The Truth of Yesterday
Book 4 of the Killian Kendall Mysteries
By Josh Aterovis
Copyright 2026
Chapter 27
As soon as the detective was gone, the waitress's fake smile fell.
"Don't let him get to you, hon," she said softly. "He's a real hard ass. From what I overheard, he's just mad because you've done a better job on this case. For a guy who's been at this game for as long as he has, that's a real kick in the gut. The other guys on the force are always ragging on him about losing his edge. He's trying to hold out a few more years till he can retire."
"You know him?"
"I ought to. He's my ex."
"You were married?"
"Yep. It wasn't one of those messy divorces, you know? It's pretty hard being a cop's wife. I just wasn't cut out for it. We're still friends, though, which is why he eats here all the time."
"Oh. Well, I guess I'll take that check now."
"Don't worry about it," she said. "Owen eats on the house. He was only giving you a hard time."
"Can I at least pay for the shake?"
"That one's on me. Think of it as an apology."
I smiled. "Thanks, but you don't have to do that."
"I know, but I want to."
"Well, thank you."
"Any time, cutie." She moved off to check on her other customers.
I finished my milkshake, left a twenty on the table, and slipped out before she could notice the money.
Once in my car, I quickly dialed Tom Jackson's phone number and held my breath while it rang. Detective Evans was giving me an awfully narrow window of opportunity. If I couldn't get a hold of Tom that night, I'd lose my chance.
He answered on the fifth ring. "Hello?"
"Hello, I'm looking for Tom Jackson."
"Speaking."
"This is Killian Kendall. I'm a private investigator looking into the death of Paul Flynn."
There was a long silence. I allowed it to stretch out, determined not to be the one to break it.
"I already told the police I didn't know Paul Flynn that well," he said at last.
"I'm not the police. Mr. Jackson. I'm aware you and Paul were dating. I spoke to his mother, who confirmed she'd met you." Silence. "I'm trying to find Paul's killer. I think I know who it is, but I need your help to catch him." More silence. "Mr. Jackson?"
"What do you want?"
"I'd like to talk to you face-to-face. I promise you, I don't mean you any harm."
"Who hired you? Why are you investigating Paul's death?"
"I was hired by a friend of Paul's."
"May I ask who?"
"I'm afraid that's confidential."
"Then how can I know I can trust you?"
"It was...an ex."
"An ex? What does he have to do with this?"
"He still cares for Paul. He was very upset when he heard about the murder and even more so when he found out the police weren't pursuing the case with all their resources."
Jackson snorted. "They're hardly pursuing it at all."
"That's why he hired me."
"You know who did it?"
"I have a suspicion."
"And you think I can help?"
"I'm hoping so."
"Okay. I'll meet you, but it has to be somewhere public. For all I know, you could be the killer and you're afraid I know something, so you're coming after me too."
"Is that why you didn't talk to the police? You were afraid?"
"Wouldn't you be in my position?"
"I probably would be. Where can we meet?"
"I live in Alexandria. How about you meet me in about an hour? I can give you directions to a restaurant I know where we can talk privately."
"I don't really know the area well. I'm in D.C. now. How long will it take me to get there?"
"I'm in Northern Virginia, but it's basically a suburb of the city. An hour should be plenty of time."
He gave me directions to the restaurant, and we disconnected.
As I pulled out into traffic, I mused that I was doing a lot of driving around for this case.
The trip was a simple one, for which I was grateful. While I drove, I let my mind wander. I went through several topics quickly — Jake, Fenton Black, Tom Jackson — before finally settling on Paul.
After seeing the picture of him, he'd become more real to me somehow. It was almost as if, before I'd seen it, he was just an abstract concept, a puzzle to unravel. He'd been Micah's ex. The escort. The murder victim. Now he was an actual person, someone who had loved and been loved, someone gone forever.
I had a sudden urge to cry but fought off the tears. It wouldn't do to show up for my meeting with Tom Jackson with red-rimmed eyes and a case of the sniffles — not a very professional image. I knew I was getting overly emotional due to my exhaustion.
I located the restaurant easily enough, but parking proved to be more difficult. I finally found a spot on a side street and had to backtrack to our meeting place. It was on the first floor of a two-story brick building, just one in a block-long stretch that could have easily dated back to the nineteenth century. On either side was a small, upscale boutique. Further down the road I saw antique stores, art galleries, coffee shops, bars, and restaurants. It appeared as if the second floors had been converted into offices, or perhaps apartments, one of which might be Tom's. I thought it wouldn't be a bad place to live at all. The neighborhood had a bustling, cozy feel.
