All Lost Things

Book 3 of the Killian Kendall Mysteries

By Josh Aterovis
Copyright 2026

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Chapter 6

I arrived at work early Monday morning, but Novak had still beaten me there. Although his office door was closed, I could hear the low rumble of his voice, making me think he had someone in with him. I soon realized he was on the phone. I waited until he hung up, then knocked on the door, eager to get the conversation over with.

"Come on in," he called.

I let myself in and took a chair. Novak looked me over. I was sure he could tell I was nervous, but he didn't make an issue of it. "You're here early this morning."

I nodded and shifted in my seat. "I'm not bothering you, am I?"

He shook his head. "Not at all. Unless I have a client in here, my door is always open to you. What's on your mind?"

I'd rehearsed the conversation in my head, but now that I was sitting in front of him, my mind went blank. "Did you, uh, hear about the murder last week, the one where the guy was chopped up and burned?"

Novak's eyebrows shot up. "I saw something about it on the news. Cohen, right? They think his son did it."

I nodded. "Uh, right. His name is Caleb — the son, I mean — Caleb Cohen."

"Do you know him?"

"Sort of. Well, yeah. We went to the same school."

"Where are you going with this?"

"Well, he's, uh, friends with my old...friend."

Novak gave me a look. "Does your old friend have a name?"

I blushed slightly. "Asher."

"Okay, so Asher is friends with the Cohen kid. Let me guess: he thinks the kid's innocent."

I felt stupid, but I nodded again. "He was hoping I could maybe help him out."

Novak's ever moving eyebrows leapt up his forehead. "Help him out how?"

"He wants me to look into the murder."

Novak started shaking his head. "That's what the police are doing."

"That's what I said, but he's insisting that Caleb is innocent, and the police are convinced he's guilty."

"Maybe he is guilty. Then what? Look, I understand that your friend wouldn't want to believe someone he knows could be a killer, but this is a matter for the police, not a P.I. Besides which, you're not even a private investigator."

"I know. I told Asher that."

"Then why are we even having this conversation?"

"I promised Asher I'd ask you."

"Well, now you have. Anything else?"

Memories of my strange dreams crossed my mind. I should have been relieved that Novak had shot down any idea of me looking into the murder, but I wasn't. I felt strangely disappointed. Despite my head telling me to stay out of it, something besides Asher was drawing me to the case.

"What's wrong?" Novak asked.

"I don't know," I admitted. "I just...I sort of feel I need to be involved somehow."

"Because of your friend Asher?"

I shrugged. "I guess." That was easier than trying to explain my dreams.

"You're just going to have to tell him it's out of your hands."

"It's not that simple."

"Why not? Why is this such a big deal to your friend? Or more importantly, why is it such a big deal to you?"

I frowned. How did I explain that Asher was my ex-boyfriend and that he was now dating the police's number one suspect? I hadn't come out to Novak, and while I'd never heard him say anything negative about gay people in the time I'd worked for him, the subject had never really come up. "It's...complicated."

"Try me. I'm a detective, remember? I bet I can follow."

"Asher and I...we have a long history."

Novak rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Meaning you used to date?"

My breath caught in my throat and my heart began to hammer. "Wha...?" I gasped.

"Killian, I've known you were gay since before you started working here. I'd have been a pretty poor investigator if I hadn't. I make it a point to know as much as possible about my employees."

"You mean...you don't care?"

"I wouldn't have hired you if I did. Why should it matter? For one thing, your sexual orientation isn't going to affect your job performance. For another, I worked with gay people for years before I retired. DC is a very progressive city, you know. The Metropolitan Police Department was one of the first in the U.S. to have a liaison unit to the gay and lesbian community. They even had an office down on Dupont Circle."

I took a deep breath while I waited for my brain to catch up. I wasn't sure why I'd expected Novak to have a problem with my being gay. Was it because of his age? I knew that not everyone from his generation was homophobic. Maybe my uncertainty was because of his military bearing and former police work. I wasn't even aware he'd retired from the MPD. If he'd mentioned it before, it hadn't sunk in.

