All Things Lost (12 page)

     “The damn phone has rung itself off the hook!” Novak barked as soon as I opened the door. He was sitting at my desk.

     “Sorry?” I offered, although I was unsure of what I was apologizing for.

     “Ah, it's not your fault. It's the weather. It makes everyone think their spouse must be cheating on them. But if you're
gonna
start helping me out on research I'm
gonna
need to find us another desk jockey.”

     We went into Novak's office while I quickly brought him up to date on what I'd found out at the newspaper.

     He grunted when I had finished my recital. “Good work, kid. I knew most of that already but you did a nice job. My source at the department confirmed all that and gave me a bit more that they haven't released to the newspapers yet. It seems the kid, Caleb, threatened to kill his old man in front of a couple police officers the last time they were called out there, by a neighbor I might add. Apparently it was common knowledge that the guy beat up on his kid on a regular basis. It seems our Mr. Cohen was a real prize, a championship
sleazeball
. I imagine it's going to get ugly for the child protective services before it's over.”

     “Why?”

     “The kid should have been out of the house long ago, but nothing was ever done. Anyway, the kid was taken out of the home and placed into a group home while yet another investigation took place. The problem is the kid disappeared from the home on the day of the murder and wasn't seen again until some uniforms picked him up on the boardwalk a couple days ago. His story is that from previous experience, he fully expected to be returned to his father and he wasn't having any of it, so he took off. Bad choice as it turns out, especially if he's telling the truth, which the police don't think he is. Right now, he's their favorite suspect. Make that only suspect.”

     “What do you think?”

     “I don't have enough information to think anything at this point. From what little I do know there isn't any real evidence against the boy. All they have is a threat that almost anyone would have made in the same situation and his disappearance, which may have been just as he said. On the other hand, it doesn't take an overactive imagination to understand the rage and helplessness the kid must have been feeling. Cornered people do desperate things and this murder was definitely a crime of passion.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“Simple. You don't chop someone up who you mildly dislike or just want out of the way. That takes an intense hatred or a psycho, as I mentioned earlier. Now, I've spent enough time today on a case that I'm not even getting paid for. I'm going to get back to my paying cases and I suggest you get back to work as well. We'll look at this again on Monday if I have time.”

I took the dismissal for what it was and returned to my desk. The phone began to ring before my bottom even hit the chair. The rest of the day was fairly
routine
. I thought all the excitement was over for a while.
Boy,
was I wrong.  

Chapter 7

     Chaos greeted me as I walked through the front door of our house that evening. The sounds of pot and pans banging around came from the direction of the kitchen, where I deduced that Adam must be cooking. Steve was struggling to add the extra leaf to our antique (and very stubborn) dining table. Kane was busily vacuuming and over all this, the radio was loudly blaring dance music.

     I rushed over to help Steve with the table. “What's going on?” I asked as I tugged on my end. It slowly slid grudgingly open far enough to accommodate the leaf.

     “We're having company,” Steve grunted as he dropped the leaf into place. “Push,” he ordered.

     “So I gathered,” I gave the table a shove and it slid back together.  “Of the last minute variety I assume. Do I get to know who it is or do I have to wait until they arrive?”

     
“Judy and Jake.
It was Adam's idea.”

     My stomach did a funny little flutter at the mention of Jake's name but I tried to just ignore it. I thought that Steve sounded a little disgruntled by our eleventh-hour guests, but then again I may have been reading too much into it.

     I wondered into the kitchen and decided I wasn't just imagining things. Adam was wearing a very grim expression as he attacked a large bowl of salad as if the greens had offended him.

     “What did that lettuce do to you?” I asked lightly. He jumped and looked up.

     “Killian,” he said, as if surprised to see me.

     “Yeah, I live here, remember?”

     “I didn't hear you come in.”

     “Sorry, didn't mean to startle you. Are you ok?”

     “Me? Yeah, why do you ask?”

     “Well, with you roughing the roughage and all…”

     “I'm fine, just a little stressed with having to throw together a dinner at the last minute like this.”

     “I thought it was your idea.”

     “Who said that?”

     “Steve.”

     Adam rolled his eyes, “He would. Technically I invited them, but you know Judy. She called here fully intending to eat here tonight. She dropped hints until I invited her and then she was all, `oh we couldn't, too much work, blah
blah
blah,' but of course she accepted.”

     “Is there anything I can do to help?”

     
“No, not really.
Thanks though, Kill. It's not as bad as I'm making it out to be; I'm just blowing off steam. The chicken breasts are in the oven, the risotto is almost done, I've ravaged the romaine enough and we have plenty of desserts around. All I have to do is mix up the vinaigrette and I'm all done. Besides, you're a working stiff now. You go on and relax until dinner.”

     “I don't do anything except sit behind a desk all day. The most strenuous thing I do is answer the phone. Although I did get to do some research today at the
newspaper.
”

     “That's different. Is it for one of Mr. Novak's cases?”

