All Lost Things
Book 3 of the Killian Kendall Mysteries
By Josh Aterovis
Copyright 2026
Chapter 9
I managed to stay in the office all day on Friday. I returned a couple of calls from the day before, answered the phone, and organized my notes about my interviews with Travis Haynes, Mrs. Fields, and Nadine.
I spent a lonely Friday night watching TV by myself. Kane was out on a date — as he was almost every Friday night — Adam was working in the den, and Steve was reading in bed. I found myself really missing Asher, although I couldn’t be sure if I missed him or just dating in general. I ended up going to bed early.
I slept late the next morning; got up just before noon and went downstairs to find Steve alone in the kitchen. He glanced up from the laptop on the table in front of him. “Good morning. It is still morning, isn’t it? I was beginning to wonder if you’d ever get up.”
I frowned as I opened the refrigerator to grab a carton of orange juice. “Were you waiting for me?”
“I have to run out to Chicone this afternoon, but I didn’t want to leave until you were up.”
“Oh. Why?” I got a glass down from the cabinet and poured myself some juice.
“I thought maybe you’d want to go with me if you didn’t have anything else to do today. Nobody’s home so it’ll be pretty boring around here all by yourself.”
“Where is everyone?”
“Adam is taking Kane to stay with his mother for a week, remember?”
“No. Was I told?”
Steve shrugged. “Who knows? Adam’s not been himself lately. So, how about it? Feel like driving out to the house with me?”
I opened a package of cookies and nibbled on one. “What’s going on?”
“I’m meeting Victoria and a building inspector there. We have to go over the house, make sure everything is up to code, check for termites — things like that.”
“How long will that take?”
“It’s a pretty big house, probably a couple of hours.”
I sighed. It seemed my options were staying home alone or going with Steve to the haunted house. Not much of a choice. “I guess I’ll go with you.”
“Don’t sound so excited, sport.”
“I’ll try to contain myself. I mean, who wouldn’t be thrilled to spend a Saturday afternoon at the Addams family mansion? Scooby Doo, where are you?”
Steve laughed and gave me a playful shove towards the door. “Go get ready, Daphne.”
Heading for the stairs, I called over my shoulder, “I think I'm more of a Velma, to be fair.”
The drive to Chicone was filled with a constant stream of chatter about wiring, plumbing, and painting. Needless to say, Steve did most of the talking. I tried to pay attention and respond when appropriate, but honestly, I couldn’t have cared less about whether the house had PVC or copper pipes.
Victoria was waiting for us when we pulled up, standing on the front steps wearing a grin that still showed off her impressive dental work. “I’m so glad things have gone so smoothly so far,” she gushed. “I’m sure the inspection will be a breeze. The current owners have done so much work on the place.”
She punched a code into the lockbox clipped around the door knob, removed the key, and unlocked the heavy, wood paneled door. We stepped into the foyer, and I made sure I carefully closed the door behind us. Might as well spare Amalie the trouble, I thought darkly.
“It’s just as beautiful as I remembered,” Steve said softly.
I had to agree. The foyer was spectacular — all paneled walls with soft rainbow colors cast across the hardwood floor from the stained glass transom over the front door. Everything was covered with a film of dust, but it was easy to picture how magnificent it would be when polished and sparkling. The room was almost as big as our entire living room at the beach house. I leaned back against the door, wondering what it must have looked like when Amalie stepped through this entrance for the first time. What did she think when she saw the splendor and elegance? Was she used to such extravagance, or was she as impressed as I felt?
A sudden, sharp rapping at the door interrupted my ruminations and sent vibrations through my whole body. I leapt away with a yelp, thoughts of ghosts filling my fertile imagination.
Steve gave me a funny look. I got the impression he was trying not to laugh at me.
“That’s probably the contractor,” Victoria said. To her credit, she didn’t even crack a smile.
She opened the door to reveal a very ordinary — and very alive — middle-aged man in dark blue pants and a lighter blue, button-up shirt. A tape measure was clipped to his belt and he carried a clipboard in one hand.
“I’m Reid Schubel, and you must be Mrs. Redden.”
Victoria laughed. “No, I’m Victoria Lecates. I’m Mr. Redden’s real estate agent.” She stepped back and indicated Steve. “This is Mr. Redden.”
Steve shook the inspector’s hand. “Please, call me Steve. It’s nice to meet you, Reid. This is Killian.”
Introductions out of the way, Victoria asked Reid where he wanted to start.
“I usually like to work from the bottom up. Is there a basement?”
Victoria led the way, with Steve and me trailing behind Reid. The basement, little more than a root cellar, didn’t take long. The first floor, however, was a far more extensive undertaking. Reid had to test every outlet in every room, turn every faucet on and off, flush every toilet, and look in every nook and cranny he could find — and, let me tell you, in a house that old there were lots of nooks and crannies.
The whole time, he and Steve kept up a steady stream of technical babble that wafted somewhere above my head, or at least beyond my interest level. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t dredge up much concern over lead paint tests, grounded wiring, plumbing checks, and structural integrity.
I was beginning to think that staying home alone would have been a better choice. By the time we reached the second floor, I was afraid I might slip into a coma at any moment.