I realized Novak was still talking and forced my attention back to him. "More importantly, though, my grandson is gay. When he told me, I did a lot of reading on the subject so I could better understand. I can't say I completely get it, but then, I don't have to. I love my grandson and I'm very proud of him, and that's all that matters. It doesn't make a bit of difference whether he dates boys or girls." He stopped and seemed to be waiting for me to make some sort of response.

"I, uh, didn't know you had grandkids," I managed.

Novak chuckled. "I have two. My wife and I had one daughter, and she has two children. Shane, named after me," he couldn't hold back a proud grin, "is about your age, and Sophie is fifteen. They live in Columbia."

"The country?"

"The town in Maryland."

"Oh."

"So, was I right?"

"About?"

"That you and Asher dated?"

"Yeah."

"Past tense, correct?"

"We, uh, broke up a few weeks ago."

"Ouch. Sorry. I didn't realize it was that recent."

I shrugged and tried to act as if it didn't bother me. "We'd...run our course."

"It's none of my business, but did the breakup have anything to do with this Cohen kid?"

"No. Maybe. I don't really know. It was just...stuff."

"Right. Butt out, Novak."

"I didn't mean—"

"Sure you did, and you're right. It's none of my business. I didn't mean to pry."

"You weren't. Not really. Asher swears he didn't cheat on me, but he is dating Caleb now."

"Aha! So that explains his interest in all this, but not yours. If he broke up with you to date this other guy—"

"There's more to it than that."

"There usually is. Even if that had nothing to do with your breakup, I still don't get why you're involved. Why would you want to help prove your ex's new boyfriend is innocent?"

I sighed. "Like I said before, it's complicated. Asher and I have been friends for a long time — since we were little kids. We grew up next door to each other. He was my first boyfriend, and we dated for a year and a half. That's a lot of history to turn my back on, especially when he's begging for my help."

Novak nodded. "I tell you what, I still don't think you should get involved, but I'm starting to get the feeling you're going to do so whether I agree or not."

I started to argue but Novak raised a hand to silence me. "Don't get your feathers ruffled. Frankly, I admire your tenacity. I don't want you running off half-cocked, though. I'd rather know what's going on and give you a hand than have you playing detective behind my back."

I could barely believe my ears. "You mean you'll help?"

"I'm not promising anything. What I will do is call the police and see what's going on. I have a pretty good relationship with the department down here. I actually worked with a couple of the guys years ago back at the MPD. I'll see what I can find out. If they have some solid evidence against this kid, we won't waste our time. If they don't, well, we'll talk, when and if it becomes an issue. Does that work for you?"

"It's more than I expected."

"Good. Now tell me everything you know about this kid and what happened."

"There's not much on either account." I filled him in on what little I knew about Caleb and what Asher had told me concerning the murder. When I finished, Novak nodded slowly.

"If his father was abusive, the kid had a strong motive. I have to wonder why Social Services was so slow in removing Caleb from the home. There must not have been much in the way of evidence. It wouldn't be the first time a kid made up abuse charges to get out of an unhappy situation."

"I saw his black eye myself."

"That doesn't necessarily mean his father gave them to him. At any rate, there's no point in speculating right now. We don't know enough to even form an educated guess, and the police might have all the evidence they need to convict him. Let me call and see what's up. For now, why don't you get to work? I'll let you know when I find something out."

I stood up, then added, "Asher said that Caleb could pay us when he gets the insurance money—"

Novak waved me off midsentence. "If the kid's guilty, he won't be getting any insurance settlements, and if he's innocent, I'm not taking his money. He's been through enough. I occasionally do pro bono work. We'll just consider this one of those cases."

I nodded and scurried back to my desk, where I applied myself to my duties as best I could. The idea of starting my first official investigation really had me excited. Besides, I was still experiencing a bit of an adrenaline rush from coming out to Novak — not that I'd really come out to him, of course, since he'd already known. It was still new to me, though. My first few coming out experiences hadn't exactly been smooth, so Novak's reaction seemed almost too good to be true. The more I got to know Novak, the more I admired him.

I was staring blankly at my computer screen, lost in thought, when Novak called me back into his office. He was frowning as I dropped into one of the chairs.

"You sure know how to pick 'em," he grumbled.

