternity; I just couldn't seem to bring myself to walk blindly into its gullet. There was a light switch on the wall next to me, but I was afraid to turn it on. I didn't want to alert anyone that I was in the house if they didn't already know. Finally, I worked up enough nerve and slowly began to climb. I took one step at a time, testing it for squeaks before placing my entire weight on it. I managed to keep my assent pretty much silent until I was halfway up when of course, the step squeaked. The sound was like a car alarm in the eerie silence. I stood frozen like a deer caught in headlights until it became obvious no one was going to come running with gun blazing. I took the remaining steps quickly. I felt at a disadvantage as long as I was on them.

     At the top, I found myself once again in a hallway. It stretched a short distance both ways. Four doors opened off it, two on one side, and two on the other. One of the doors on my left stood open so I moved cautiously towards it. Better to get that one out of the way first. As I edged up to the door, I noticed a light at the bottom of the door across from it. I stopped and listened, but I didn't hear anything from either room. The room with the open door was brightly lit from the security light outside. A quick glace showed it to be a home office, sparsely furnished with a simple but elegant antique desk and chair. Bookcases lined the walls, holding not just books, but also various exotic and ancient looking artifacts that would have been more at home in a museum. I had a feeling they probably were not obtained by entirely legal means. The room was empty with no place to hide. I turned back to the door with the light showing under it. I moved slowly until I could press my ear against the door-nothing. I touched the knob hesitantly, gripping the knife handle so tightly my fingers ached. I took a deep breath, turned the knob, and threw the door open in one sudden movement as I jumped back into the room across the hall.

     Nothing happened; no one yelled out. It was just as quiet as it was before. I peeked around the corner. The door now stood open, spilling warm yellow light into the hall.
A pair of feet splayed out on the floor were
plainly visible through the door. I took a shuddery breath and stepped closer. The feet belonged to another dead body. This one had been shot as well, at least twice in the chest from the looks of things. He'd knocked over a table as he'd fallen. The room appeared to be a sitting room of some sort. There was a fireplace at one end with chairs arranged in conversational groupings. Another door stood partially open on my right.

     I edged around the body, trying hard not to look too closely, and approached the door. I kicked it open and brandished my knife, as if it would stop a bullet. There were no lights on in the room, but enough light spilled in from the sitting room that I could see it was a lavishly furnished bedroom, and from the looks of things, someone was in the bed. Something was very wrong. No one could sleep through all this. I fumbled clumsily for the light switch. The room suddenly filled with bright light and I found myself staring at a very naked, very dead Fenton Black sprawled across the bed. Blood splattered across the pure white silk sheets. He too had been shot. I looked quickly away.

     I realized that everyone I'd found had looked as if they'd been caught by surprise. It was a big house, but they still should have heard the gunshots.
Unless the killer was using a silencer.
More importantly, I still hadn't found Jake.

     I took a quick look around the spacious room. The king sized bed took up a large part of the floor space. An enormous armoire sat opposite the bed, its front doors open to reveal a large television set. A leather sofa and arm chair sat in front of another fireplace, the back side of the one in the sitting room, I realized. Original oil paintings of what appeared to me to be the Masters hung on the wall. Mirrored sliding glass doors led to what I assumed to be the closet. I was about to leave the room when I noticed a shoe sticking out from behind the sofa. I moved closer, hoping it would just be an empty shoe and I wouldn't find Jake dead as well.

     A muffled sob escaped me when I got close enough to see that it was indeed Jake. It took me a few seconds of panic before I realized that there was no blood and that he was breathing. He was alive, but unconscious.

     I dropped to his side with another sob, this one of relief. Then I noticed the gun gripped loosely in his hand. I felt the knife slip from my numb fingers as I realized the implications.
No, no, no. It can't be true
, my brain jabbered as I pushed away.
Why not?
another
part of me argued.
After all he's been
through,
you had to expect him to crack eventually. His brother was a killer. Maybe it runs in the family.
He looked so peaceful lying there, as if he were simply taking a nap. But only a few feet away lay a murdered body, and here was Jake holding a gun. Passed out? Except for his shallow breathing, he hadn't moved a muscle since I'd found him. I took a closer look and noticed some bruising on his face and around his mouth.

     “Jake?” I said, my voice coming out in a hoarse croak. “Jake?” I shook his foot hesitantly.