I walked into the restaurant and looked for someone sitting by himself. The place wasn't crowded, and most of the people were there in pairs or groups. Alone at a table off to the side was an attractive black man in his early 30s, well dressed with close-cropped hair and a clean-shaven face. I approached his table cautiously.
"Tom Jackson?" I asked in a low voice.
He looked up, and surprise registered on his face. "Are you the detective?"
"Private investigator. My name is Killian Kendall." I held out a hand for him to shake, which he did somewhat hesitantly.
"I expected—" He cut himself off.
"Someone older?" I finished. "I get that a lot."
"Call me TJ." He had a soft, lyrical voice. "I didn't mean to insult you. I realized as I was speaking that it was a stupid thing to say. I don't even know how old you are."
I smiled. "I'm almost as young as I look. I appreciate your talking to me."
"It's the least I could do."
"I don't want to take up a lot of your time, so I'm going to jump right in. You and Paul were dating?"
"Yes."
"For how long?"
"We'd just celebrated our six-month anniversary the week before he...before he was..."
He stopped and swallowed several times, his eyes blinking rapidly.
His grief was painfully obvious. It washed over me, almost bringing those earlier tears back to the surface. I wondered why I could feel his pain so clearly and decided it must have just been because I was so tired.
Before meeting him, I'd half wondered if my suspicions about Black could be wrong and the boyfriend might be the killer. Having met him, I no longer thought that. Every ounce of my intuition said he was innocent and had cared deeply for Paul. I hated to continue to dredge up these painful memories, but knew I had to.
"When and how did you meet?"
"It was last year. I teach music at a school in Baltimore. The school was holding a benefit concert, and Paul was there with a client. He approached me afterwards to tell me how much he'd enjoyed the performance and to congratulate me on my work with the students. He was so sweet. We hit it off right away. We talked for a while, but when he left, that was it. I didn't know his name or anything.
"A few months later, we ran into each other at a jazz concert on the Mall in D.C. He wasn't working that time, and I was there with a couple of friends who wouldn't miss me at all, so we hung out for the rest of the night. That led to a few more dates, and things just grew from there."
"You knew he was an escort?"
"Yes, Paul was totally upfront about that right from the start."
"And it didn't bother you?"
I admit that question was more for my benefit than relevant to the case.
"Not really. It was his job. He had it before I met him. Who am I to judge anyone else? He was a good person. I knew that instinctively from the very first." He shrugged. "That was all I needed to know."
His words sank into me like rain into parched earth. I sat quiet for so long that TJ finally waved a hand in front of my face.
"You still there?"
"Sorry," I said, blushing. "My mind wandered for a second. I didn't get much sleep last night." I shook my head to clear it. "Why all the secrecy? Why lie about knowing him when the police called?"
"Two reasons. First, as I told you earlier, I was scared. Second, the school I work for isn't the most liberal institution. It's private, with a religious affiliation, and the administration doesn't know I'm gay. I'm out to a few people on the faculty, but they're all very protective of me. State law would prevent me from being fired if the powers-that-be found out, but the working conditions would no longer be pleasant. I love my job, Mr. Kendall."
"Call me Killian."
"Okay, Killian. I admit it was cowardly of me, but I was scared and trying to cover my ass."
"What about bringing Paul's killer to justice?"
"That's why I'm talking to you now. I've had some time to calm down and look at things rationally. I realized I was wrong. I'd made up my mind to go back to the police with what I know, but just hadn't worked up the courage yet."
"What were you going to tell them?"
He drew in a shaky breath. "I think I know who may have murdered Paul, or at least who might have been behind it."
I leaned in intently. "Who?"
"His boss."
"Neal? At the escort agency?"
"Yeah."
"Do you have any proof?"
"No, but I know Paul found something out about him a month or two before he was killed."
I slumped back, disappointed. I knew that much already. "Yeah, we found a letter he'd written explaining all that in his safe-deposit box. He knew that Neal was really Fenton Black."
TJ rubbed his face. "God, he became consumed with the whole thing. He didn't know what to do about it, or if he should do anything. We were both stressed out from the idea that he could be in danger. I wanted him to just drop it, pretend it never happened. That wasn't his nature, though. He was the type of person who couldn't stand to see injustice go unchallenged."
"Do you know if Paul ever confronted Neal directly about his real identity?"
TJ shook his head. "I'm not sure. Not that I know of, but it had become such a sore spot for us that, over the last few weeks, we just avoided talking about it altogether."
"What was Paul hoping to accomplish? Was he trying to get Black to do the right thing? Turn himself in? Was he really that naïve?"