"What do you mean?"

"I just got off the phone with Hank Kaplan. He's a sergeant for the local PD now, but we go way back." He shook his head. "Man, I'm getting old. I can remember when he was a skinny, freckle-faced rookie, barely older than you. Anyway, he's the officer in charge of the Cohen murder case. Since he knows me, he gave me a little more information than I normally would have gotten from the police.

"Things are definitely far from cut and dried. Almost all the evidence was destroyed in the fire. An ax head was found in the rubble, along with the remains of the deceased. It was obvious from the skeleton that someone murdered Ira Cohen with an ax — not merely killed him, but brutally hacked him apart. Pretty nasty stuff." I shivered involuntarily, and Novak raised one eyebrow. "If you think the description is bad, just imagine being there."

I didn't have to try too hard. Memories of my nightmares flashed through my mind before I forced them away.

"They do know an accelerant was used to start the fire," Novak continued.

"Gasoline," I muttered as another memory from my dream resurfaced. I could almost smell the fuel.

"Most likely," he agreed. "The kid, Caleb, is essentially their only suspect, but from what Hank told me, all they have on him is circumstantial evidence at best. Apparently, it was common knowledge that Dad beat up Caleb pretty regularly. There are police records of several complaints of domestic violence, most called in by their neighbors." He glanced down at some notes he'd jotted while on the phone. "Travis and Paige Haynes. Social Services investigated, but didn't find enough evidence to remove the boy from the home. A few weeks ago, there was an anonymous tip from someone directly to Social Services. This time, they took Caleb to a group home while they conducted a more thorough investigation."

I nodded. "I knew about most of that. Asher was the anonymous tipster. I was the one who convinced him to call."

Novak seemed a little surprised. "You left out that little detail when you were briefing me earlier."

"Sorry. It must have slipped my mind."

"Lesson number one: every detail is important in an investigation. You can't afford to let something slip your mind. It could turn out to be the key to the whole case. If you're going to work with me, you're going to need to get a notebook like the one I keep." He opened a desk drawer and tossed me a small spiral pad. "Don't rely on your memory. Write down everything you learn so you can refer back to it later."

"Couldn't I just keep notes on my phone?"

"Sure, if you want to be staring at your screen in the middle of a case."

"How is that different from staring at a pad of paper?"

"Writing something helps commit it to your memory."

"Is that true or are you just saying that."

"Look it up. Anyway... What was I saying?"

"We were talking about the anonymous call who was actually Asher."

"Right. You distracted me."

"Sorry."

"Nothing to be sorry for. But back to what I was saying before we derailed, the main reason Caleb is a suspect is because he ran away from the group home the same night his father was murdered. He claims he was hiding out at a friend's house, but he won't identify the friend, so the police can't verify his alibi. On the other hand, they also can't tie him to the murder. No one saw him at the Cohen house that night, and there's no physical evidence to prove he was there."

I frowned. "So how can they arrest him? Don't they need some sort of proof?"

"Like I said, right now, it's all circumstantial. They're holding him while they investigate, mainly because they consider him a flight risk. He ran away once, what's to say he won't do it again — and more successfully the next time?"

"There aren't any other suspects?"

"Not really. The kid's not talking, and while the elder Cohen was no peach, they don't have anyone else who had a strong enough motive to chop him into pieces."

"What do you mean, Ira Cohen was no peach? Was there something besides the child abuse?"

"Just a rap sheet long enough to deplete a rain forest — mostly drunk and disorderlies, barroom brawls, and DUIs. It would appear that Mr. Cohen liked to drink and hit people. He was night deskman at one of the sleazier motels in town. It's safe to say he wasn't exactly a model citizen."

"Well, what's your professional opinion? Is it worth our time?"

"To be honest, the police have a pretty shaky case against the boy, and they know it. Hank told me they're more or less spinning their wheels right now since the kid's not talking to anyone, not even his court appointed lawyer."

"So you think we should look into it?"

Novak leaned back in his chair and rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "I think there are a lot of unanswered questions. Normally I wouldn't get involved in a case the police were actively investigating, but the circumstances are a little different here. For one thing, Hank all but asked me to help them out. He was especially interested to learn my new assistant had a connection to the suspect. He said he'd like to meet with you."

