The Truth of Yesterday

Book 4 of the Killian Kendall Mysteries

By Josh Aterovis
Copyright 2026

email

Chapter 12

When Razi blew through the door, I was afraid it was going to be the worst-case scenario. "I really wish you didn't lock this place up like fucking Fort Knox. I can't even let myself into my own home. Feels like a jail with all those damn locks. Oh—"

His verbal barrage came to a screeching halt when he spotted me standing awkwardly by the chair. He quickly rearranged his expression into a semblance of pleasantry.

"I didn't know we had company. Hello. Wait, I remember you. You're Micah's little friend, right?"

I tried not to bristle at the condescension in his voice. "My name's Killian."

"Like the beer." He was wearing obviously expensive clothing — dark slacks that fit like a glove, with a high-quality, white, button-down shirt open at the collar, and very pricy leather shoes. His black hair was pulled back into a ponytail at the nape of his neck.

He looked at me like I was the juiciest steak on the butcher's counter. "And to what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?" He spoke English with only the slightest hint of an accent, but his careful pronunciation made me think it wasn't his first language.

I kept my gaze evenly on his, not wanting to let him know how uncomfortable he made me. "I'm a private investigator. Micah asked me to look into Paul's murder."

His eyes widened in surprise for a second, but his polite mask quickly slipped back into place. This guy was an excellent actor. I'd have to watch his every move for the slightest nuance.

"Paul Flynn?"

I nodded.

"So that's why you were at Michelangelo."

I decided not to correct him.

"Well, what do you want with me?" he asked.

"I'd like to talk to you. You were a friend of Paul's. You knew what his life was like. And you were the one who found him."

He shrugged with purposeful nonchalance. "I doubt I can tell you anything useful."

"Can we sit down?"

"Oh yes. Please excuse my horrible manners. Sit down."

I took the chair I'd been sitting in before, and Razi took Tad's place on the couch. When Tad made a move to sit down next to him, Razi shot him a look that I couldn't quite interpret. Tad seemed to have no such trouble. He paused for just the slightest second, then cast a quick glance in my direction before leaving the room.

"Now we can speak in private," Razi said. "I hope you weren't waiting too long. He's not the most fascinating conversationalist."

I shrugged. "We were fine. I like him. He's a nice kid."

Razi's eyes narrowed slightly at my intentional choice of words, but he didn't comment.

"Is he related to you?" I asked innocently, as if I hadn't just received the whole story of how Tad had ended up with him.

Razi arched an eyebrow. "Do we look related?"

I shrugged in answer. "I've known siblings who didn't look anything alike."

"We'd certainly be very disparate siblings. No, we're not related. He's a friend. I'm doing him a favor. He needed a place to live, so I let him stay here in exchange for cleaning the place and a few other small favors."

"That's really kind of you." I hoped I was keeping the sarcasm out of my voice.

Something of it must have slipped through, though, because his eyes narrowed again. The rest of his face remained set in its carefully bland expression, but all he said was, "I know what it's like to be in his position."

"Really?"

"Yes, but that has nothing to do with why you are here. You came to talk about Paul."

It wouldn't be as easy to weasel information out of Razi as it had been with Tad. Tad was younger — naïve and innocent, in many ways — and, more importantly, looking for someone to trust. Razi was older, more experienced, and obviously a lot more suspicious. I was having a hard time estimating his age. If I had to hazard a guess, I'd say he was in his twenties, but I couldn't pin it any closer than that.

"Yes, I did. How well did you know him?"

"He was one of the very few people I called friend."

"What was he like?"

"Nice. Kind. Good. Those words may sound empty, but they describe Paul very well."

"He was an escort?"

I didn't mean anything by the question, but I could tell Razi took it wrong. His body stiffened, and his jaw tightened.

"Yes, he was an escort. That doesn't make him any less nice, kind, or good. Paul had his reasons. He had his story."

"I didn't mean to imply he wasn't. What do you mean, he had a story?"

"We all have stories. You know I'm an escort too?"

I nodded, and he continued. "Most of us get into it for the money. Some of us need it more than others."