When we got to the master bedroom, the one being used for storage, Reid stopped dead in his tracks. “Wow. This room is an inspector’s worst nightmare! Did you guys hire me just to clear it out?”
“We can skip it if you want,” Steve suggested. “The outlets have been fine in every other room. There’s no reason to believe this one would be any different.”
Reid shrugged. “That’s up to you. Just be aware that if you discover any issues after the sale, they’ll be your problem, not the seller’s.”
“Fair enough,” Steve agreed.
They started on to the next room, but I caught Steve by the elbow. “Do you mind if I poke around in here?”
He grinned. “Getting bored?”
“You have no idea.”
He turned to Victoria, who’d caught our exchange. “That’s fine,” she agreed with a smile. “You just can’t take anything out of the house.”
“I promise not to slip a Victrola under my shirt.”
She laughed. “Actually, you could start cataloging all this stuff. As far as I know, it’ll all transfer to Steve if he buys the house, so it would be nice to know exactly what’s in here. It'll all have to be listed on the contract.”
She dug a small pad of paper out of her purse and handed it to me with a pen, then followed Steve out, leaving me alone in the cluttered room.
I looked around, unsure where to begin. With my limited knowledge of antiques, mostly gleaned from watching Antiques Roadshow with my mom, I didn’t see any great treasures right away. Most of the items seemed to be detritus from the century and a half the house had stood there. I guessed each occupant had left their own contribution, and it had all ended up in this room. There was a broken mid century phonograph, a couple of mismatched dining room chairs, a deteriorating wicker bassinet, several ugly lamps from the ’60s — and that was just in the front. I dutifully jotted everything down, then pushed them off to one side.
As I moved further back, the items got older and looked much more likely to be antiques. There was a beautiful wooden bed frame with a carved headboard, and, next to it, a dusty armchair. The needlepoint seat of the chair had clearly served as a nesting spot for a few generations of industrious rodents, but it would be quite nice if we reupholstered it. I wondered who had left them there and why.
Suddenly, I spotted an ornate gilt picture frame jutting out from behind the headboard. To get to it, I had to wrestle with an old dresser, dragging it just enough to squeeze by, then clamber over a table missing its marble top. Once I reached the frame, I carefully slid it out from its hiding place, stirring up a thick cloud of dust that sent me into a fit of coughing and sneezing. The frame was unexpectedly heavy, and I soon understood why. When my eyes finally stopped watering, I saw that it held the portrait of a young woman.
The surface was dark with dust and age, but beneath the grime was a beautiful oil painting. The woman on the canvas had dark hair, pulled back from her face and hanging in curls at the nape of her neck. She wore a scoop-necked, dark blue dress with a white lace collar and an exquisitely intricate gold brooch on her bosom. The artist had posed her with one hand resting lightly on the mantle of a fireplace that might have been one of those in the ballroom downstairs. She appeared to be barely more than a girl, her dark eyes large and framed by even darker lashes. Her expression was somber, but there was a sparkle of humor about her eyes, as if at any second her lips would twitch up into a smile. I sensed that the artist had caught her very accurately, and I wondered if she was the mysterious Amalie or some other former resident of the big house.
While I was examining the painting, I heard what sounded like soft footsteps behind me. I set the portrait down and turned, expecting to find Steve, Victoria, or Reid, but no one was there. The hair on the back of my neck stood up and a chill crept down my spine.
“Hello?” My voice came out in a hoarse croak. I cleared my throat and tried again, “Is someone there?”
There was no answer. I strained to pick up any more noises, but it was eerily silent. Not even the low rumble of Reid and Steve’s voices was audible. I wanted to leave the room and go find the others, but I was afraid to step out into the hallway, afraid of what I might find. Sounds that might or might not have been footsteps were bad enough, I didn’t want to come face to face with a ghost.
That thought made me giggle. I was being silly. I was eighteen years old, yet I was acting like a little kid scared of the boogieman. I took a deep breath and walked boldly into the hall. I exhaled a whoosh of relief when I saw it was empty. There was still no sign of Steve and the others. They must have moved on to the third floor.
It was just my imagination, I decided. I would accept the easy explanation, for now, but I knew I wouldn’t be doing any more cataloguing by myself in the near future. I caught up to the other and stuck with them for the rest of the inspection.
I didn’t think Monday morning would ever arrive. I even got up and drove to work early, but still had to wait for Novak to arrive. I leapt from my seat as soon as he opened the door.
“Have I got news for you!” I crowed.
He stopped in his tracks and eyed me warily. “I hope it’s something equal to the sinking of the Lusitania to merit that kind of enthusiasm.”
“The sinking of the what?”
He sighed and came the rest of the way into the room, shutting the door behind him. “You are hopelessly uneducated. How did you ever graduate high school? Go to the library on your way home and pick up a book on American history. The Lusitania was a passenger ship that was torpedoed by a German sub while taking provisions to England during the first World War. Twelve hundred people died, but of course they haven’t made a movie about it starring the latest Hollywood heartthrob, so I wouldn’t expect you to have heard of it.”
I rolled my eyes. “You do know they have Google now, right? Anyway, don’t you even want to know what I found out?”
“Yes, but first I’d like to enjoy my coffee.” He held a Styrofoam cup aloft. “And maybe read the morning paper. Can you give me that much time at least?”
I slumped down in my chair and tried not to pout. “I guess.”
