The Truth of Yesterday
Book 4 of the Killian Kendall Mysteries
By Josh Aterovis
Copyright 2026
Chapter 29
I staggered back in horror, barely making it to the trashcan before I lost the contents of my stomach.
His wasn't the first dead body I'd seen, but apparently repetition didn't make it any easier. People with their brains blown out were officially not in my league.
I pulled out my cell phone to call the police before I realized it might not be wise to have the call traced back to me. Still holding onto the idea that I might somehow find Jake and get him out of there before the police arrived, I located a land-line phone on the counter and dialed 911 with shaking hands, carefully keeping my back to the dead guy the entire time.
I explained to the dispatcher that there'd been a murder and gave her the address. When she asked for my name, however, I hung up.
It suddenly occurred to me that I had no way of knowing whether the killer was still in the house. A chill ran up my spine as I spun around. The hallway beyond the door was pitch black. Anyone could be hiding in the shadows, aiming a gun, preparing to shoot me right where I stood.
With a stifled gasp, I dropped to the floor, getting an up-close look at the gore splattered across its surface. The room began to spin as my stomach heaved again. I fought down the nausea and waited for the dizziness to pass, then pushed myself into a crouching position.
Although no one had come into the room, it was only a matter of time before the police arrived. I had to move quickly. I wasn't about to leave the kitchen without a weapon of some sort, however.
Desperately wishing I had a gun, I briefly wondered if the guy at the table had been a security guard and therefore armed, but I couldn't bring myself to get close enough to find out. Then I remembered a knife block I'd seen on the counter when I was looking for the phone. I pulled several out, choosing the largest and leaving the rest.
Still feeling terribly vulnerable even with my new weapon, I eased back into the hallway and waited anxiously for my eyes to adjust to the darkness. The house was deadly quiet, and, for the first time, I truly began to fear for Jake.
I made a hurried search of the first floor as quietly as possible. My ragged breathing sounded unnaturally loud in the silence as I grew more tense with every second. I ended up at the bottom of a pitch-black stairway leading to the second floor.
For what seemed like an eternity, I was unable to force myself to take the first step. Even though there was a light switch on the wall next to me, I was afraid to turn it on. There was no point alerting anyone that I was in the house if they didn't already know.
Finally, I worked up enough nerve and slowly began to climb one step at a time, testing it for squeaks before placing my entire weight on it. My ascent remained pretty much silent until about halfway up — when, of course, a step creaked. The sound was like a car alarm in the eerie silence. I stood frozen until it became obvious no one was going to come running at me with guns blazing, then took the remaining steps quickly, feeling at a disadvantage as long as I was on them.
At the top, I found myself once again in a hallway, which stretched a short distance both ways. Four doors opened off it, two on one side, and two on the other. One of the doors on my left stood open. I moved cautiously toward it, wanting to get that one out of the way first.
As I edged closer, however, I noticed a light at the bottom of the door on the other side of the hall. I stopped and listened, but didn't hear a sound from either side.
The room with the open door was brightly lit by a security light outside. A quick glance showed it to be empty, with no place to hide. It was clearly a home office, sparsely furnished with a simple but elegant antique desk and chair. Built-in shelves lined the walls, holding not just books but also various exotic and ancient-looking artifacts that would have been more at home in a museum. I had a hunch they had not been obtained by entirely legal means.
I turned back to the door with the light showing under it, approaching it slowly until I could press my ear against it — not a sound. I touched the knob hesitantly, gripping the knife handle so tightly my fingers ached. I took a deep breath, twisted the knob and threw the door open in one sudden movement, jumping back into the room across the hall as I did so.
Nothing happened. No one yelled out. All was just as quiet as before.
I peeked around the corner. The door now stood open, spilling warm, yellow light into the hall. A pair of feet were plainly visible splayed on the floor. Trembling, I stepped closer. The feet belonged to another dead body, this one shot as well, at least twice in the chest from what I could see. He'd knocked over a table as he'd fallen.
I appeared to be in a sitting room of some sort. There was a fireplace at one end with two chairs arranged in a conversational grouping. Another door stood partly open on my right. I edged around the body, trying hard not to look too closely.
Approaching the door, I kicked it fully open, brandishing my knife — as if it would stop a bullet.
Although no lights were on, the glow from the sitting room allowed me to see it was a lavishly furnished bedroom. Someone appeared to be asleep in the bed, but something was definitely wrong — no one could have slept through all that.
I fumbled clumsily for the light switch. As bright light filled the room, I found myself staring at a very naked, very dead Fenton Black sprawled across the bed. Blood splattered the white silk sheets. He, too, had been shot.
I looked quickly away.
It suddenly dawned on me that everyone I'd found looked as if they'd been caught by surprise. It was a big house, but they still should have heard the gunshots — unless the killer was using a silencer, and even then, I'd read that silencers weren't even that quiet.
I took a quick look around the spacious room. The king-size bed occupied a large part of the floor space. An enormous armoire sat opposite, its front doors open to reveal a large television set.