"What was Paul's story? Did he need money?"

"That is not my story to tell."

"But I can't hear it from Paul and it could be important. Please?"

Razi sighed. "Fine. I will tell you. Paul was a senior in college when he decided to come out to his parents. He thought he was ready, but they were very conservative. They didn't take it well. Cut off all his support unless he agreed to get therapy. Of course, he refused, but he had to find some way to support himself. One of his friends was in the escort business and got him an interview with his agency. He was perfect. He had this sort of innocence about him that the clients just loved. He was successful enough that he stayed in it even after he graduated. You make more money on your own, with no middleman, so most guys go solo eventually. They don't usually stay with an agency. Paul did."

"Why?"

"Paul wasn't the ambitious type. He said he was earning a good living without having to do anything but show up for his appointments." He shrugged. "Who can argue with that?"

"What about his family?"

"What about them?"

"You said they didn't approve of his being gay."

"That would be putting it mildly. They wouldn't have anything to do with him for a long time. When Paul's father died, he had to find out from the newspaper. That was really hard on him. He went to the funeral, but no one would even acknowledge his presence. Then a few weeks later his mother called. Pretty soon, he started going to see her every once in a while."

"How was that?"

"I don't really know. Paul didn't talk about it. He was very reserved. He never actually told you how he was feeling. Sometimes it was obvious, like when his father died, but most of the time you never knew what was going on in his head."

"Do you know if the rest of his family was still antagonistic?"

"I have no idea."

"Did you ever meet his family?"

He let out a short bark of laughter. "You must be joking. No, I was the last person Paul wanted to introduce to his family. They were rather racist as well as homophobic. Real flag-waving, red hats."

"How long ago did his dad die?"

"It was a couple of months ago, maybe six at the most."

"Did Paul have any enemies?"

"Ha! No. Everybody loved Paul."

"People keep saying that, but obviously someone didn't like him."

A slight frown tugged down the corners of his mouth. "I thought the police said it was just a random burglary gone wrong. Why are you even investigating this?"

"I'm investigating because Micah needs closure, and the police have some suspicions about the burglary theory. Nothing was taken after all."

"Maybe Paul interrupted the burglar. As far as I'm concerned, it's still as valid a theory as any."

"Maybe so. You found him, right?"

"Yes." His eyes shifted away.

"Can you tell me about that?"

He took a deep breath. "It's hard to talk about."

"Take your time."

"I hadn't heard from him for a few days. That wasn't unusual lately, but if he didn't call me, I'd generally call him after about three or four days just to check in. When he didn't answer his phone, I started getting worried. Finally, I just decided to go over. I had a key so I could feed his fish when he was going to be away for a few days. He had a huge tropical fish tank."

He paused for a moment.

"So you let yourself in?" I prompted.

He nodded. "It was trashed — completely and totally trashed. All his paintings were torn off the walls and destroyed. He loved art. His fish tank was shattered. Every table had been tipped over, lamps smashed. It was horrible."

His eyes had unfocused as if he were seeing it all again.

"And Paul?"

"I didn't see him at first. He was in the bedroom door. Just lying there, like a doll someone had simply thrown away. I knew he was dead as soon as I saw him. I've...seen dead people before."

I took note of that last comment. I was pretty sure he hadn't realized what he was saying, but I wondered what it meant.

"I know this is hard, but can you describe the body?" I asked. "What position was he in? Was there blood? That sort of thing."

He took a ragged breath. "It wasn't a peaceful death, that I can tell you. It wasn't one of those cases where the person just looks like he's sleeping. I don't know if you've ever seen a strangling victim. I hadn't. Not before that. It's horrible. I...I'll never be able to forget it."

I let him sit in silence for a few minutes to collect himself before asking my next question. "Would you have noticed if anything had been stolen?"

"I didn't look around. I called the police as soon as I saw he was dead. And it was such a mess, I don't know how you'd know if anything was missing."

"Could the killer have been looking for something?"

"How would I know what the killer was doing?"

"Who do you think killed Paul?"

"I told you, I think it was a burglar."