Novak chuckled. “Alright, already. Enough with the puppy dog eyes. Come on back. I can drink my coffee while you fill me in on your big news. The paper can wait.”
I bounced up again and followed him into his office. Once we were in our usual places, he gave me an expectant look.
“Okay, so you know how you told me I could talk to Mrs. Fields, Mr. and Mrs. Haynes, and Nadine Tingle while you were gone?”
“I don’t remember mentioning the Hayneses specifically, or the charming Ms. Tingle, but go on.”
“Well, I went back out to the house and decided to look through the barn, since I didn’t go inside on Tuesday when we were there.”
Novak frowned and sat up a little straighter. “That wasn’t part of our arrangement either.”
“I didn’t think it would be a big deal.”
“The barn didn’t look safe. You shouldn’t have gone in there alone. What if something had happened? Who knows how long you would have been in there before someone found you.”
“My car was in plain sight. Someone would have noticed and wondered what I was doing there. Besides, nothing happened. The building isn’t in as bad shape as it looks.”
“That’s not the point.”
“Okay, you're right, but I’m fine. Can I just get on with my story? You can lecture me later.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Don’t think I won’t. Continue.”
“Thank you. So anyway, at first it didn’t seem that anyone had been in there for a long time. The door had pretty much rusted shut and everything looked like it had sat untouched for eons.”
“Eons?”
I ignored him. “But then I remembered there was a second floor.”
“Oh for God’s sake.”
“I found a ladder in the back corner that led up through a hole in the ceiling.”
Novak dropped his head to his hands. “I can’t listen to this anymore.”
I was practically speaking through gritted teeth by that point. “So I tested the ladder before I climbed it and noticed it had been maintained by someone.”
Novak looked up with sudden interest. “What do you mean ‘maintained’?”
“I mean some of the rungs had been replaced relatively recently and there were new nails, still shiny.”
“But I thought you said no one had been in the barn in eons.”
“No one had used the door, that’s for sure. When we were there on Tuesday, though, I found a path had been trampled leading to one of the windows. I didn’t think anything of it at the time, but when I saw someone had fixed the ladder, I realized someone was probably coming and going through the window.”
“Caleb?”
“That’s my guess.”
“Was there anything in the hayloft?”
“Again, at first I didn’t think so. Then I found an empty chip bag, which led me to discover a hidden room.”
“A hidden room? What is this, a Nancy Drew mystery?”
I frowned. “Why does it have to be Nancy Drew? Why not the Hardy Boys? Is it because I’m gay?”
Novak chuckled. “I was just kidding. I didn’t mean to offend you.”
I shrugged. “You didn’t. I actually like Nancy Drew. And it wasn’t really a hidden room. The hay bales were arranged to create a wall, but whoever did it — I’m assuming Caleb — tried to make it look like a random pile of bales. Inside the little room he’d built, there was a bed, an oil lamp, a few dirty magazines...and some condoms.”
Both of Novak’s eyebrows arched up. “New or used?”
“Some of both.”
“Well, well, well.”
“I think Caleb was using the loft as a retreat from his father and for trysts.”
Novak rubbed his chin. “Very interesting. I don’t suppose you have any guesses as to who he was meeting up there.”
“None whatsoever. But I’m not done yet.”
“Really?”
“I also talked to Mr. Haynes. He had no idea who Caleb might have been meeting in the barn — as far as he knew, Caleb didn’t have any friends — but he did tell me that Nadine and Ira used to have violent fights. The sheriff was even called out a few times.”
“That could be pertinent.”
“The other weird thing about my conversation with Mr. Haynes was that he got very intense when I asked him if he and Mrs. Haynes had children.”
“Intense?”
“He just...changed, closed down. He seemed almost angry. The conversation was definitely over.”
“You still learned a lot.”
“Wait, I have more.”
“Good grief! Were you in the office at all?”
“This was all in the same afternoon. After I talked to Mr. Haynes, I tried Mrs. Fields. She answered the door this time. She confirmed that Ira and Nadine fought frequently, but she went one step further. She told me that Nadine was at the house the night Ira died.” Novak perked up. “But, she left long before the fire started. Mrs. Fields also told me that she used to see Caleb sneak into the barn through the window, and, soon after, someone else would crawl in as well.”
“Could she see who it was?”
“No, but she was pretty sure it was a boy.”
“Is that all?”
“Not yet. I decided to talk to Nadine again.”
“How’d that go?”
I made a face. “Not as well as I would have liked.”
“Meaning?”
“I confronted her about her fights with Ira, which she didn’t deny, but when I asked her about being there the night Ira was killed, she kind of got mad at me.”
“Most people don’t like being accused of murder.”
“I didn’t accuse her of murder!”
“It was implied. Tell me exactly what was said.”
I relayed our conversation as accurately as I could. When I finished, Novak leaned back in his chair and stared up at the ceiling. After a few minutes, he brought his eyes back down to mine. “You had a busy week.” I smiled sheepishly and waited for him to continue.
“On the one hand, you made a lot of progress. We should probably get in touch with Hank and let him know about the room in the loft. I’m surprised no one looked up there after the murder. They probably saw the door was rusted shut and assumed no one used the barn anymore. I wouldn’t be surprised if some poor schmo gets reamed over that slip up.
