The Truth of Yesterday (67 page)

     “Yes?” she asked cautiously, as if she suspected I was selling something.

     “Mrs. Flynn? I'm Killian Kendall; we spoke on the phone?”

     Her eyes widened. “Oh! I didn't expect...”

     
“Someone so young?”
I smiled my most winning smile. “I get that a lot.”

     She smiled tentatively back at me and opened the screen door. “Please, come in,” she said.

     “Thank you for seeing me, Mrs. Flynn,” I said as she led me into a comfortable living room, decorated with a comfortable mix of antiques and modern furniture. Knick-knacks covered every available surface, the evidence of a lifetime-photographs and souvenirs only family members knew the meaning behind. The pictures seemed to be of several different children. Over the fireplace, in a place of honor, was a huge portrait of Jesus. He wore a benign smile on his face but I had the creepiest feeling that his eyes were following me as I moved.

     I sat down on an oversized arm chair positioned so that it was turned slightly away from the fireplace, that way I didn't have to look Jesus in the eye. Mrs. Flynn sat down on the sofa. I decided to start off with some easy questions to put her at ease.

     “How many children do you have, Mrs. Flynn?”

     “We had six, three boys and three girls. My husband and I were married for 40 years before he passed away.”

     “I'm sorry for your loss,” I said.

     “We had a good life together. He's in a better place now.”

     I paused a moment at the nonchalance in her voice as she talked about the death of her husband. I couldn't imagine being that blasé about Micah dying and we hadn't been together anywhere near 40 years. “Where did Paul fit in?”

     “He was the youngest. I always called him my surprise package. I was 40 when I found out I was expecting for the sixth time. My next youngest was almost 10 at the time. After five children, I knew what was happening as soon as the morning sickness started. I didn't even need to go to the doctor, but of course, I did. They assumed I'd want an abortion. It wasn't safe to have a baby at that age then, not like it is now. Women can have babies at almost any age now. Then, it was dangerous. I wouldn't even hear about an abortion, of course. It was never an option.”

     “One of your sons lives with you now?”

     “Yes, James. He's the youngest one after Paul. He moved in after his father passed away.”

     “I understand that Paul was estranged from the family for a while, but that he reconciled with you after his father...passed away.”

     “Yes, when he told us that he was...well, you know, his father said we couldn't accept that. Unless he was willing to get help, we couldn't have anything to do with him. Oh, how it broke my heart, but there was nothing I could do. My husband was the man of the house, he was an elder of the church, it was what he felt was right.”

     “Did anyone from your family stay in touch with Paul?” I asked, horrified by the matter of fact way she spoke of the way they had turned their back on their own child.

     
“Not that I know of.
As far as I know, my husband's funeral was the first time any of us had seen Paul in years.”

     “And after the funeral, he began to visit you?”

     “Yes.
Always while James was at work.
It was wonderful to see him again. He'd grown into such a handsome young man.” She cocked her head slightly to one side. “He looked a bit like you actually.” She stood up, went to the mantle over the fireplace, and picked up a small, silver-framed photograph. She brought it over and handed it to me.

     “That's Paul,” she said.

     It was funny to realize that this was the first time I had seen a photograph of him. I had been poking into his life and investigating his death for weeks now and never seen him. It had been taken years ago, the day of his high school graduation from the looks of it. He was wearing a blue robe and holding his mortarboard hat in his hands, posing in front of the ivy covered chimney. There was a certain surface resemblance between us. He was, as he'd been described, small and blonde. Beyond the superficial likeness, however, we really didn't look all that much alike. His face was shaped differently, his eyes smaller, his nose thinner and longer, and his ears larger. His hair was lighter than mine and straight.  He wore glasses, while I wear contacts. He was cute in a quiet, unassuming way.

     I handed the photo back to her and she replaced it on the mantle.

     “Do you know who would have wanted to harm Paul?” I asked after she'd sat back down.

     “No, I have no idea. I really didn't know much about his life. He never spoke much of personal things. I didn't even know what he did for a living until the newspaper articles came out with it. I don't know why they feel they have to smear that sort of thing all over the pages like a trashy novel.”

     I felt my hopes take a nosedive. “Then you wouldn't know if he was seeing someone romantically?” I asked without much optimism.

     “Actually, he was. He brought him to meet me once, a few months ago.” My heart sped up at her words. “I asked him if he had someone special in his life and he said yes. At first, it was enough to know that he was happy, but a mother wants to meet the person in their child's life, so I finally asked him to bring him on his next visit.”

     “Can you tell me about him?”

     “He was a very nice young man. He was tall with dark hair. It was very obvious, even to me, that he cared very much about Paul. I've thought of him often since Paul was killed, but I didn't know how to get in touch with him.”

     “Do you remember his name?”

     “Of course, his name is Tom, Tom Jackson.”

     It was all I could do not to crow in exaltation at those words. This could be the missing piece of the puzzle. I made my goodbyes to Mrs. Flynn, thanking her profusely for taking the time to speak to me. I made a beeline for my car when she let me out. I couldn't wait to call the detective.

Chapter 28

     I flipped open my cell phone and dialed
Chris
before I'd even started the car.

     “Can you get me Detective Evans's phone number?” I asked as soon as she answered.

     “Sure, hang on,” she said with no hesitation. I guess the excitement in my voice was obvious enough that she didn't even mention the fact that I had failed to say hello. She was back in a few seconds to give me the number. I thanked her, promised to explain later, and disconnected, only to dial the detective's number as soon as I got a signal.

     “Hello?” he answered gruffly. I was pleased that
Chris
had given me a direct number and I didn't have to waste time with a receptionist.

     
“Detective Evans?
This is Killian Kendall. We talked today about...”

     “I know who you are,
Kendall
. I'm not senile. Can you please tell me why you are calling me on my direct line?
Quickly now, before I hang up.”

     “I just finished talking to Paul's mother and I found something out that I thought you might want to know.”

     “Of course you did. And what will this information cost me?”

     “You're so cynical, Detective.”

     “I've worked with PI's for too long not to be. So what is it?”

     “I need a phone number.”

     
“For who?”

     
“Paul's boyfriend.”

     “We don't even know if he had one.”

     “I do, and I know his name. And I'd be willing to bet his phone number is in that address book you have, and you've probably talked to him.”

     
“Spill.”

     “Will you give me his number?”

     “I don't owe you anything. If you don't tell me I'll have you arrested for obstructing justice.”

     “You can't deny that I get results.”

     “It must be your baby face, you inspire confidence.”

     “Do we have a deal?”

     
“Deal.”

     “The name is Tom Jackson.”

     I heard the sound of paper shuffling and then there were a few seconds of silence.

     “There's no Tom Jackson in the address book,” he said. I felt my heart drop. “But there is a TJ.”
More rustling papers.
“Damn, you are one lucky son of a bitch. We talked to him. His full name is Thomas Jackson. He claimed he was just an acquaintance of Flynn's and didn't really know him.”

     “It's not luck.
His number?”

     The detective reluctantly read it off to me,
then
said, “We're going to have to question him again. I can't stop you from talking to him, but if you do talk to him before we do, don't spook him or it'll be your head.”

     “I'll do what I can. Either way, I'll tell you everything I find out.”

     “You'd better,” he said, and hung up.

     I quickly dialed Tom Jackson's phone number and held my breath while it rang. It was answered on the fifth ring.

     “Hello?” a male voice said.

     “Tom Jackson?” I asked.

     
“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 know you and Paul were lovers. I spoke to his mother. She said 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?”