The Truth of Yesterday

by Josh Aterovis

  “And apparently neither did his killer.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, it seems pretty obvious that whoever trashed this place was looking for something, and taking out their frustration as they went. Maybe it was the key to the closet that they were looking for.”

  “Maybe they found the key, got into the closet, took what they wanted and left. For that matter, how do you know they weren't looking for something else?”

  “I don't. Not really. That's just a guess. But I do think that if they found what they were looking for, they wouldn't have kept on trashing everything. I can't imagine they would have wanted to spend more time in here than necessary.”

  “Who knows how a murderer thinks?”

  “True, but right now I'm more concerned with how Paul thought. Where would he have kept the key to the closet? It must not have been on his key ring or the killer would have found it right away, that's the most obvious place to look.”

  “I really don't have any idea.”

  With a sigh, I returned to the bedroom.

  “Ok, Paul…or whoever you are,” I whispered. “You gotta help me out here. I can't get into the closet unless you tell me where the key is.”

  Nothing happened. I was just about ready to decide that I had really and truly lost my marbles when I heard the slightest hint of a sound behind me. It sounded like the soft rustle of material against material. I turned to face the antique armoire by the door. It was an enormous piece of furniture, almost reaching the ceiling and with a set of double door on the front. It must have been a bear to move in. I wasn't at all sure that the sound was any sort of clue, but what did I have to lose? I approached it carefully and reached out to open the doors. It was completely empty. I frowned. So I really was going crazy.

  Then the sound came again, but now that I was closer, I realized it was coming from the top of the wardrobe. I looked around for something to step up on so I could see the top, but there was nothing in the room. Back out into the living room I went in search of a suitable item.

  “What are you doing now?” Sabrina asked.

  “Looking for the key. Is there anything I can stand on?”

  She looked at me for a second, then shook her head slightly. “I have a stepping stool in my apartment,” she said in a weary voice.

  “Do you think I could use it?”

  “Why not? Anything to get this over with faster.” She cautiously slipped out the door and returned a minute later carrying a small folding stepladder.

  “That's perfect,” I said, taking it from her and heading back into the bedroom.

  The first thing I thought when the top of the armoire came into view was that Paul must have been a meticulous housekeeper. There was no sign of the thick dust and cobwebs that one would expect to find in an out of the way place such as this. The next thing that occurred to me was that there was no key in sight. The top of the piece of furniture was slightly inset with a rim of about two inches around the edge. A small block of wood about three inches by one inch was attached on each side of the top. Almost like handles, I thought. It was as if a light bulb lit up over my head. Back when Steve and Adam were buying antiques for the bed and breakfast, I remembered Steve talking about how some of the old pieces had hidden compartments built into them; desks often had hidden drawers, chests had false bottoms…and most important for me, armoires had false tops.

  I grabbed the blocks of wood, a task made more difficult by the fact that I only had about six inches of space to work in, and lifted up. Slowly but surely the top began to slide upwards. Soon I had the false top off and I was staring down into a four-inch deep cavity, well camouflaged from a cursory examination by the clever way in which it had been built. No one would ever notice the difference in height inside the cabinet and out unless they knew what to look for. I would have never noticed if I hadn't seen the blocks of wood. All the hiding space held was a single envelope. It must have been pretty important to go to all that trouble to hide it. I picked up the envelope and discovered that it hadn't been sealed, just tucked into itself. I lifted the flap and pulled out the single slip of paper inside. As I did, a key fell out and bounced on the carpet below. I quickly climbed down and retrieved the key before reading the note.

  It was handwritten and dated about a month ago. It read, “I never thought when I bought this armoire that I'd have any use for the secret compartment on top, and up to a few weeks ago I didn't. If you've found this, then one of two things has happened. Either you were looking for it, in which case, congratulations; or something has happened to me and you are probably the new owner of this beautiful piece of furniture. If it's the latter, feel free to throw this away. It's no longer of any use to me. If it's the former, then you've got what you wanted. I hope you are happy. Sincerely, Paul Flynn.”

  I was more confused than ever. It seemed as if Paul had felt his life was in danger, but from whom? He'd gone to a lot of trouble to hide this key, what was so important to keep safe? It was time to find out.

  I once again made my way carefully to the closet door. The key slid easily into the lock and the handle turned with a satisfying click. I pulled the door open to find a small closet. A row of shirts and jackets hung neatly from the clothes rod. A shelf above that held a few designer shirt boxes. What caught my attention though was the small fireproof safe sitting on the floor next to several pairs of shoes lined up in a neat row.