“On the other hand, you took some unnecessary risks and possibly alienated an important witness — a witness who may or may not be a suspect.” I hung my head as my face flushed with humiliation. “However...I’d have to say that given your inexperience and my lack of better instruction, you did an outstanding job.”
I looked up at him in surprise. “Really?”
He gave me a warm smile. If I wasn’t mistaken, there might have been a hint of pride in his expression. “Really.”
I basked in his praise for a few seconds. It felt good to know Novak approved.
“So what do we do next?” he asked.
I blinked. “I don’t know. I was hoping you’d tell me.”
“Uh uh. This is your baby now.”
“But—”
“Don’t worry, I’ll let you know if you get too far off track. Look at your notes. What do we need to investigate that we haven’t checked yet? Who do we need to talk to?”
I took out my notebook and flipped through the pages. “We need to talk to Caleb again, and to Phil Zaranski at the motel where Ira worked. We also need to figure out who Caleb stayed with the night he ran away and who he was, uh, sleeping with in the barn. It could be the same person.”
“One minor correction: we don’t know that Caleb was sleeping with anyone.”
“What about the used condom I found?”
“That’s known in our business as circumstantial evidence. It could mean that Caleb was having sex with someone, or it could mean that Caleb simply jacked off into it.”
I blushed at Novak’s frankness. He smirked but left it alone.
“We deal with cold, hard facts,” he went on. “We don’t have room for guesses and suppositions. You’re assuming Caleb was sleeping with someone. Assumptions are the quickest way to screw up a case — or get yourself killed. We need evidence, an eyewitness, or a confession. It’s our job to find those things. Right now, according to Caleb at least, we know he stayed with a friend the night he ran away. We also know someone was meeting him in the barn periodically. Let’s focus on the identity of these mystery people — or person — and not worry so much about whether or not Caleb was screwing him.”
I nodded. “Where do you think we start?”
“Based on the three choices you laid out, I’d say Zaranski. We really have no leads to follow concerning Caleb’s mysterious friend, and we can't get the ball rolling on a meeting with Caleb until I talk to Hank. Speaking of Hank, we need to let him know about the hidden room. Maybe they can lift some fingerprints from the lamp or magazines, or DNA from the condoms. Of course, that will only be useful if they have something to compare it to.”
“What do you mean?”
“They can run the prints through a database, but to find a match the person has to have a record or they won't be in there. Even if there's no match though, it could come in handy down the line if they narrow a list of suspects or arrest someone. Either way, Hank needs to know about the room. In fact, hang on. Let's give him a call.”
He picked up his desk phone and dialed Kaplan's direct line, putting it on speaker phone.
“Sergeant Kaplan speaking,” he barked.
“Hank, it's Shane Novak. I've got Killian on speaker. He's made some progress, and there's a discovery out at the Cohen property that I think you'll find especially interesting.” He quickly filled Kaplan in on the various information I’d discovered the week before, including Caleb’s love nest in the loft. I chipped in details here and there.
The sergeant was satisfyingly impressed when we wrapped up. “Damn. Good work, Killian. I’ll get some guys over to check out the loft ASAP. I can’t believe no one looked up there before.”
“They might have,” I rushed to say, remembering Novak’s dire prediction that someone would get reamed because of the oversight. “It was really dark up there, and I almost missed it myself. It just seems to be a pile of hay bales unless you look real closely.”
“It’s our job not to miss things,” Kaplan growled. “Still, you did a fantastic job finding it. Thanks. I just hope you didn’t mess up any possible evidence. You should have called us the second you found it.”
I flushed. “I didn’t think of that. I’m sorry. I’m pretty sure I didn’t mess anything up, though. I didn’t even touch the used condom.”
“We’ll see. Either way, don’t sweat it. You won’t get in trouble. We would have missed it altogether if it wasn’t for you. In the future, give us a call first.”
“I will.”
“I'll send a team out to the barn right away. Thanks again, Killian.”
Novak disconnected the call and turned to me. “Good work, but also an important reminder that we need to work in tandem with the police. If you find something that seems significant, let them know right away. If they want to cause trouble, they can cause a lot of it. I could even lose my license.”
"I'm sorry," I said, feeling a bit like a chastised puppy.
"In this case, it's merely a learning moment. You heard Hank. You're not in any trouble. It's just a good reminder that we're technically mucking about in police business, granted, with their permission. We still need to be careful, though.
"Got it. So, speaking of mucking about in police business, when can we talk to Zaranski?”
Novak laughed. “Don’t you ever take a break? Let me read my paper and drink my coffee before it gets cold. Go do some of the work I hired you for. We’ll head over to the Ease Inn this afternoon — if you behave.”
I grinned. “I promise I’ll be good.”
Novak rolled his eyes. “I’ll believe that when I see it.”
The Ease Inn was far from a quality establishment. Maybe once it had been a respectable motel, but those days were long gone. What stood before us now was a rundown, seedy spot that seemed to cater mostly to drug users, sex workers, and people who'd fallen on hard times — the kind of place your mother would warn you to avoid.