"Burglars don't usually take the time to trash the place they're robbing. Can you think of anyone else who might have wanted Paul dead? What about coworkers? Did he have another job?"

"No, he didn't need another job. He was making more than enough doing what he was doing."

"Could it have been another guy with the agency? Someone jealous of his success?"

"Who knows, although most escorts at the agency don't even know each other. It's not like they share an office."

"How did you meet Paul then?"

"Let's just say we worked together a few times, years ago. Sometimes clients have specific requests."

"So he could have worked with other guys since then. Do you know how I could get in touch with any of the other escorts there?"

"No clue."

"Okay, how about clients? Could it have been an appointment gone wrong?"

He shrugged. "Anything's possible."

"What about the guy who owns the agency? Neal, right? Can you put me in touch with him?"

"Sorry."

"Sorry you don't know or sorry you won't help me?"

Another shrug.

"Didn't you used to be with the agency?"

"Yes."

"And you don't know how to get in touch with Neal?"

"We don't exactly send Christmas cards."

"Why are you avoiding my questions?"

"I've answered your questions. You wanted Paul's story and I told you."

"But now you're giving me non-answers. Don't you care about finding out what happened to Paul?"

"Paul is dead. Nothing you do is going to bring him back." His voice was hollow.

"What if he was murdered by a serial killer who preys on escorts? You could be next."

"We lead risky lives. We meet strangers for a living. We all know that every appointment could be our last. We try not to think about it, but we know it. I know it. Paul knew it. You accept the risk and do your job."

"So that's it? This is just one more risk?"

"Pretty much."

"You have no intention of helping me find out what happened to him, do you? You don't give a damn about Paul."

He looked me squarely in the face, his black eyes flashing. "The only way you can survive this business is to not give a damn. No one gives a damn about you. Not the police — we're scum to most of them. Not the clients — it's strictly business. And not the agency, if you work for one — you're a replaceable commodity. Nobody gives a damn about Paul."

"Micah does."

He snorted. "How nice. I'm sure Paul would appreciate that if he were still alive, especially since he never heard from Micah after he left. What good does Micah's concern do Paul now?"

"We can find out what happened to him and make sure he gets justice."

"Justice? What a joke. There is no justice — not for us." He stood up. "I think it is time for you to go away, little boy. I can't help you anymore."

I stood up with a sigh, figuring that was all I was going to get out of him. I had a feeling he knew more than he was saying, but this wasn't the time to press it. Razi escorted me to the door and unlocked Tad's assortment of security measures.

A thought struck me, and I spoke up before he could open the door. "What's your story?"

His eyes narrowed. "What?"

"Earlier you said you all had stories. I know Paul's. I know Micah's. What's yours?"

He opened the door. "My story is my own. Leave now, please."

I watched him for a second more, then walked out. The door closed firmly behind me.

Chris waited until I reached the stairwell before falling in beside me as we descended. "Well?"

"I learned a lot, but I'm not sure if any of it is relevant. Frankly, I learned more from Tad than I did from Razi."

"Is he the one who went in after you were already inside?"

"Yeah. He knows more than he's saying, but whatever he knows, he sure isn't telling me."

"He wouldn't say anything?"

"Nothing I didn't already know or couldn't find out from Micah. I did discover things weren't very good between Paul and his family, but Razi doesn't seem to think they could have had anything to do with the murder. Not that his opinion carries much weight. I want to meet them myself."

We reached the bottom of the stairs and stopped in the lobby.

"Do you see this Razi guy as a possible suspect?" she asked.

"Well, Razi says he and Paul were friends, and both Tad and Micah back that up. Still, he might have had a motive. He's got a sweet setup now with Tad. According to the kid, Paul didn't approve of their — for lack of a better word — relationship. He said Razi and Paul had a fight about it."

"Why didn't he approve?"

"Well, first off, Tad is fifteen, plus he's a runaway. He was a street kid on the fast track to becoming a hustler when Razi took him in, but it wasn't exactly out of the kindness of his heart. The kid cleans and sleeps with Razi in exchange for food and a roof over his head."