  I was sure that was what Paul had been trying to keep safe. Just to be on the safe side I quickly went through the boxes, which held nothing but tissue paper, and the pockets of the jackets. I came up with a matchbook, a couple pieces of sugar-free candy, a box of Tic-Tacs, and a condom thankfully still in its package. That done, I turned my attention back to the safe. It had a combination lock. I growled in irritation. There was no way I was going to figure the combination out, and if Sabrina hadn't even known Paul had put a lock on his closet door, I seriously doubted she would know his combination.

  Now what was I supposed to do? I'd found what I was meant to find, but now what did I do with it? I couldn't very well tuck it under my arm and waltz out with it while Sabrina waited for me, but I couldn't very well leave it here either. What if the killer came back? He or she would be more prepared this time, and a simple lock wouldn't keep them out of the closet. It was probably only fear of the police that had kept him or her away this long.

  “Killian,” Sabrina called from the other room, “I think we've been here too long. We have to go.”

  She was right; we had been here for a while. With a sigh of frustration, I stood up and shut the closet door after making sure it was locked. “Coming,” I called back. “Let me put things back.”

  I quickly slid the letter back into the envelope. After a moment's hesitation, the closet key went into my pocket. I replaced the envelope in its hiding place and slid the top back into place. Once again using my shirt and a cleaning cloth I carefully wiped the armoire clean of my fingerprints-or so I hoped. Then, grabbing the stepladder, I went to meet Sabrina.

  “Did you find the key?” she asked.

  I paused for a second, then shook my head no. “No luck,” I said.

  “You were in there a long time, what were you doing?”

  “Looking for the key. I thought you were ready to get out of here.”

  “I am. It gives me the creeps. Come on.” She cracked open the door and peeked out. Apparently, the coast was clear, because she slid out with me right behind her. She locked and shut the door and then opened her own door. I carried the ladder in, set it down, and turned to face her.

  “I appreciate your help,” I told her. “I know it wasn't easy for you.”

  “What…what happened in there?” she asked haltingly, as if she wasn't sure she wanted to know the answer.

  “What do you mean?” I asked, playing dumb.

  “When you said you felt like you were being strangled. What happened?”

  I shrugged, hoping I seemed more nonchalant than I
felt. I had avoided thinking too much about it while I searched for the key, and I wasn't quite ready to think about it yet either.

  “Are you some sort of psychic?” she asked.

  “What?” I snapped sharply, causing her to flinch slightly. “Why would you think that?”

  “It just seemed like the only explanation.”

  “Maybe I just have an overactive imagination.”

  “I saw you; you didn't look like you were imagining anything. You looked…you looked like you were being strangled, except there was no one else there.”

  A shiver raced its way up my spine. “I don't know what happened in there, and I'm telling you the truth. Nothing like that has ever happened to me before. I don't understand it any more than you do. Now, I really appreciate your help, but I have to be going.”

  “Can I at least have your card? In case something else turns up?” she asked as I turned away.

  I reluctantly fished out a card and handed it to her. I knew it was unprofessional of me, but I wanted to put as much distance between me and that whole experience as possible. And then I thought of the safe sitting in the closet. I did not want to go back in there, but I knew I was going to anyway. With a deep sigh, I turned and let myself out of Sabrina's apartment without another word.

  I found Chris sitting on the stairwell, head propped on her hands looking eminently bored. She glanced up as I appeared at the top of the stairs, relief written plainly on her face. I expected to hear recriminations about taking so long, but before I could say a word, she bounced to her feet.

  “We have to come up with a better communication system,” she said firmly.

  “Agreed,” I said.

  “Good, I have an idea. But first, how'd it go? Did you find out anything useful?”

  “Yes and no.”

  “Explain, please?”

  “I found something, a safe, but there was no way for me to open it. It was locked in a closet and I'm pretty sure that's what the killer was after. They place was torn to pieces, it was pretty obvious that they were looking for something. I think they were looking for the key to the door.”

  “And you found it?”

  “Yes.”

  “But they couldn't?”

  “It was very well hidden.”

  “Where was it?”

  “In a hidden compartment in the top of an armoire.”

  “A what?”

  “It's a big piece of furniture, like a wardrobe. People kept their clothes in them before they started building in closets.”

  “How in the world did you know to look in there?”

  “I, uh, had a little help,” I said quickly before rushing on. “But the point is, I couldn't open it and I couldn't very well carry it out with Sabrina standing right there.”

  “That would have been a bad idea anyway. You don't want to remove evidence from the scene of the crime. Being in there in the first place is bad enough; taking stuff would be more than I could even away with. And who is Sabrina? Was she the chick with the gun?”

  “Yeah, she was a friend of Paul's.”

  “That scared the hell out of me. I didn't know what to do.”

  “It wasn't even a real gun.”

  “I didn't know that.”

  “Well, it's over now. What was your idea?”