"In many ways, yes. It wasn't really so much that he was naïve, he was just very idealistic. He had this view of the way he thought the world should be, and he expected everything to fit that outlook — even after all he'd been through, with his family abandoning him and his last boyfriend dumping him. He wasn't stupid, though. He'd started gathering proof that Black was involved in the agency — emails, phone records, bank records — all stuff that could be traced back to Black."
"There was nothing like that in the safe-deposit box. Just some stuff he'd printed off the Internet."
"That's because it was never in the safe. He kept it somewhere else, as a precaution."
"Where?"
"I...I don't know."
"TJ, Black is a ruthless criminal," I said, urgency filling my voice. "You have to tell me what you know. Paul isn't the first person he's killed, but we can make sure he's the last."
He stared at me for a moment, then stood up abruptly and walked out.
At first, I thought he'd simply abandoned the interview. I was a little miffed about being stiffed with the check for the second time that day — even though he'd only ordered a soda and I hadn't ordered anything — but a few minutes later he returned carrying a file folder.
He sat back down and slid the file across the table. "I haven't even looked inside it, but I had a feeling you'd want to see this, so I brought it. I just didn't know if I'd have the courage to give it to you."
"Why wouldn't you have the courage?"
"It makes me more involved than I already was. If Black decides to take revenge, now he has a reason to come after me."
"How would he even know who you are?"
"You found me. If he's half the master criminal Paul and you have made him out to be, he'll be able to find me too."
"If this information accomplishes what I hope it will, he'll be behind bars."
"People like him have ways of reaching beyond those bars."
"I think you've been watching too many mob movies."
I wanted to insert a little levity into the conversation, because I could tell TJ really was terrified. He was still eying the folder as if he was thinking about snatching it away and running.
I quickly flipped it open and began to read.
I immediately felt my eyes bulge as I thumbed through the contents, amazed and excited by what I saw. If Paul hadn't been murdered, he would have made one hell of an investigator. He had somehow amassed a dossier documenting Black's illegal activities, complete with the much-needed proof. As TJ had said, he had managed to conclusively connect Fenton Black to the alias of Neal Parsons, owner and operator of The Drake Group.
There were several photographs of Black talking with various men, all taken outdoors. On the back of each one, Paul had carefully printed the date, time, and location, along with the identity of the men with Fenton Black. I didn't recognize any of the names, but I had a strong suspicion the police would.
How on earth had he gotten them?
It was the last few pages that really blew my mind, however. They were deeds for large plots of land, all on the Eastern Shore. Each piece of property was originally zoned as protected wetlands, but I was pretty sure a little research would show they had recently been rezoned for development, thanks to certain corrupt politicians — the very same ones Micah had recently exposed.
Pieces began to fall into place. I was suddenly very afraid for Micah.
"You haven't read this?" I asked TJ, my heart pounding in my chest.
"No. I told you, I wanted as little to do with all this as possible."
"I need you to go with me to the police, immediately."
He began shaking his head.
"No way," he said. "You don't need me, you've got the file. I've done my part."
"I may need you to verify that Paul gathered this data, that this is what he was killed for."
"I can't do it. I'm sorry, but I'm just not a brave person."
"Yes, you can. You have to. Look, I'm not operating on my own in this investigation. The police know you were Paul's boyfriend. I'm cooperating with them. I'm going to tell them exactly where I got this from and everything you told me. If you don't come forward now, they may assume you have something to hide. And you can be guaranteed they'll come looking for you."
He was the picture of absolutely misery. I only hoped my little speech wouldn't spook him. If TJ bolted, Evans would have my neck for sure.
"Fine, I'll go with you," he said at last, after several long seconds of tense silence.
"Good. I have to make a couple of quick phone calls. Wait here."
I jumped up and practically ran out of the restaurant. I had to call Micah and warn him.
I stayed near the front door so I'd see TJ if lost his nerve and tried to give me the slip. Micah answered quickly.
"It's Killian," I said somewhat breathlessly.
"Are you okay?"
"It's been a long day, but I just found out some things you need to know. Listen carefully. I don't have a lot of time. I've got a skittish witness waiting inside that I need to get to the police, pronto."
"Killian, what's going on?"
"I found Paul's boyfriend. Paul knew that Neal was Fenton Black, and Black was aware that Paul knew. Before he was killed, Paul gave his boyfriend a file containing evidence that Black was the same person as Neal Parsons and that he was associated with drug lords."
"That's great! Solid evidence? It's the proof you needed to show he had a motive for killing Paul."