"Holy shit. That's like textbook trafficking. We're reporting that, right?"

"Not exactly..."

"What? Why not?"

"It's not that simple. Tad freaked out when he thought I might report it. He doesn't want to go back to his abusive father and he's terrified of the system, probably rightfully so, based on my experiences in a past case. Like he said, at least he has a roof over his head and food—"

"And he's basically a sex slave. Human trafficking is illegal, Killian!"

"So is being an escort, but we're not reporting that. Tad is there by choice. He's not being held prisoner. He could leave whenever he wants, but where would he go? Back to the street?"

"That's exactly my point. He doesn't really have a choice. You know, I've heard that at least forty percent of homeless youth identify as gay or bi."

"Look, I want to help him too. I'm just not sure turning him over to the system is the best way. Let me think about it. Besides that, I'm not one hundred percent sure he's not involved."

"You think he could be the killer?"

"It's possible. Like I said, Tad mentioned that Paul and Razi were fighting over him. If he felt Paul was threatening what he sees as his security, maybe he did something drastic to protect himself. He was getting pretty freaked out when he thought I might say something."

"What about Razi? If they were fighting, do you think he could have killed Paul?"

"I don't know. Maybe. He's definitely hiding something. But is losing a pet houseboy worth killing your best friend over?"

"People have killed for less."

"I mean, sure, I guess. But...I don't know."

"But you think Tad has a stronger motive. Do you think he could be a killer?"

"Anybody can be a killer, but I hope he's not. I kind of like him. Then again, I've been fooled before."

She looked over at me. "You're going to have to tell me a few of these stories sometime."

"Sometime, but not today," I said.

"Fair enough. Back to Razi, did you learn anything else from him?"

"Not much. He has some history he doesn't want to talk about. Actually, he has a lot of stuff he doesn't want to talk about. If all escorts are as guarded as him, this isn't going to be easy."

"Nobody said it would be easy. Where to now?"

"I guess we can try and find Paul's apartment, see if the key Micah gave me still fits."

"You have a key?"

"Yeah, Micah used to live with him. He held onto it after he moved out."

"So...we're just going to barge into a homicide scene that presumably the police are still investigating?"

"You think they're still investigating?"

"The murder just happened last week, and the case is still open with no leads. I doubt they've released the apartment yet, but I guess it's worth checking out. We can get a feel for the building if nothing else. What's the address again?"

I gave it to her and she whistled. "That's a much better part of the city, close to Dupont Circle. It's a really expensive area. He must have been making good money to afford to live there."

"Despite the building, it's not like Razi's place was a dump. Apparently money is not an object when you're a successful escort."

"Maybe I'm choosing the wrong career. Back to the Metro, then."

"Killian," a voice called from behind me. I turned around to see Tad running down the stairs. He'd thrown on a T-shirt and a pair of sandals but still looked completely disheveled.

"Tad?" Chris asked under her breath.

"Yep."

"Razi's in the shower," Tad said, out of breath. "I only have a minute, but I didn't want you to leave without saying bye. He didn't say anything to me after you left, but he was in a pretty bad mood. Did he seem mad that I let you in?"

"He's hard to read. Why?" I was suddenly concerned. "What would he do if he was mad? Would he hurt you?"

Tad grimaced. "I hope not. I don't really know. He's never actually been mad at me before. Annoyed, maybe, but not mad. I just don't want him to kick me out."

I felt bad for the poor kid, and even worse that I might have caused more trouble for him. "Do you have a cell phone?"

"No. I can't afford one."

I pulled out my wallet, found one of my cards, and scribbled my cell phone number on the back. "Well, that's my cell. If he hurts you, call me. I'll come get you personally."

Tad blinked in surprise. "Are you serious?"

"Very. Even if you just decide you want out of your arrangement, call me."

He frowned. "I owe him. He saved my life. And besides, where else would I go? I'm not going back home."

"What if your dad wanted you back? Maybe he's changed his mind since you left. He might have realized how much you mean to him."

Tad rolled his eyes. "You obviously don't know my dad," he said. "I'm not going back. I don't care what anyone says."