The motel was laid out in a horseshoe shape, with a separate, smaller building in the center serving as the office. Everything was low-slung and grimy, built from cinder blocks that had once been painted light blue but had since faded to a dreary gray. In places, the paint had peeled away, revealing patches of the original white base coat underneath. The parking lot was cracked and crumbling, with weeds forcing their way up through the asphalt, and the patchy grass around the perimeter looked like it hadn’t seen a mower in months.
After we parked, Novak laid out the game plan. “Okay, when we go in, you stay quiet. We want him to notice you as little as possible. In fact, I won’t even introduce you. I’ll get him talking, get him to give us permission to look around, then I’ll distract him. I want you to nose around.”
My adrenaline immediately spiked. “What am I looking for?”
“Anything and everything. Specifically, anything that looks interesting, anything you think looks out of place or stirs your curiosity. You’re a smart kid. Trust your instincts, and you’ll know it when you see it. You’ve got a knack for this stuff.”
I glowed at his vote of confidence but wished I were as sure about my abilities as he was.
A loud, annoying buzzer sounded when we opened the office door. A moment later, an inner door swung open behind the counter and a disheveled man appeared. He wasn’t quite old enough to be considered middle-aged, but he looked as if he’d passed his halfway point a long time ago. He was painfully thin, with a receding hairline, a ghostly pallor, and bloodshot eyes. He’d apparently forgotten to shave that morning — and maybe every morning for the past week.
He eyed us suspiciously but kept his mouth shut. We probably weren’t his usual caliber of clientele. Or maybe he thought I was turning a trick and Novak was my john. Then again, maybe he wasn’t thinking anything. After studying him for a moment, I decided the last seemed most likely.
“We’re looking for Phillip Zaranski,” Novak informed him.
“What for?” the man asked nervously. I don’t suppose one gets asked for by name very often in his line of business.
“Are you Mr. Zaranski?” Novak countered.
“Maybe. Who’re you?”
“We’re looking into the murder of Ira Cohen.” Novak was the master of evasion.
Zaranski screwed his face into a frown. “I thought you guys had the killer. The paper said his kid did it.”
“We’re tying up some loose ends. We understand Mr. Cohen worked here. Is that correct?” I was impressed at the way Novak allowed Zaranski to think we were cops without actually saying so.
“Yeah, if you could call it that. He sat at the desk a few nights a week, so I could have off.”
“Do you own the motel?”
“Me? Ha! Nah, it’s owned by some outfit out of Baltimore. I just manage the place.”
“Would you mind if we took a quick look around?”
He scowled. “What for? Do you have, like, a warrant or something?”
Novak laughed. “You’ve watched too much TV, Mr. Zaranski. We were hoping you’d be cooperative and we wouldn’t need anything like a warrant. After all, if you’ve got nothing to hide, what harm could it do?”
“Yeah, okay, I guess you’re right,” he conceded reluctantly. He raised a section of the counter and stepped out of the way to allow us back.
Novak gave me a slight signal towards the back room with his eyes before he turned to Zaranski. “Why don’t you take me through the sign-in process, step by step, and then show me the logs for the last week Mr. Cohen worked.”
I slipped into the back room practically unnoticed. It was as shabby and dirty as the rest of the place. An unmade bed sat in one corner. The opposite corner held a small, unsanitary looking kitchenette — barely more than a hotplate, microwave, and dorm-style refrigerator. A beat up recliner was parked in front of a huge flatscreen TV — the only thing that looked new in the entire room — and a desk took up the rest of the space. I headed straight for the desk.
It was a large, metal, institutional style affair with three drawers down each side. On its scarred top, three security monitors sat amid a scattering of trash and paperwork. I took a closer look at the monitors. One showed a view of the front office, with Novak and Zaranski still bent over a ledger on the counter, another was trained on the back parking lot, and the last was pointed down at what I assumed was the back door.
I pulled open the first drawer on the left, but there was only a messy stack of unused receipt books, pens, pencils, rubber bands, and paper clips. The next held a series of unremarkable folders with labels like: receipts, bills, etc. I didn’t take the time to go through them since they looked fairly ordinary. The next few drawers were much the same. The bottom right drawer, however, was locked. The hairs on the back of my neck prickled. I suddenly understood what Novak meant when he said I’d know it when I saw it. There was something in that drawer.
I scanned the top of the desk again and my eyes fell on a set of keys partly hidden by a greasy fast food wrapper. I glanced towards the door, through which I could still hear the drone of Zaranski’s voice, punctuated occasionally by questions from Novak.
I grabbed the keys, flipped through them quickly, and found a likely candidate, the only small key on the ring. It slipped easily into the lock. I almost let out a yelp of joy when I felt it turn. I slid the drawer open and my stomach dropped with disappointment. The drawer held a stack of Hustler magazines and a bottle of cheap whiskey. I pushed the Hustlers aside and felt the flutter of excitement return. Under the porn mags was a small remote control. Why would someone lock up a remote control?
I picked it up and examined the strange looking device. There was no numbered keypad, just a few unmarked, color coded buttons. I pointed it at the TV and hit one of the buttons. Nothing happened. Then I realized the security monitors had changed views. Two now looked into empty motel rooms, but the third showed a naked man sitting on the edge of a rumpled bed. An equally unclothed woman knelt on the floor in front of him, bobbing busily between his legs.