"Meet with me? For what?"

"I'm not sure. I told him we'd come by sometime this afternoon. Don't worry. I'll be with you."

"You haven't answered my question. Are we going to get involved or not?"

"I haven't answered because I haven't made up my mind yet. I'm not sure I want to throw you into the deep end of the pool, as it were. You have almost no experience and zero training. I can teach you on the go, but it's not an ideal situation. I would've rather started you off on an easier, less dangerous case."

"You think it's dangerous?"

"Someone was chopped up with an ax. Does that sound dangerous to you?"

"I suppose it does, but it also seems like a very personal attack, not a random murder or the work of a serial killer."

"I agree. You have to really hate someone to chop them up like kindling. Either that or you have to be totally insane. That doesn't mean the killer isn't dangerous to you. He — or she — has killed once, so now there's a lot to lose. People can be extremely dangerous when they feel cornered."

"You're right." I knew that from my own experiences. "So what does that mean?"

"It means you've already made up your mind to get involved, the police had unofficially asked for our help, and a kid's life is at stake."

"So...we're taking the case?"

"Yes, but...there are a few rules you'll have to agree to. One, we will cooperate fully with the police."

"Okay."

"Two, you'll follow my lead and instructions at all times."

"Agreed."

"Third, and most importantly, you'll never, ever do anything alone or without speaking to me first."

I started to argue that I'd never do that, but then I remembered how many times I'd acted without thinking things through in the past, and how close I'd come to getting killed because of it. Maybe a little check and balance wasn't a bad idea.

"Deal."

Novak stood up and held out a hand for me to shake. "Then congratulations. You just took on your first case."

"We have an appointment to see Sergeant Kaplan," Novak told the uniformed woman behind the thick, bulletproof glass window. "Shane Novak and Killian Kendall."

She picked up the phone. "I'll let him know you're here. Have a seat."

We sat down in two of the chairs by the window. A TV played in the corner and there was a skinny guy with glazed over eyes staring in its direction. I couldn't be sure if he was actually watching.

We didn't have to wait long before there was a buzz, followed by a loud click. A door swung open to reveal a man I assumed to be Sergeant Kaplan.

He didn't look anything like what I had expected. Novak had described him as a skinny, freckle-faced kid, but that had obviously been many years ago. Hank Kaplan was huge, burly, and reddish-blond with a ruddy complexion. He looked like a Viking, without the furs and helmet. Instead of a uniform, he was dressed in a dark gray suit — one that was surely tailored to fit his large frame.

He smiled warmly. "Shane Novak. God, it's been years. Come on in." He and Novak shook hands, then he turned to me. "And this must be your new assistant."

"Yes, sir. Killian Kendall." He pumped my hand in a firm but gentle handshake. I was glad for the gentleness, since my hand looked like a child's in his. "It's nice to meet you."

"Likewise. Your reputation precedes you." I must have given him a confused look because Kaplan chuckled. "Every person in law enforcement on the lower Shore knows Killian Kendall." His smile faded. "And on a more personal note, I worked with your father."

I frowned. "I feel like I should apologize."

"No need. But enough about that. Come on back to my office."

We followed Sergeant Kaplan through a common area filled with cubicles and into his office. The room wasn't really all that small, but the low ceiling and large scale furniture made it seem cramped. The sergeant's bulky frame didn't help matters.

He lowered himself into his swivel chair and indicated the two armchairs facing his desk. "Have a seat." He rummaged through the clutter on his desk until he found a file, which he opened and laid in front of him. "So you have an interest in the Cohen case?"

"Possibly," Novak replied. "As I told you on the phone, we've been asked to investigate the murder by someone connected to Caleb Cohen."

"Right, but you never said how this person was connected."

"They're dating."

"I see. Does this person have a name?"

Novak looked at me. I didn't like dragging Asher into a police investigation, but I wouldn't have been sitting there if it weren't for him. "Asher Davis, sir."

He scribbled a quick note in the file, then turned his attention back to me. "Killian, you have some connection to the Cohen kid, too, correct?"