"Well, I won't make you do anything you don't want to do." I didn't want him to be afraid of contacting me just because he thought I might hand him over to his father. "Will you call me if you need me?"

He looked at the card in his hand, then slipped it in his pocket before giving me a lopsided grin. "I dunno. Maybe, maybe not. No promises."

"It doesn't have to be this way, you know."

"It's not that bad, really. Better than the streets. Better than home." He shrugged. "It could be worse."

"Maybe it could be better."

He looked at me for a minute without saying a word, but his expression spoke volumes. It was obvious he was torn between what he felt he owed Razi and wishing things could be different. His eyes shifted to Chris, as if noticing her for the first time.

"I'm his assistant," she said quickly.

"You guys won't turn me in, will you?"

"No, I won't turn you in."

He looked to Chris, who shrugged. "Hey, I only do what he tells me to do."

He seemed satisfied and started backing toward the building. "I need to get back up there before he finishes his shower."

"You'll probably be seeing me again," I said. "And remember, call me if you need me."

He grinned. "We'll see."

He spun around and ran back into the building.

I stood staring after him.

"Cute kid," Chris said. "Shitty deal." She glanced over at me, noticing my frown. "What are you thinking?"

"I have to figure out some way to help him."

"You gave him an option. And hope. That's more than he had yesterday. Hopefully, he'll call you."

"And then what? He's just a kid. He has a family somewhere who doesn't even know where he is."

"You just promised him you wouldn't turn him in. Are you going to break your word?"

"No, not unless I have to. I just wish there was something more I could do. I don't even know his last name. Or, for that matter, if Tad is even his real first name."

"Okay, let's start moving. We can talk while we walk, unless you're too blond to handle that."

I laughed, breaking my melancholy mood. "I think I can handle it."

We headed once more toward the Metro station.

The trip to the Dupont Circle stop took about twenty minutes. From the station, we walked another twenty minutes to find Paul's address. Just as Chris had said, it was in a very nice neighborhood. The streets were lined with stone- and brick-faced townhouses, each with its own tiny patch of lawn, most filled with flowers and ornamental trees. Paul's building was actually an ornate brick apartment block tucked between two sections of rowhomes.

You had to be buzzed in, so we just stood nearby and waited for someone to come or go. It wasn't long before a woman with two small dogs came out. We slipped in behind her before the door could close. She never even noticed.

Paul's apartment was on the third floor. We took the stairs, but Chris stopped me at the second-floor landing. "Okay, let's talk about our plan. Do you still want me to stand watch? And if so, how do I alert you if somebody is coming? I almost panicked when Razi showed up. I was ready to break the door down if you yelled or anything. It was hard not knowing what was going on."

"I guess you can text me if you see someone coming. Or call. I can call you if there's any trouble."

"Okay, I guess that's the best we can do under the circumstances. Let's just hope nothing goes wrong."

I gave her a reassuring smile and climbed the rest of the stairs to the third floor. There were four apartments, but it was easy to identify Paul's door — the only one with police tape across it. I guess that meant Chris was right, the police investigation was still open.

Suddenly, I had second thoughts.

How many laws would I be breaking if I went in? Still, I was there and I really wanted to see the apartment.

I took a deep breath and fished out the key Micah gave me. If it didn't work, I wouldn't have to worry about any of this. I slid the key carefully into the lock, which clicked and released when I turned the key.

I couldn't tell if I was relieved or disappointed.

Pushing the door open slowly until it was just wide enough for me to squeeze through, I ducked under the tape and quickly shut the door.

The room smelled of damp carpet and mildew and was so dark I couldn't see a thing after the bright light of the hallway. I fumbled along the wall for a light switch, but before I could find one, I heard the door handle rattle behind me.

Did I lock it? I couldn't remember.

The door started to swing open, and I froze in place, praying it was just Chris.

The room flooded with enough light to temporarily blind me, but I could just make out a dark figure standing in the doorway.

"Don't move. I have a gun," a harsh voice ordered.

Next Chapter Previous Chapter