It took me a few seconds to figure out what I was looking at. At first, I thought I had switched to some porn channel. Slowly, it dawned on me that I was actually looking at three of the motel rooms. Someone had wired them with hidden cameras.
“What the hell are you doing?” Zaranski yelled from the door.
My heart leapt into my throat, and for one panic-stricken moment, I didn’t know what to do or say. Then I realized that the remote control was out of sight in my lap, which meant he didn’t know what I had discovered just yet. My mind raced as I tried to decide if I should bluff and wait to tell Novak later, or confront Zaranski with the evidence.
I decided to go with my gut and take a risk. I held up the remote and watched the color drain from his face. Novak gave me a questioning look.
“He wired the motel rooms with hidden cameras,” I explained.
Zaranski looked wildly around the room as if seeking an escape route. Novak quickly clamped a hand on his shoulder, ending any thoughts of a hasty exit. Even though Zaranski was much younger, there was no doubt that Novak could stop him without so much as raising a sweat.
“I do believe that’s illegal, Mr. Zaranski,” Novak commented lightly.
“It wasn’t me,” Zaranski bleated. “I don’t even know what he’s talking about. Ira must have done it.”
“You don’t lie very well, Phil. May I call you Phil? You know the next logical step would be to fingerprint those cameras. Whose prints will we find? My guess is yours. Am I right?”
Zaranski gulped. “Look, it was just for security, right? Things kept disappearing out of the rooms.”
Novak laughed derisively. “Who’d want to steal anything from this dump? Your batting average just keeps getting worse and worse. Soon I’m not going to believe anything you say. Besides, the hidden cameras would still be totally illegal.
"Here’s how it’s going to work. You’re going to have a seat.” He steered Zaranski gently but firmly in the direction of the recliner. Zaranski collapsed into it almost gratefully. “Then I’m going to pitch you a couple of questions. You’d better hit a home run or you’re going to be out of the game. Now, why were you and Ira squabbling? I’m betting it had something to do with those cameras. You can tell me if I’m right. If you’re a very good boy and tell us what we need to know, then maybe, just maybe, we’ll forget what we’ve seen here.”
“Squabbling, who was squabbling? Me and Ira got on famously. Like brothers we were.”
“Yeah, sure. We understand Ira was a real peach.” Novak pulled out his cell phone and started poking at it. From my vantage point, I could see it wasn’t even on. Zaranski couldn’t see that though.
“Who’re you calling?” Zaranski’s voice jumped several octaves.
“Well, you see, Phil, you just struck out. I’ll give you three guesses as to whom I’m calling, and the first two don’t count. Here’s a hint: if you guess the police, you’ll be right.”
“Wait! Wait! No, look! Okay, okay. I’ll talk. Just hang up.”
“You’ll tell us the truth this time? No more bullshit stories about how you and Ira were best friends forever?” Novak asked, the phone still in his hand.
“Yes. I’ll tell you.”
Novak dropped the phone back into his pocket. “Start talking. What were you fighting about?”
“We weren’t exactly fighting.” Novak reached back into his pocket. “No, really! We weren’t! Ira found the remote, just like the kid did. There wasn’t any fight, not like you’re thinking. He started blackmailing me. Said if I didn’t pay up, he’d turn me in to the police. The son of a bitch was bleeding me dry, and it’s not like I have a lot to start with, you know? I wouldn’t be working here if I did.”
“How long was this going on?”
“The blackmail? A couple of months, I guess. His demands started out kinda small, but he kept asking for more and more.”
“And this made you mad?”
“Hell, yeah! Wouldn’t you be mad?”
“Mad enough to take an ax to him to stop the blackmail?”
“What?” he screeched, his eyes bulging in a most unattractive manner. “Is that what you’re trying to do — pin it on me? No fuckin' way! I’m a lot of things, but I’m no murderer. I didn’t kill nobody!”
“Can you prove that?”
“Huh? How?”
“Where were you the night of the murder?”
“If Ira was home then I was here. It was only the two of us that worked nights.”
“And that’ll check out?”
“Sure it will. You can ask the people who checked in that night.”
“You can rest assured we will be asking them, and it better be just like you’ve said.”
“It is. I swear.”
“Too bad your word doesn’t carry more weight, Mr. Zaranski. Come on, Killian. Let’s go.”
I dropped the remote into my pocket and took a final glance at the monitors before following Novak out. The couple must have finished their business, because the man was getting dressed and the woman was counting through a handful of crumpled bills. Romance was alive and well at the Ease Inn.
The office door had barely closed, cutting off the obnoxious buzzing sound, before Novak had his cell phone out.
“Yeah, I need to speak to Sergeant Kaplan.” He waited for a few moments, then continued. “Hank, it’s Shane Novak. Get a couple of your boys and head over to the Ease Inn, and you might want to hurry.”
He quickly filled Kaplan in on the high points of what we had discovered. I pulled out the remote and waved it in front of him.
“Good work, kiddo,” he said, taking it from me. “We’ve got the remote, Hank. I’ll wait here for the first officer on the scene and leave it with him.”
As soon as he had ended the conversation, I protested, “You told Zaranski you wouldn’t call the police if he told us the truth.”
“I said maybe.” He gave a shrug and a crooked grin. “Besides, how do we know he told us the truth?”
I chuckled.
