The Truth of Yesterday (65 page)

     With everything that had happened, I ended up getting a grand total of two and a half hours of sleep before I woke up at
6 AM
, wide awake and inexplicably alert. I tried to fall back asleep but my body wasn't having any of it. I finally gave up and climbed wearily out of bed. My mind may have been bright-eyed and bushy-tailed but my body felt like dead weight. I took a shower in the hopes that it would revive me, but it failed miserably to achieve that goal. I dragged myself downstairs, ate a light breakfast, and then took a walk down by the creek in the brisk fall morning air. It was a morning designed to make you feel energized and alive, and yet, I still felt drained and weary.

     Considering how I felt and how much sleep I'd had the night before-or didn't have, as the case may be-I thought about not attempting the drive to DC. Intellectually, I knew it wasn't the best idea, but I felt like I was so close I just couldn't sit at home and do nothing. I felt a pressing urgency that I couldn't ignore.

     I forced myself to wait until nine, drank a soda high in caffeine, and set out on the road towards
Washington
DC
. My car could just about drive there on autopilot at this point, which was a good thing the way I was feeling. I would be glad when this case was over so I didn't have to drive there so often.

     I made good time and arrived at
Chris
' just before
noon
. She answered the door at my knock.

     “Were you able to get me in to see the detective?” I asked before she even had time to say hello.

     “It's nice to see you too,” she said sarcastically, stepping aside to allow me in. A small black and white dog came barreling down the hallway and came skidding to a halt at my feet, looking up at me with enormous, expressive brown eyes. “Have you met Janie?”
Chris
asked.

     “I don't believe so,” I said, momentarily distracted.

     “She's a Boston terrier,”
Chris
said with all the pride of a dog owner, an amount usually reserved for parents of newborn children.

     “She's beautiful,” I said as I knelt down to rub her ears. Janie wriggled with pleasure. “Why'd you name her Janie?” I asked.

     
Chris
blushed slightly. “It's short for
Janeway
,” she said.
“As in Captain
Janeway
.”

     “I didn't know you were a
Trekkie
.”

     “Sort of, I don't like the original series but I like the newer ones, especially Voyager. I had a huge crush on Captain
Janeway
.”

     I laughed and played with Janie for a few more seconds before returning back to business. “You never said if you were able to get me an appointment with the detective.”

     “Ye-e-e-s,” she said, dragging the word out to impossible lengths.

     I looked up at her suspiciously. “That doesn't sound good,” I said warily.

     “I managed to get you in; you're appointment is in a little over an hour. His name is Owen Evans.”

     “I sense
a but
coming…”

     “Well, I may have had to stretch the facts a little to get you in, I mean, it is a Saturday.”

     “Stretch the facts how?”

     “I…uh…I told him you knew who the murderer is and you had proof.”

     
“You what?”
I gasped.

     “It was the only way I could get him to agree to meet you!”

     “But
Chris
, I don't have any proof! I don't even know for sure that the guy I suspect did anything. What am I supposed to do when I get in there and he expects me to have solid proof? When he finds out I probably know less that he does, he'll be so pissed he won't help me at all.”

     “Then hold off on telling him that as long as possible.”

     “Oh great, then he'll lock me up for…for…something.”

     
“For what?”

     
“Obstructing justice!
I don't know. He'll make something up.”

     “Calm down. You're awful high-strung today.”

     I sighed. “I didn't get much sleep last night.”

     
“Long night?”

     “You could say that.”

     “Why don't you fill me in? You promised to tell me what was going on when you got here.”

     “Ok.”

     “Can we do it in the living room? I'm getting tired of standing here.”

     I made a face at her and she helped me up. Janie trotted along beside us as we went into the living room and sat down. I gave her the rundown on everything that had happened since we talked last, and what my suspicions were. She thought for a minute, and then nodded.

     “That sounds reasonable,” she said.

     “Yes, but the problem is, in case you didn't notice, I don't have any proof. That was why I wanted to meet with the detective in the first place. What did you say his name is?”

     “Owen Evans.”

     “What was he like?”

     “He sounded busy mostly. The cops here in the city are overworked and underpaid. This isn't his only case, you know.”

     “I never said it was. It would be nice, however, if he didn't have to be bribed into working on this one.”

     “I didn't…well, ok, maybe I did. Look, it's just natural that I'm going to side with the cops on this, I mean, my dad is one; but that doesn't mean that I don't see your side of it too.”

     “I know; I'm just grouchy. You've been a huge help. I couldn't have done this without you.”

     “Sure you could have, I've just made it easier.”

     “What time do I have to go see Evans?”