"Yes, sir. I know Caleb from school. We were in an after-school club together briefly."

Sergeant Kaplan chuckled. "Relax, Killian. This isn't an interrogation. You don't have to call me sir with every breath. Okay?" Waiting until I nodded, he continued, "Would you say you were friends with Caleb?"

"I wouldn't go that far."

"Tell me everything you know about him."

"You probably know more than I do."

"That's okay. Just tell me what you know."

So I did, and it didn't take long. I outlined the first time I'd met Caleb, how Kane had said he was a loner, and how Caleb had started confiding in Asher. I told him about the black eye, and, this time, I made sure to include that Asher had called in the anonymous tip to Social Services.

When I'd finished, Sergeant Kaplan eyed me thoughtfully. "Do you think Caleb would talk to you?"

I shrugged. "Maybe, especially if he knew Asher had asked me to help."

"Is that why you wanted to see us?" Novak asked.

Sergeant Kaplan grinned. "You didn't think this was a social visit, did you?"

Novak laughed. "I knew you had something up your sleeve, I just didn't know what. You should be aware that Killian has only been with me about a month. I haven't started training him yet."

"That's okay. If he gets anything out of this kid, it'll be more than we have now. He's sealed up tighter than a clam. Killian, I'll tell you some things we'd really like to know. If you can work them into your conversation with him, that would be great. Think you're up to it?"

"Sure, why not?"

The sergeant gave me an approving nod. "That's what I like to hear."

"So how will this work?"

"If you've got time now, we can head over to the Juvenile Detention Center. Usually, you'd have to be on an approved list to see him, but because you're helping us out, it won't be a problem. You'll be alone when you go in to talk to him, but we'll be watching and listening from another room."

I looked over at Novak for his approval. "We have time if you think you're ready to do it now," he said.

"I'm as ready as I'll ever be."

"Great. Let's get going." Sergeant Kaplan stood and picked up a ring of keys from the corner of his desk. "You can ride over with me so Killian and I can talk."

I was expecting a patrol car, but Kaplan took us to a big, black SUV. I sat in the back and Novak rode shotgun.

During the drive to the detention center, Sergeant Kaplan briefed me on what information he wanted me to try to get out of Caleb. He was especially concerned about the friend Caleb claimed to have stayed with after he ran away.

"You can ask whatever comes to mind, anything you think could be important, but if you can find out who this supposed friend is that would go a long way toward making or breaking our case against him."

When he fell silent, my curiosity got the better of me. "So...you worked with my dad?"

Kaplan glanced at me in the rearview mirror. "Sure did."

"What did you think of him?"

"Honestly?" He shot me another look, as if trying to read my intentions.

"Yeah. Don't hold back."

"I thought he was an arrogant asshole who got what was coming to him."

I threw my head back and laughed. "We can definitely agree about that."

"We never got along. I don't have much stomach for corruption — one of the reasons I got out of the city — and he was as crooked as they come. And I have zero respect for a man who hits his wife and kid." He glanced over at me again. "But I'm glad to see you're doing well. Novak is one of the best out there."

"Aw, shucks, Hank," Novak drawled. "You're just saying that because I'm sitting right here."

"Nah, the kid can learn a lot from you."

The Juvenile Detention Center looked about as charming as it sounded. The squat brick building was not the most architecturally interesting structure I'd ever seen. Someone had made an effort, however. The small lawn was nicely landscaped, and an American flag flapped in the breeze.

I followed Novak and Kaplan inside, where Kaplan flashed his badge and had a brief conversation with a short, balding man who seemed to be in charge. After he explained why we were there and what we wanted to do, the balding man phoned for Caleb to be taken to one of the visitation rooms. Once I'd signed a register and received a visitor's badge, a uniformed guard arrived to take me to see Caleb.

Novak and Kaplan went in another direction that I assumed led to the observation room.

My nerves hit me as the guard led me through a large metal door that slammed shut behind us with an intimidating clang followed by a loud click. The guard smirked at my expression. "Believe it or not, you do get used to it."

"Personally, I'd rather not," I said dryly, and he laughed.