"Micah, there's more. Black was also involved in the wetlands scandal there on the Shore. He was the real owner of the properties that were rezoned."
"What? But his name isn't on any of the deeds."
"Dig back and you'll find it. I have copies of the deeds in my hand right now. He probably sold them to some dummy corporation or to fake names, but I'm betting he's at the core of the corruption."
"Whoa. This is an even bigger story than I ever imagined."
"Weren't you listening? That means you're in as much danger as I am."
"I've been in danger of one sort or another since I broke this story. I'm not worried."
I sighed. "You'll at least be careful?"
"Of course I'll be careful, as long as you promise to be careful too."
"I promise. Now I've got to run. I have to take photos of all these papers, then see the detective and hand them over."
"Okay. Killian, I love you."
"I love you too."
Next, I called Detective Evans to tell him I was coming in with an important witness and the evidence he'd been waiting for.
"This had better be good, Kendall. I was supposed to get off in 15 minutes," he said.
"It'll be worth the overtime, sir. I think you'll be very interested in what I have to show you."
I hung up and rushed back into the restaurant. TJ was still waiting at the table, although he'd shredded his napkin into confetti.
"Are you ready?" I asked.
"No, but I'm as ready as I'm going to get."
I smiled encouragingly. "Can I trust you to drive yourself or should we go in my car?"
He stood up and drew his shoulders back, as if bracing for a storm. "I'll follow you, I promise. I need to do this...for Paul."
"Great. Let's go stop a killer."
After all his growling about having to work overtime, Evans kept us cooling in the waiting room forever. Or maybe it only felt that way because I was still wondering if TJ might have second thoughts and bolt.
Finally, Evans seemed to feel he'd made his point. He stuck his head into the cramped sitting area and motioned us back with a jerk of his head. I practically had to drag TJ behind me.
Since it was my first time in a big city police detective's office, I took a quick glance around. I'm not sure what I'd been expecting, but it wasn't this impeccably neat shrine to the Baltimore Ravens football team. Not so much as a pencil was out of place on the faux-wood-grained top of his standard metal desk. The guest chairs were also standard office issue — hard, upholstered, maroon seats with wooden arms and legs.
Nothing else was standard issue. It seemed as if every other item in the room was either purple or black. Glass-fronted display cases housed autographed footballs, helmets, photographs, stuffed animals wearing the Ravens uniform, caps with the team logo, even a mini-reproduction of the stadium. A framed shirt with scrawled autographs of the entire winning Super Bowl team hung on the wall over his desk. It was a little overwhelming, rather like walking into a museum.
"I would have pegged you for a Commanders fan," I said as I sat down.
A look of disgust passed over Evans's stoic face. "Please, just because I live in D.C.? I'm originally from Baltimore. But we're not here to talk football. You said on the phone you had some important news for me. I'm assuming that news has something to do with your friend here?"
"Yes, excuse me for not introducing you. Detective Owen Evans, this is Thomas Jackson, who goes by TJ." TJ flinched at his introduction. I plowed on doggedly. "He was dating Paul. He knew a lot about what was going on, and the best part is, he has proof."
Evans held up his hand as if to stop traffic. "Let's get right to the good part. What's this proof?"
I handed the file to Evans, who carefully flipped through it, his expression never changing.
When he'd finished, he laid the file carefully on the desk and looked up at TJ.
"You had this all along?" he asked in a deadly calm voice.
A slight shudder rippled through my body. I'd heard someone else use a voice like that whenever he was furious — my father. I moved quickly to head him off.
"He was scared and grieving. His boyfriend had just been murdered and he was afraid the killer would try to get him too if he came forward with the information."
"So he was going to let his lover's killer just walk away?"
"He wasn't exactly in a condition to be making solid judgment calls."
"If he'd come to us in the first place, the killer would be behind bars and he'd be safe."
"We both know it doesn't always work that way. Good lawyers can get even the guiltiest clients off scot-free, and Black can afford the best in the country. Besides, if Black has mob ties, and there is evidence here that he does, then he could take revenge even from behind bars."
"Hello?" TJ said. "I'm sitting right here, and this isn't exactly making me feel any better."
"Feel any better?" Evans snapped. "Why should you feel any better about anything? This isn't about making you feel good. It's about catching a murderer and bringing him to justice."
I jumped on his last sentence. "So you do believe Black is the killer now?"
"I think it's probable he was behind it at the very least, although it would be more likely that his type would hire it done."
"The crime didn't show any signs of a professional hit. Everyone said it seemed more like a crime of passion."