     She glanced at her watch. “You'd better leave now if you're taking the Metro.”

     “You're not coming?”

     “No, I have to take Kevin to the orthodontist at two. Assuming he comes home from his friend's before then.”

     “Oh. Ok.” I was disappointed and a little nervous at the prospect of meeting with Evans alone. “You'll at least give me directions, right?”

     She laughed. “No, I thought I'd let you find it for yourself. By the way, you're not meeting him at the station. He said, and I quote, `If I have to waste time talking to some amateur sleuth, he can talk while I'm eating lunch.'”

     She gave me the directions to the restaurant where I was supposed to meet the detective and I headed off to meet my doom. I decided on the way that it would be in my best interest to tell him up front that I didn't have any proof to back my suspicions. It might just forestall any possible harm to my person.

     The restaurant turned out to be a little hole-in-the-wall Irish pub. A neon sign in the window proudly proclaimed that they served-what else?-Killian's Irish Red. I pushed open the door and stepped into a dimly lit room. Round tables sat in the middle of the floor and old-fashioned red
pleather
-upholstered booths lined the walls. They were doing a brisk business; almost every table was full. It only took one look around to see that I was the youngest person there by at least a couple decades.

     A waitress carrying an empty tray stopped near me. “Can I help
ya
, Sugar?” She asked.

     “I'm here to meet with Owen Evans,” I said.

     She pointed out a man sitting alone in a corner booth at the far back of the restaurant. He was intent on his hamburger and wasn't even looking on our direction. I thanked her and started making my way in his direction. As I walked, I took in the detective. He was on the far side of middle-aged and had to be edging up near retirement, but he looked to be in pretty good physical shape. He was just starting to expand a little in the middle, and meals like that greasy looking burger and that mountain of fries weren't going to help any. He had salt and pepper hair that looked a little shaggy, as if he'd missed a haircut or two. His face was lined, but it didn't make him look old, just interesting. He was wearing a slightly rumpled suit with a fresh ketchup stain on the lapel.

     
“Detective Evans?”
I asked when I reached his table.

     He looked up at me with startlingly green eyes. “That's me.
You Kendall?”

     I nodded and he inclined his head towards the seat across from him. “Have a seat,” he grunted.

     I sat down and opened my mouth to tell him I didn't have proof of anything when he asked, “So you're a friend of
Chris
sie Silver, eh?”

     “
Chris
sie…” I had to struggle not to laugh. I wondered how long it had been since he'd seen
Chris
. She definitely wasn't the
Chris
sie type. “Yes,” I finally managed. “And she may have overstated my case when she talked to you.”

     He raised an eyebrow questioningly and took a bite of his hamburger.

     “I don't really have any proof to back my suspicions; that's actually what I wanted to talk to you about.”

     He finished chewing, swallowed, and chased it down with a gulp of his soda. He eyed me for a moment and then said, “Then why are you still sitting there?”

     “Why don't you just let me tell you what I've found out and then you can decide if there's anything to it or not. You're not losing anything; you have to finish eating anyway. If you get done and you still think I'm wasting your time, I'll pay for your lunch and leave you alone.”

     He took a huge bite of his burger, making half of what was left disappear in one gulp. “Deal,” he said. Or at least that's what I think he said. His mouth was a little full at the time. He wasn't leaving me much time to talk, so I didn't waste any time jumping right in.

     I outlined my investigation so far as succinctly as possible, leaving out such trivial details and breaking and entering and tampering with evidence. Even without those particulars, it added up nicely, or so I thought. What really mattered however was what the detective thought.

     When I had finished my recital, he swallowed the last of his burger and signaled the waitress over. I held my breath as she approached. I was certain he was going to tell her to give me the check and walk out, leaving me with nothing more than I came with, but he surprised me by ordering a chocolate milkshake and a cup of regular coffee.

     “You look like a chocolate kind of guy,” he said after she'd left. I nodded my agreement, still too surprised to know what to say. “I have to give it to you,” he said, “You've done a good job on this investigation. I suspect that you left out a few things, but that's neither here nor there. Unfortunately, you've also left out the most important part. You don't have any evidence. So you suspect this Fenton Black character? So what? What do you want me to do? I can't go after this guy just because you say so.”

     “I've seen copies of the letters that were in the safe,” I told him. He raised an eyebrow but left it alone, much to my relief. “What if Paul was writing them to Black?”

     “And what if he was writing them to the Pope? We need proof.”

     “I know I could get it if I just had more information.”

     “What kind of information?”

     “Do you know who Paul was dating?”

     “I didn't know he was dating anyone. Everyone we spoke to said he was single.”