A leather sofa and armchair sat in front of another fireplace, the back side of the one in the sitting room. The walls were hung with original oil paintings that looked to my untrained eye to be old and valuable. Mirrored sliding-glass doors led to what I assumed was the closet.
I was about to go back to the hall to continue my search for Jake when I noticed a bare foot sticking out from behind the sofa. I crept toward it, hoping against hope that I wouldn't find Jake dead as well.
A muffled sob escaped me when I got close enough to see it was indeed Jake lying naked, facedown on the floor. It took me a few seconds of panic before I realized there was no blood and he was still breathing.
He was alive, but unconscious.
I dropped to his side with another sob, this one of relief. Then I discovered he had a gun gripped loosely in his hand, and felt the knife slip from my numb fingers as the implications hit me.
No, no, no, it can't be true, my brain jabbered as I pushed away. Why not? another part of me argued. After all he's been through, you had to expect him to crack eventually. His brother was a killer. Maybe it runs in the family.
He looked so peaceful lying there, as if he were simply taking a nap. Yet only a few feet away lay a murdered man, and Jake was holding a gun. Passed out? Except for his shallow breathing, he hadn't moved a muscle since I'd found him. I took a closer look and noticed some bruising on his face and around his mouth.
"Jake?" My voice came out in a hoarse croak. "Jake?" I shook his foot hesitantly.
"Freeze! Don't move!" a loud voice suddenly shouted from behind me.
I screamed and lurched forward, throwing myself behind the couch with Jake.
"This is the police," the voice identified itself. "Come out with your hands where I can clearly see them. If you make any sudden moves, I will shoot."
"Don't shoot," I pleaded shakily. "I'm the one who called 911. My name is Killian Kendall. I work for Shane Novak. We're private investigators."
"Come out from behind the couch," the police officer repeated. "Keep your hands where I can see them."
I edged carefully out to the center of the floor, moving slowly and deliberately, holding my hands in plain sight at all times. The officer was pointing a gun right at me.
If you've never had the pleasure of such an experience, let me tell you, it's very unsettling. I wasn't about to make any sudden moves.
He looked surprised when he saw me, then hid it well.
"Let's see your license." He appeared to be in his mid-thirties, with dark hair, a carefully trimmed mustache, and heavy eyebrows over dark eyes.
"I don't have one. I'm still in training."
"Is there anyone else in the room with you?"
"Yes, there's another person behind the couch, but he's unconscious." I decided not to mention the gun just yet. The cop looked a little nervous as it was. "He might need medical attention."
"Guys," he called, stepping farther into the room, his gun never once wavering.
In response, two more uniformed officers entered and approached me cautiously, guns drawn.
"Turn around," one of them ordered.
He grabbed me roughly, pushing me to the floor with a knee in the small of my back, twisting my arms painfully behind me to snap handcuffs around my wrists. It all happened so fast I didn't have time to do more than gasp in pain.
After patting me down and removing my wallet, he carefully slid my gloves off my hands and deposited them in a plastic bag, then left me on the floor with an order not to move.
The first cop, the one who seemed to be in charge, was still training his gun on me, while the other two checked Jake.
"It's another kid, sarge, and this one has a gun," one of them said tightly. "He's out cold. Pulse is weak. He's not responding."
"Boyd, before you move him, go find Deacon and have him get some shots. We don't want to fuck this one up. It's high profile."
One of the officers stood and started to leave the room.
"Take the other kid with you," the sergeant told him.
Boyd hauled me roughly to my feet and led me downstairs into the front room, which evidently had been taken over as a command post. The place was crawling with cops, including several CSI types.
Apparently, the crime lab was already getting started. I wondered what they'd make of my bloody footprints all over the kitchen and the vomit in the trashcan. This was not turning out to be my finest hour.
My escort left me sitting awkwardly on a chair — hands still cuffed behind my back — and detailed another young cop to watch over me. The new guy wasn't very talkative, and since I wasn't exactly feeling chatty myself, we sat in uncomfortable silence while his brethren bustled around us.
I had plenty of time to study the officer they'd chosen to keep an eye on me. He couldn't have been more than a few years older than I was, probably fresh out of the police academy. He had close-cut, light brown hair and hazel eyes, with a smattering of freckles across his pug nose that made him look even younger. His thin lips were pressed together nervously, making me guess this was probably his first big case. He looked almost as scared as I felt.
After about half an hour, the sergeant from upstairs came into the room and spotted me. He walked over and frowned down at the clipboard in his hand.
"Killian Kendall," he said in a dark voice. "What do you know about these murders?"
"Less than you do, probably."
His frown deepened. "What were you doing here?"
"Am I under arrest?"
"Considering I found you at the site of a multiple homicide, that's a distinct possibility."
"Then maybe I should wait to talk until I have a lawyer."
"Damn kids. You've watched too many movies. You got something to hide?"
"No, sir. I just think it would be best if I wait to be questioned until I have a lawyer."
He sucked in a deep breath between clenched teeth. "Marshall," he said to my young guard. "Have him tested for residue then take him to the station and lock him up. And be sure to let him call his damned lawyer."