  “My idea?”

  “For our new communication system?”

  “Oh yeah. Well, it's logical really, especially being the daughter of a cop. We need a pair of walkie-talkies.”

  I blinked. Why hadn't I thought of that? It seemed painfully obvious now that she's mentioned it. Then again, it did have its drawbacks. They were loud. Even if I turned it way down, if I could hear it, which I'd have to be able to do if it was to be useful, then someone could possibly hear it; and in a dangerous situation, that could be fatal. It would also be difficult to hide and when I'm trying to get someone who is already nervous to talk to me, a big official looking radio on my side might not inspire confidence, especially from the type of people I'd probably be talking to before this case was over. And then I had an even more brilliant idea.

  “My cell phone!” I exclaimed.

  “Huh?”

  “We can use cell phones! I already have one, we just to get you one. You could call and warn me if anything happened and it wouldn't even ring. I can just put it on vibrate. You can even put me on speed dial!”

  “I already have a cell phone, but it's at home.”

  I frowned. “I really wanted to go back in and get the safe tonight.”

  “Hello?” she said leaning over and knocking lightly on my forehead. “Is anyone home in there? Didn't you hear me say that you shouldn't be taking anything out of the apartment? It would be suicide. Why don't we just call the police and let them handle it?”

  “And say what? Oh, by the way, I just happened to be snooping around Paul Flynn's pad today and you won't believe what I found in the closet!”

  “It doesn't have to be like that. We could make an anonymous tip.”

  “And say what?”

  “You know, just say that we're a concerned friend and we know that Paul kept a safe in his closet. We can say we think there might be evidence in it. Or we could just tell my dad and let him handle it.”

  “Then I'll never know what was in it.”

  “We can find out. My dad knows people.”

  I hated to admit it, but I was beginning to think that she might be right. “Only one problem,” I said out loud.

  “And what's that?”

  I reached into my pocket and produced the key.

  “Please tell me that's not the key to the closet.”

  “Afraid so.”

  “Killian! You didn't!”

  “I did. I can go put it back though.”

  She shook her head and sighed. “Too risky. It doesn't really matter. If they don't know about the key, they won't know that it's missing. And they aren't too likely to go looking for a hidden compartment in the armoire thingy; especially since they won't have the help you had.” She gave me a meaningful look, letting me know full well that subject wasn't yet closed. “They have ways of getting in that door without using a key.”

  “So what do we do? Anonymous call or tell your dad?”

  “Well, this isn't his precinct, but my dad knows some of the guys here. They're old buddies. I think he would know the best way to handle it.”

  “Won't he be mad that I went in there?”

  “He would be if I told him, which I don't plan on doing. I'll just tell him you discovered that the safe is there in the course of your investigation and that you suspect it might hold important evidence, which has the added bonus of being 100% true. You don't even have to lie.”

  “Except as far as not telling the whole truth is still considered lying by some people.”

  “Semantics,” she said waving her hand dismissively.

  “Ok, Clinton,” I laughed. “So we're telling your dad?”

  “I think so.”

  “Fine. Are you going to handle it on your own?”

  “Actually, if we're done for the day, why don't you come back with me? He wanted to meet you anyway.”

  “I guess we're pretty much done. Until I can find out how to get in touch with Paul's family or the guy that owns the escort agency Paul worked for, I don't really have anywhere else to go.”

  “So we're off to see my daddy?”

  “Um, sure.” I was a little nervous. Chris' father sounded a little authoritarian and authority figures tended to make me a little uncomfortable. A psychiatrist would probably say that was leftover baggage from my father. I would say they are probably right.

  “Don't worry,” she said, reading me like a book. “Dad's a big teddy bear, really.”

  “Teddy bear. Right.”

  “Really!”

  She looped her arm through mine and started dragging me down the stairs. We let ourselves out of the building and headed for the Metro station. From there it was short trip to the neighborho
od where she and her dad lived with her 12 year-old brother. Her mom had passed away a few years ago from cancer, she told me on the ride.

  They lived in a two story brownstone townhouse, like the ones I'd seen in Paul's old neighborhood, but not quite as nice. Still, it was well-kept and very welcoming.

  Chris let us in. “Dad?” she yelled at the top of her lungs.

  I took in the entry way while we waited for an answer. It was paneled with wood on the bottom part of the wall, old dark wood that held a patina that only comes from years of polishing. Above the paneling, the walls were painted white. A mirror hung over a small table by the door and an old-fashioned brass coat tree stood in the corner, bearing an assortment of outerwear, including a police uniform jacket. A carpet runner went down the hallway that ran next to the staircase leading up to the second floor. Doors opened up on the right and left here at the front of the hall and again farther down.