I followed him to another metal door pierced by a small glass window, but my mind was thinking about how close I'd come to ending up in this very building. I'd killed someone in cold blood. Sure, he was a serial killer, but if the court hadn't ruled it was self-defense, I would have been living here instead of visiting.

"I'll be right outside," the guard said, snapping me out of my thoughts as he unlocked the door with a key from a huge ring attached to his belt. "When you're finished, just knock on the door and I'll let you out."

I stepped inside the small room and found Caleb, dressed in a navy blue jumpsuit, already sitting at a stainless steel table. He had dark circles under his eyes and his hair looked lank and greasy, as if he hadn't showered for a few days. I was struck once again by how young he looked.

He seemed surprised to see me. "Killian?"

"Didn't they tell you I was here to see you?"

"No. All they said was that I had a visitor." He frowned. "I thought maybe it was Asher. What are you doing here?"

I took a quick look around as I sat down across from Caleb. On the other side of the room, there was another door identical to the one that had been opened for me. There were no mirrors on the blank walls and no visible cameras. I wondered how Kaplan and Novak were monitoring the meeting. I forced my attention back to Caleb. "Have you spoken to Asher at all...since everything happened?"

He shook his head. "No. Why?"

"He asked me to look into...things." I was finding it hard to avoid mentioning his father's murder and his arrest. I knew I'd have to address them at some point, but I wasn't sure how to bring them up.

Unfortunately, Caleb just looked confused. "Look into things? What do you mean?"

"I work for a private investigator."

He quickly put two and two together. "So you're, like, going to find out who really killed my dad?" His tone was guarded, but his matter-of-fact mention of his father's murder shocked me. There was no emotion in his voice at all. At least I wouldn't have to be the first to bring it up.

"I guess I'm going to try."

"Why?"

"What do you mean?"

"Why are you helping me?"

That seemed to be the question on everyone's mind. The problem was, I couldn't explain my strange dreams. "Asher asked me to," I replied lamely.

He shook his head in disbelief. "And you just jumped in? Because Asher asked you to?"

I gritted my teeth. "I guess you could say that."

"But you guys broke up. You don't even like me."

I tried to resist the urge to look around once more for the camera. If they were indeed watching, I'd just been outed to Kaplan, too. "I never said—"

"You didn't have to. What's in it for you?"

I shifted uncomfortably. "Look, do you want my help or not?"

"How are you going to find out who killed him?"

"I'll ask questions. Talk to people. Look around—"

"They think I did it."

"I know." His attitude was starting to annoy me. I was there to try and help him, and he'd been nothing but defensive from his first words. I decided it was time for me to take control of the conversation. "Did you?"

His eyes widened for a moment, then narrowed with anger. "Oh, great. And how are you supposed to prove I'm innocent if you think I did it?"

"First off, I never said I was going to prove you're innocent. I'm going to find out who killed your father, period. If it was you, then so be it. And I never said I thought you were guilty. I simply asked if you did it. So, did you?"

"No, I didn't." He practically spat the words.

"Good. So who did? Do you know anyone who would want to kill your dad?"

"You mean besides me?"

"Yeah. Besides you."

"Everyone who ever met him. He was a bastard, plain and simple."

"That doesn't exactly narrow it down. Is there anyone in particular? Who should I talk to? Help me out here."

Caleb pressed his lips together and released a deep breath through his nose. "He had a girlfriend. Her name is Nadine. I can't remember her last name. Tyndall? Tinkle? Something like that. I didn't pay much attention to her and tried not to be around when she was at the house."

I pulled out the notebook Novak had given me earlier and jotted down the name. "Who else? What about his job?"

"He worked nights at a motel downtown, the Ease Inn. I can't remember his boss's name. Skinny, with bad teeth. Total creeper."

"What about your mom?"

His eyes dimmed and he looked away. "She's dead."

"How long ago?"

"I was little. I woke up one morning and my dad said she was gone. When I asked him what he meant, he said, 'Dead, boy. Your mom is dead and gone.' Things got worse after that."

"How do you mean?"

"That's when he started hitting me. Well, hitting me more. Before that, he mostly just hit her. He only hit me when I was bad or did something wrong."

"Did he hit you a lot? After your mom died, I mean."