We waited until the first patrol car rolled up so that Novak could give the officer the remote, then we went back to Novak’s office. The rest of the afternoon passed uneventfully while I dealt with mundane paperwork from Novak’s official, bill paying cases.
Just as I was getting ready to leave for the day, Sergeant Kaplan knocked on the door and strolled in. “Your boss here?”
“Sure am,” Novak replied from his office door.
“You got a minute?”
“Come on in.”
“You, too,” the sergeant said to me as he passed.
I followed him in and dropped into the other armchair, since Kaplan had taken my usual seat. It felt strange to be sitting in a different place.
“You guys have been keeping me busy today,” Kaplan said with a mock stern expression.
“You're welcome,” Novak replied with a smirk. “I assume you're here with news about Zaranski?”
“The man’s a moron,” Kaplan stated. “Not only did he have surveillance cameras wired into several of his most popular rooms, but he recorded the shows, too. He kept videos of his little Peeping Tom operation. I guess he was saving them for slow nights. We found a whole cache of them on his computer. If I were a betting man, I’d wager there will be a few local bigwigs sweating it out when this story breaks.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“It’s been an open secret for quite a while that some people of influence use that dump for, shall we say, personal amusement. It’s one of the reasons we hadn’t raided the place a long time ago. Our hands were pretty much tied. Now this is too big to ignore or cover up.”
“What about Zaranski’s alibi for the night Cohen was killed?” Novak asked. “Did his story hold up?”
“Unfortunately, it did. We managed to get in touch with a couple who, according to the desk log, checked in around the time of the murder. They confirmed that Zaranski was at the desk.”
“So we’re back to square one?” I was surprised to find I was more than a little disappointed.
“I never figured him for the job anyway,” Novak said with a shrug. “He doesn’t have the guts to commit a crime like that. He’s more the slimy, secretive type.” He looked me over, taking in my glum expression. “Cheer up, kiddo. You did great finding that remote.”
Kaplan nodded. “And the hidden room in the hayloft. We've searched it and taken a few things in for evidence. Keep up the good work, but stay safe. I’ll let you know if we get anything more from Zaranski.”
“Thanks.”
Kaplan left, and I turned back to Novak.
“So, where does that leave us, kid?” he asked.
“In your office, sir,” I answered flippantly. He shot me a look that would have peeled paint off a Porsche, so I hurriedly added, “You mean on the case?”
“Yes. I meant on the case.”
“Well, I guess we’re nowhere.”
His eyebrows shot up in tandem. I felt as if I had failed some test. “Nowhere?” he repeated in disbelief. “What do you mean ‘nowhere’? Just because Zaranski has an alibi? That’s what this is all about. It’s a matter of elimination. We can cross Zaranski off the list, and we helped get a scumbag off the streets to boot.”
“We have a list?”
“Hypothetically speaking.”
“Well, hypothetically speaking, who else is on this list?”
Novak rolled his eyes. “You tell me.”
I sighed. “I don’t know. Nadine?”
He nodded. “Who else?”
I frowned. “Caleb, I guess. We still don’t have any real reason to think he didn’t do it.”
“Very true. Anyone else?”
I thought hard, but couldn’t come up with any more names. “Not really.”
“What about Paige and Travis Haynes?”
“Why would they want to kill Ira Cohen?”
“I don’t know. There’s something about them that strikes me as off. You said he acted strange when you asked if he had children. It might be worth our time to look into them a little more closely.”
“If you think so...”
“And then we have the mysterious stranger who met Caleb in the barn.”
“You think he’s a possible suspect?”
“Everyone’s a possible suspect right now.”
I grinned. “Even me?”
Novak fixed me with a mock stern look. “I don’t know. Where were you on the night Ira Cohen was murdered?”
I giggled nervously as he opened a desk drawer and pulled out a stack of index cards. I had been in my bed sleeping, at least physically, but my strange dreams were still unexplained.
“What are those for?” I asked, pushing the nightmares from my mind.
“I sometimes use these to keep track of a case. They help me organize all the facts and see them in new ways.” He jotted something down at the top of the first one. “Okay, what do we know about Ira Cohen?”
“We know he abused his son, nobody seems to have liked him very much, and someone hated him enough to chop him up with an ax.”
“We also know he had a volatile relationship with Nadine Tingle, and he was blackmailing his boss Phil Zaranski.” He pushed the first card aside. “What do we know about Ira and Zaranski?”
“What difference does it make? We know Zaranski didn’t do it.”
Novak looked up at me, and once again I felt like a particularly slow student. “First rule of the detection business: don’t ever take anything for granted, no matter how insignificant it may seem at the time. Don’t throw any fact away as useless until you have the whole picture. Something that seems of no consequence can have a huge impact on something else later down the road or take on a different meaning in the light of new information. Now, what do we know about Ira Cohen and Phillip Zaranski?”
Properly chastened, I started rattling off information. “We know Zaranski was secretly taping couples in their motel rooms in, um, compromising positions.”
“Positions that likely included missionary, doggie style, and sixty-nine,” he quipped.
I tried not to blush. “We know that Ira found out and was blackmailing Zaranski. Zaranski probably hated him enough to kill him.”
“But he has that pesky alibi. What about the videos?”
“What about them?”
“Ira knew Zaranski had wired the room, but did he know Zaranski was recording? And if so, did he look at the videos?”