     “Freeze, don't move,” a loud voice suddenly barked from behind me. I screamed and lurched forward, throwing myself behind the couch with Jake.

     “This is the police,” the voice identified itself. “You're under arrest. Come out with your hands where I can clearly see them. If you make any sudden moves, I will shoot.”

     “Don't shoot,” I said shakily. “I'm the one who called the police. I'm Killian Kendall. I work for Shane Novak. We're private investigators.”

     “Come out where I can see you,” the police officer ordered. “Keep your hands where I can see them.”

     I edged carefully out from behind the couch, moving slowly and deliberately, keeping my hands in plain sight at all times. The officer was wearing a uniform and pointing a gun right at me. If you've never had the pleasure of such an experience, let me tell you, it's a very unsettling feeling. I wasn't about to make any sudden moves. He looked surprised when he saw me.

     “Let's see your license,” he said, covering his surprise well. He looked to be in his mid-thirties, with dark hair, a carefully trimmed mustache, and heavy eyebrows over dark eyes.

     “I don't have one. I'm still in training.”

     “Is there anyone else in the room with you?”

     “Yes, there's another person behind the couch, but he's unconscious.” I decided not to mention the gun just yet. The cop looked a little nervous as it was. “He might need medical help.”

     “Guys,” he said, as he stepped farther into the room, his gun never once wavering. Two more uniformed police officers stepped around him, guns drawn, and approached me carefully.

     “Turn around,” one of them ordered. I quickly did as he said and I was grabbed roughly from behind, pushed down onto the sofa, and handcuffs were swiftly snapped around my wrists. It all happened so fast I didn't have time to do more than gasp. After patting me down and removing my wallet, they left me on the couch, the first cop still holding the gun on me, while the other two checked Jake.

     “He's got a gun,” one of them said tightly.

     “Is he out?” the first one, who seemed to be in charge, asked.

     “Looks like it.”

     “Get Deacon and have him get some shots before you move him then. We don't want to fuck this one up. This is high profile.”

     One of the officers stood up and started to leave the room.

     “Take the other kid with you,” the one in charge snapped.

     He hauled me roughly to my feet and shoved me in the direction of the door. He led me downstairs and into the front room, which appeared to have been taken over as headquarters. The place seemed to be crawling with cops. As we passed, I saw flashes coming from the kitchen. Apparently, the crime lab was already getting started. My escort left me sitting awkwardly on a chair; hands still cuffed behind my back, and placed another young cop to watch over me. He wasn't very talkative and I wasn't exactly feeling chatty myself, so we sat in uncomfortable silence while police bustled busily around us. I had plenty of time to study the guy they'd chosen to watch me. He couldn't have been more than a few years older than me. He was probably fresh out of police academy. He had close-cut light reddish-brown hair and hazel eyes. A smattering of freckles across his pug nose made him look even younger. His thin lips were pressed together in a nervous expression and I realized that this was probably his first big case. He looked almost as scared as I felt.

     After about half an hour, they wheeled the guy from the kitchen out in a body bag.

     Soon after, the officer in charge from upstairs came into the room and spotted me. He frowned and walked over.

     He looked down at the clipboard in his hand. “Killian
Kendall
,” he announced in a dark voice. “What do you know about these murders?”

     “Less than you do, probably.”

     His frown deepened. “What were you doing here?”

     “Am I still under arrest?”

     
“Considering I found you at the site of a multiple homicide, yes.”

     “Then maybe I should wait to talk until I have a lawyer.”

     “Damn kids. You've watched too many movies. You got something to hide?”

     
“No, sir.
I just think it would be best if I wait to be questioned until I have a lawyer.”

     He sucked in a deep breath between clenched teeth. “
Marshall
, take him to the station and lock him up,” he growled to my young guard. “And be sure to let him call his damn lawyer first.”

     The officer nodded sharply. “Yes, sir,” he said. So he could speak. He helped me up and led me out the front door and towards the cluster of police cruisers parked on the lawn. I noticed he was being a lot gentler than the guys who'd cuffed me. The whole thing was kind of surreal. I'd never been arrested before. I was pretty shaken, but I would have been a lot more scared if I thought there was any chance of being charged with anything. I knew I hadn't done anything to be charged with though...unless you counted breaking and entering.
And possibly interfering with a crime scene.
Hmm, maybe I should be a bit worried after all.