His eyes found mine and locked onto them. I couldn't look away. "Every day." His words were chillingly casual, as if he'd just commented on the weather.

It took me a moment to find my voice again. "Can you think of anyone else I should talk to?" He shrugged, so I prompted, "Did he have any friends?"

"He didn't have friends. He was too mean. I don't know how he kept a girlfriend. Then again, she was trash, too, so..." He sneered dismissively.

"What about your neighbors? Maybe they saw something."

"There's old Mrs. Fields on one side, but she's deaf and half blind. She wouldn't know if someone chopped Dad up in the middle of her living room." I flinched at the coldness in his voice. "Paige and Travis live on the other side. They don't have any kids. Paige is cool. She was always real nice to me. She'd let me come over sometimes when Dad was drinking. And she always gave me food. I guess I don't look like I eat enough. Her husband Travis was all right, too, but he's real quiet and he works a lot."

I was scribbling the whole time he talked. It was easier than looking into those eyes. They seemed like endless pools of misery, their depths formed from years upon years of pain and torture. Now that he'd stopped talking, though, I couldn't avoid looking up. He was watching me closely.

"Are you really going to help me?"

I measured my response carefully. "I'm...going to try."

He frowned. Obviously, it wasn't the answer he'd been looking for. "Don't bother."

"What? Why?" He'd lost me again.

"I can tell you think I did it. If you've already made up your mind, that's not the kind of help I need."

"Let's just be honest. You're right. I don't like you. Whether something happened between you and Asher before we broke up doesn't really matter anymore, because even if it didn't, it was obvious to everyone that you wanted it to. So no, I'm not exactly a fan of the guy who tried to steal my boyfriend — and succeeded."

"That's not—"

"I'm not finished. Whether or not I like you is irrelevant. I can't go into this with preconceived notions. If I do, I might miss something important. I have to keep an open mind, which means I can't assume you're innocent just because you say you are. I'm also not going to assume you're guilty just because the police do. I'm going to be as unbiased as I possibly can be. But if you don't cooperate with me, I won't be able to prove anything one way or the other."

Caleb thought for a minute, then nodded grudgingly. "Fair enough. I guess I have to take what I can get. It's not like I can afford to hire a decent lawyer."

"Didn't the State appoint one for you?"

"Yeah, but I don't like him. He thinks I did it, too."

"Why do you think everyone seems so sure you did it?"

"Probably because I ran away from the group home."

"Why did you run away?"

"Why not? It was better than staying there. If I wanted to get the shit beat out of me every day, I could have just stayed with Dad. Better the devil you know, and all that. At least I knew what to expect at home. I had places to go to get away from him when I needed to. At the group home, nobody seemed to care if the fag got kicked around. I got sick of it so I left. Turned out it was shitty timing, but, unfortunately, whoever killed Dad didn't bother letting me know first."

"Where'd you go?"

He looked away. "Nowhere special."

"You had to go somewhere."

"I wandered around."

"The police said you told them you went to a friend's."

A scowl crossed his face. "You've talked to the police about me?"

"How do you think I got in to see you?"

"So, what, they're listening to us right now?" He looked around the room. "Is that it? You're working for the cops to trap me?"

"I told you, Asher hired me. I had to talk to the police in order to see you."

That seemed to mollify him somewhat. "Are you really a private investigator?"

"I work for one."

"But what about you?"

"I want to be a P.I. I guess you could say I'm in training to become one."

He sighed. "Yeah. That figures. I can't even get a real private investigator to help me."

"My boss is a real investigator. He'll be helping me."

"Why isn't he in here, then?"

"Would you rather talk to me or to a complete stranger?"

"You," he conceded begrudgingly.

"Now, what about this friend you told them you stayed with?"

"I, uh, made that up." He refused to meet my eyes.

"Then where were you from the time you ran away until the police picked you up?"

"I don't know. Wandering around."

"You have to be more specific than that. Come on, you know this just makes you look even guiltier."

"Sorry. Bad memory. Guess it's from all those blows to the head."

"Do you want my help or not?"

"Okay, okay. I was with a friend. It's just..."