“What difference would that make?”
“It could make a big difference. We know Ira was a blackmailer. He was blackmailing Zaranski, after all. If he recognized some of the people on the tapes...”
A light bulb went on over my head and I finished his thought. “...then Ira could have been blackmailing others as well!”
“And that would give these hypothetical blackmail victims a strong motive for murder. A blackmailer seldom stops at one victim. It’s a definite possibility. The question is, did he find the videos and view them? If so, was he brazen — or stupid — enough to actually try extorting money from powerful people?”
“Well, we know he wasn’t exactly a model citizen. He abused his son and blackmailed his boss. I wouldn’t put it past him.”
“Nor would I.” He finished writing on another card and slid it to one side. “Who else is there?”
“Nadine Tingle.”
“Ah, yes, the charming Ms. Tingle. What do we know about her?”
I frowned. “Not much. Just that she was involved with Ira in some way, but apparently didn’t like him all that much.”
“Or that’s what she wants us to believe, anyway.”
“You think she’s lying to us?”
“I think there’s much more to Nadine Tingle than meets the eye. It would be a mistake to underestimate her. She’s a lot sharper than you might think. She revealed very little about her relationship with Ira when we spoke to her, yet you found out they had a very volatile relationship, to say the least. They had loud arguments, and she even busted his windshield with a baseball bat at one point, indicating she’s not opposed to acts of extreme violence. We should definitely talk to her again.” He made notes as he rattled off information.
“Maybe you should talk to her. She thinks you’re hunky.” I gave him an innocent smile and gestured toward the card. “Should you write that down?”
Novak gave me an incredulous look and went on. “Next.”
“What about Paige Haynes, the neighbor?”
“She’s another one who hasn’t been completely upfront with us. She’s trying to protect Caleb, although at this point, I’m not sure what from. There were no toys in the yard, no signs of kids, and the husband reacted badly when you mentioned children. Maybe Paige Haynes thinks of Caleb as a son, perhaps the child she can’t have.”
I stared at him in awe. “You got all that from a five minute conversation?”
“Observation, kid. That’s what this business is all about. You have to keep your eyes and ears open at all times. You have good instincts and a mind like a steel trap, but unless you learn how to harness them and put them to use, they won’t amount to a hill of beans. Just like any talent, you have to learn how to use it to its fullest potential. What about Caleb?”
It took me a second to shift gears and catch up with him. “Caleb. All we really know is that he ran away from the group home on the night his father was murdered. He won’t say where he was between leaving there and getting picked up by the police on the boardwalk, other than that he was with a friend. He was apparently meeting someone in the barn fairly regularly. Maybe the same person, maybe not. Everyone thinks of him as a loner with no friends, but he claims to have at least that one friend he stayed with when he ran away. And I guess we should mention that he was being abused by his father and was easily angry enough to kill him.”
"And he was dating your ex. What was his name?"
"Asher? Are you saying he's a suspect?"
"Technically, yes."
"But he would never—"
"What if he thought he was protecting his vulnerable new boyfriend?"
"Asher would never. He isn't violent."
"I'll make a note of that."
Novak busily scribbled away, then leaned back and thought for a moment, rubbing his chin. He gathered up all the cards, pushed everything on his desk to one side, and beckoned me closer with a crooked finger. I moved to his side while he laid the cards out as if he were playing some game to which only he knew the rules.
A pattern began to form. It started at the top with a single card that had “Ira Cohen” printed on it in neat, careful letters. Below his name, Novak had written all the relevant facts we knew about him. Beneath the first card, branching out, were others bearing the names Caleb Cohen, Nadine Tingle, Phillip Zaranski, Travis and Paige Haynes, Asher, and one blank. Under certain names were cards with a single question written on them. Under Caleb’s name, there were two questions. One read, “Where was he between the time he left and the time the police picked him up?” The other said, “Who was he meeting in the barn?” Under Zaranski’s was a card that said, “Who else was Ira blackmailing?” Under Paige’s was, “Why is she protecting Caleb, and from what?”
Asher's name on the card still bothered me, but I ignored it for the moment.
“What’s the blank one mean?” I asked.
“Our mystery man. You can see what I’m doing here, right? It’s like a fill-in-the-blank puzzle.”
“Right. These are the questions that we need to answer.”
“Some of the questions. There will be more before we’re finished, you can count on that. Most of the time, answering one question only raises a dozen more.”
“Do they ever all get answered?”
“Only in the books, kid.” He gestured towards his bookshelf. “We just do the best we can. Right now, these are the questions at the top of our list.” He scooped up the cards and tossed them back in the drawer. “That’s enough for today. You should have been on your way home thirty minutes ago.”
I glanced at my watch. “Uh oh. I’d better call Adam, or he’ll be worried. Or angry.”
“Angry? Why would he be angry? Just because you’re a little late?”
I shrugged. “He’s been angry about everything lately.”
“Anything you want to talk about?”
“Nah. It’s nothing.”
Novak patted me on the back. “Well get going. We’ll pick this up again tomorrow.”
I started for the door, pulling my cell phone out as I went.
“Oh, and Killian,” he called. I stopped and turned back. “You’re doing a great job. I’m really proud of you.”
Next Chapter
Previous Chapter