     “He hates to be called mister. And not exactly, but that's a long story.”

     
“Which I want to hear in full, just not right now.”

     “Ok,” I said, trying to hide my relief. I wasn't quite ready for Adam to know that I was getting involved in another murder investigation. I made my exit while I could and took the stairs two at a time up to my room. I was checking my email, nothing but get-rich-quick offers and penis enlargement advertisements, when Kane came in.

     “
Hiya
, Kill,” he said as he pulled his stained, raggedy t-shirt over his head, “Dad said I
hafta
change.”

     “No wonder, you look like some street kid in that nasty shirt.”

     “Hey, you know it's my favorite. It was Seth's. What should I wear?”

     
“Clothes.”

     “Come on, you're the gay guy. You're supposed to be good at fashion stuff.”

     “Don't even start!”

     “I'm just kidding,” he said with a grin. He pulled a short-sleeved knit shirt out of my dresser and held it up. “I know how you are about stereotypes. Can I wear this?”

     “Just don't get anything on it.”

     “I'll try. Are you and Asher still on the outs?”

     
“Yeah, why?”
I said warily.

     “Are you going to start something up with Jake again?”

     “What?”

     “You two had something going on once, before Asher, right?”

     “That's ancient history, Kane.”

     “Hmmm, a bit touchy, aren't you? Maybe you protest too much?”

     “Don't misquote Shakespeare at me,” I said a trifle grumpily.

     “Fine, I think thou dost protest too much. That better? Anyway, the only reason I asked is because I met this really nice guy today at the library and I think he might be gay.”

     “Ok, first off, I do not need you fixing me up. I am perfectly capable of finding my own dates if and when I decide I'm ready to date. Second, what makes you so sure he's gay? Did he talk with a lisp and have a limp wrist?”

     “Now who's throwing around stereotypes?”

     “I was making a point.”

     “I've been around enough gay guys to know one when I see one. Besides, he was hitting on me, not real obviously or anything but definitely flirting. And no, I wasn't imagining it. And then,” he paused dramatically before delivering his final argument, “he gave me his phone number before he left.”

     “Oh,” I said, feeling properly chastised. I turned back to the computer and started reading an article about Madonna's latest publicity stunt.

     “Aren't you going to ask me if he was cute?” Kane asked after a minute.

     “It doesn't matter since I'm not about to call him. Besides, you're straight, how would you know?”

     “I'm straight, not blind. I still know if a guy is hot or not. I'm just not attracted to him if he is.”

     I shrugged and kept reading. I lasted a full thirty seconds before my curiosity overcame me. “Well, was he cute?” I demanded, carefully keeping my eyes on the screen.

     “Well, I am only straight,” his voice dripped with sarcasm, “but I'd have to say he was a major
hottie
.”

     I struggled for another half a minute before asking, “How major?”

     “You know that guy from Cruel Intentions?”

     I spun around, “Ryan Philippe?”

     “Yeah, that's him. Well he didn't look anything like him.”

     I laughed out loud as Kane collapsed into a fit of giggles.

     “Good one. You made the whole thing up, didn't you?” I said.

     “No, he's for real, honest. I just couldn't resist. He's got brown hair and eyes, cute in an all-American sort of way. Actually he looked a little like that guy from that movie you like.”

     “That narrows it down.”

     
“The gay movie.”

     
“Beautiful Thing?”

     
“No, that other one, with Rachel from friends.”

     “Oh,
The
Object of My Affection.”

     
“Yeah, that one.”

     “You mean Paul Rudd?”

     
“If you say so.
His name is Micah.”

     “That's a nice name.”

     “He seemed like a nice guy. He overheard me asking the librarian about where to find books on local history. He said that he'd just finished a great book on the subject.”

     “Since when have you cared about local history?”

     “I don't. It was for Steve. He's doing some sort of research about this house he's so obsessed with. Anyway, Micah showed me the book he was talking about and a few others. Wasn't that nice of him?”

     “A regular boy scout,” I said dryly, “And how old was this font of knowledge and goodwill? 50? 60? 70?”

     “I'd guess in his early 20's. He's a reporter. That's why he knew all that stuff. He was doing research for an article.”

     “Oh. Well I'm still not calling a complete stranger. And you don't even know for sure that he's gay. He might have just given you his number as a professional courtesy; you know, in case you had more questions.”

     “Get real. My
gaydar
is probably better than yours. I could introduce you.”

     “Forget it, Kane. I'm not going on a blind date with some stranger you just met in the library. Do you really think I'm that desperate?”

     “You're still hung up on Asher aren't you?”

     “For the love of…where did that come from?”

     “If you're not ready to date just say so.”

     “Has everyone lost their
freakin
' minds around here?”

     The phone started ringing at the moment and Kane scooped it up. I gratefully escaped back to the computer.

     “Speak of the devil,” Kane said as he dropped the phone into my lap.

     I looked up questioningly, but he walked out of the room without a backwards glance.