"Just what? Give me a name, someone I can talk to."

"I...don't want to involve him."

For a second, my heart sank. Could he have gone to Asher? Then I remembered the panic in Asher's voice when he first called me. He'd said he hadn't heard from Caleb since he ran away. The emotion was definitely authentic. Asher wasn't that good an actor.

"You don't really have a choice. You can either involve him or stay in jail."

"Fine. I can stay here for now. It's better than the group home, and where else would I go?"

My mouth fell open. "You've got to be kidding me. This isn't about going back to the group home. If you could show you were somewhere else when your dad was killed, it would prove that you're innocent. You wouldn't even need me."

"I'm not getting him involved and that's final. You'll just have to find another way to prove I'm innocent. Find who really killed the son of a bitch, then they'll have to admit it wasn't me."

I rubbed my face in frustration. I could tell I wasn't going to get any further with him on this point. His face had closed down and a stubborn look had settled over his features. I'd have to try a different approach.

"You were picked up on the boardwalk, right? How did you get there?"

"I got a ride. I hadn't been there long when the police grabbed me. I didn't even know what was going on at first. I thought they were going to take me back to the group home, so I ran from them. They caught me, and that's when I found out my dad was dead — and that they thought I killed him."

"So you didn't know he was dead before they found you?"

"Nope. First I'd heard of it."

"How did you feel?"

He thought for a moment. "I was surprised, but not exactly broken up about it. I hated his guts. Except for the fact that I was the number one suspect, I was kind of relieved."

"Relieved?"

"He beat me almost every day of my life for ten years. Wouldn't you be relieved?"

I thought about my own father and how I'd react if he died. I wouldn't exactly be relieved, since he was in jail and not a threat to me anymore, but I could see how Caleb might feel that way about his abusive father.

"Why were you at the boardwalk?"

He shrugged. "Why does anyone go to the boardwalk? I was just hanging out. I didn't think anyone would be looking for me. Who cares if a kid runs away from a group home? Nobody wants them anyway."

I tried to think of something else to ask him. I felt I was missing something and found myself wishing that Novak were there or that Kaplan had given me more questions. I tried to remember every police show I'd ever seen, but came up blank. I glanced down at my notebook. I hadn't even filled one page.

"Don't you have anything that could help find your dad's murderer?" I blurted out. "I don't even have any full names here."

He shook his head. "Sorry. If I knew more, I'd tell you."

"You could tell me the name of the friend you stayed with after you ran away."

Caleb's face hardened. "I told you—"

"I know. You don't want to get him involved. Fine. I guess we're done here, then."

He called my bluff and stood up with a shrug. "Okay. See ya." He walked to the other door and pounded twice with his fist. It opened almost immediately and another guard looked in.

"All finished?" She cast a curious glance in my direction.

"Apparently," Caleb responded flippantly.

"Caleb," I called, "if you change your mind about telling me or think of something that could help, get word to me."

"Whatever." He left the room without looking back.

I stood up and knocked on the door, feeling as if I'd failed some sort of test. I dejectedly followed the guard back to the main office, where Novak and Kaplan were already waiting.

"Great job," Kaplan greeted me.

I blinked in surprise. "What? I didn't learn anything."

"You got more out of him than we've been able to. You've got good instincts. It was obvious you haven't been trained in interrogation techniques, but you knew how to work him to your best advantage."

"I couldn't even get him to tell me the name of his friend."

"No, but he's being pretty tightlipped about that, so I didn't really expect him to tell you. I was hoping but not expecting. On the other hand, you did get the name of the father's girlfriend. We'd heard he had one, but no one seemed to know her name."

"It was only her first name."

"It's still more than we had. Quit giving yourself such a hard time. You did great."

I looked to Novak for his take, and he gave me a smile and a nod. "You did. I was impressed."

I was pleased with his praise but still felt I could have done more.

"Well, Killian, if you've had enough of this place, we can get going," Kaplan said.

"I've definitely had enough. I hope I never have to come back here again."

As we walked out, I wondered how I would ever manage to figure out who had killed Ira Cohen. I didn't feel we had much more information than we had before we'd gone in. For all I knew, they had the right person locked up already.

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