"Black is smart," Evans said. "After our conversation earlier I made a few calls about this guy. He's a very wanted man. They've been trying to get him for years, but he's like Teflon: they can never make anything stick. He's suspected of being behind no fewer than six deaths — five unsolved murders and one suspicious accident — and that's just in the U.S. alone. It's long been common knowledge that he's involved in the drug trade and, as you pointed out, he's rumored to have mob ties. The man is scum, but they've never been able to prove anything. He's very careful. I doubt he'd be so foolish as to hire a killer who would make this look like a professional hit. They'd want to confuse things as much as possible."
"Or maybe Black went to talk to Paul, perhaps to try and scare him off, and it got out of hand."
"Why the hell does it matter whether it was a professional or an amateur?" TJ suddenly blurted out.
"You're right, Mr. Jackson." I was shocked to see a compassionate expression on Evans's face. "It doesn't matter. We have more than enough reason to bring Fenton Black in for questioning. In fact, thanks to the contents of this folder, it's likely we'll be able to do a lot more than just question him. I have to be honest with you: there's a good chance you'll have to testify at the trial, but there's no reason your name should ever come up before then. If it would make you feel better, we can place you in protective custody in the meantime. I'm sure the FBI will be involved in this before it's over, so I can even say it's a safe bet you could be offered the witness-protection program."
TJ shook his head. "None of that. Whatever happens will happen. I'd like to stay out of the media as much as possible, to protect my job. If that can't be done, then I guess I'll just have to face the consequences."
"You've certainly changed your tune since you walked in here," Evans said thoughtfully.
"Listening to you made me realize that this is a lot bigger than me. This man has to be stopped."
Evans nodded and turned his attention to me.
"Mr. Kendall, on behalf of the Metropolitan Police Department, I want to thank you for your help in bringing this evidence to our attention. Now, your part is finished. You've done a fine job. We'll take it from here."
"Hey, you'll get no argument from me," I said. "I'm not some maverick who wants to bring this guy down on his own. I only have one request to make."
Evans rolled his eyes and heaved a monumental sigh.
"Here we go," he muttered.
"It's not that big a deal. I just want a little time before you move on this, maybe one day at the most."
He narrowed his eyes. "A little time for what?"
"I'm afraid that's private," I said quietly.
I suspected Jake was at Fenton Black's house, and I wanted time to get him out of there before the SWAT team burst through the door. I couldn't very well tell Evans that, however.
I didn't know how I was going to contact Jake if he was holed up with Black, but I had to try. I owed him that much at least.
Evans stared at me a while longer, then shrugged.
"It's going to take between twelve and twenty-four hours to get the warrants in order. You have however long that takes. I can't give you any more time and I can't nail it down any closer. When the team and the warrants are ready, we'll move in. Simple as that."
"It's something," I said.
"It's a damn sight more than you had any reason to expect," Evans said.
I nodded. When you're right, you're right.
The detective stood up, and TJ and I quickly followed his lead. We both shook his hand, and then we were led out.
Standing in front of the police station, I turned and gave TJ a careful once-over.
"Are you going to be okay?" I asked.
He cast me a bleak look. "Only time will tell. I don't really expect them to be able to keep this from the news forever. Eventually, it will come out, and so will I — out of the closet that is. And then I'll have problems with my job...and quite possibly lose my life."
"You could always take them up on their offer of the witness-protection program."
"And spend the rest of my life pretending to be someone I'm not? I've done that for the first half of my life. I'd rather not have to do it for the remainder. No, I'll just take things as they happen."
"Maybe it won't be all bad. Things seldom are, you know. You could find another great job at a more accepting school."
He shrugged. "There's always hope." He stuck out his hand and we shook. "Thank you, Killian."
"For what?" I asked, confused.
"For forcing me to take action. That file had been eating away at me ever since Paul died, but I seemed paralyzed to make the first move. You took the decision away from me...and it was actually a relief. Come to think of it, I'm half hoping the papers will get wind of this and out me. It would save me the trouble." He flashed me a feeble grin. "I guess that makes me a coward, huh?"
I impulsively reached out and hugged him. He returned it, clinging to me for several seconds as if I were a lifeline. Then he released me all at once and stepped back as if embarrassed.
"Take care of yourself, TJ."
"I will. And you take care of yourself. You're the one with the dangerous job."
"Really, it's not usually this dangerous."
"If you say so." He waved and walked away to his car.
With all the excitement over, I suddenly felt my remaining energy drain out of me as if someone had pulled the plug. My vision blurred, and I swayed a bit.
Shaking my head and forcing my feet to walk to my car, I climbed inside and rested my head against the steering wheel.
I'll just close my eyes for a few seconds...
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