Marshall nodded sharply. "Yes, sir!"
So he could speak.
He helped me up and, after a tech swabbed my hands and clothing, led me out the front door toward the cluster of police cruisers parked on the lawn. I noticed he was being a lot gentler than the guy who'd cuffed me.
The whole thing was kind of surreal. I'd never been arrested before. I was pretty shaken, but I would have been a lot more scared if I thought there was any chance of being charged with something. I knew I hadn't done anything they could charge me with...except maybe breaking and entering...and possibly interfering with a crime scene.
I was suddenly worried.
"I'm going to switch your cuffs to the front," Marshall said, stopping next to one of the cars.
"Thanks." I was unsure of how else to respond.
It was a relief, though. I was very uncomfortable with my arms locked behind my back.
"You're Killian Kendall?" he asked softly, unlocking one side of the handcuffs. I gratefully dropped my arms to my side, but he quickly pulled my wrists forward and cuffed them again in front. "I've read about you."
"About me?"
"Yeah, I—"
"Killian!" a familiar voice called from the direction of the street.
I turned and spotted Micah by the front gate behind the police tape. Another officer stood nearby, arms crossed over his chest, making sure no one dared attempt to get through the line.
"The reporters are here already?" Marshall said. "They're like vultures."
"Actually, he's with me." I shouted to Micah, "Find Novak and Judy."
"You shouldn't be talking to him," Marshall said uncertainly.
"Sorry."
I allowed him to push me gently into the back seat.
He buckled me in, then slid behind the wheel. A metal grill separated the front seat from the back. We didn't speak again until we were on the road.
"What did you mean you've read about me?"
"Online. In the news. After you solved that ax-murder case. I wasn't on the force yet, but there was a big story about you. It said you'd solved another murder too, when you were younger."
"Oh. Yeah. I guess."
I wasn't used to being recognized and, under the circumstances, wasn't sure what the proper response should be.
"So...is that what you were doing here?"
"I probably shouldn't say anything."
"I'm not going to tell anyone. I think it's awesome that you're so young and you're out there solving crimes the police can't figure out."
"It's not always that they can't," I said, thinking about Seth and Paul. "Sometimes it's because they don't really care."
"What do you mean?"
"Not all cases seem to get the same priority. Fenton Black was a killer and a criminal, and there must be twenty, twenty-five cops crawling around his house, just because he was rich and powerful. I had a friend who was murdered for being gay, and no one cared about finding his killer. He was just a kid. The case I'm working on now involves a young guy who was murdered in his own apartment, but since he was a gay escort, nothing was done about it for over a month."
"So you were on a case. I was right. And Black was involved?"
I sighed. "I'm not saying anything more about it."
Marshall looked disappointed. He glanced at me in the rear view mirror, his eyes catching mine.
"I'm gay too," he suddenly blurted out.
I blinked in surprise. I couldn't believe this was actually happening. There I was, sitting handcuffed in the back of a police car, while the cop driving came out to me. This day kept getting more and more bizarre.
"Oh." I didn't know what else to say.
"Was that reporter your boyfriend?"
I nodded. "How did you know he was a reporter?"
"You start to recognize the reporters pretty quickly around here. There aren't too many of them, and he's been working on that corruption case." He was quiet for a minute. "I've never had a boyfriend."
He obviously wanted to talk about it, even if I didn't. I decided it was in my best interest to humor him. I might need an ally.
"How long have you known?" I asked.
"That I'm gay? A long time. Since junior high at least."
"Are you out?"
"Pretty much. I mean, I never really hid it. I grew up in a small farming town, very rural. All my friends were rednecks, but I guess I fit in well enough. No one ever made a big deal of it, but we mostly just don't bring it up. Man, it feels good to be talking about this to someone who understands."
"Um, glad I can help."
"My dad used to be a state trooper, but he was injured in an accident when I was a kid. He always wanted me to become a cop too, so when I graduated from high school, I went to community college and then into the police academy as soon as I was old enough. I've never even kissed a guy, but I've thought about it a lot."
He glanced at me in the rearview mirror again, and I got the feeling he was thinking about it at that very moment.
"You should, uh, meet more people. Gay people, I mean," I said awkwardly.
"I don't know where." He blushed. "And I'd be really nervous. Plus, I'm not really out officially at work." His eyes widened as he thought of something. "You won't tell anyone, will you?"
"No, I won't tell anyone," I said. "I promise. It's not my place to out someone else."
He gave me a tentative smile. "Thanks. Maybe I'll tell them some day, but not yet."
We arrived at the police station, and all gay-related conversation was abruptly dropped.
He led me inside, where the officers had apparently been warned of my impending arrival. I was photographed and fingerprinted — just like a real suspect — then allowed to make my phone call.
I called the only lawyer I knew, Ilana Constantino. Technically, she was a family lawyer, but I figured she was better than nothing. I certainly didn't want to call Adam. He'd go into cardiac arrest on the spot.
Luckily, Ilana answered and agreed to get there as quickly as possible. She also insisted she would call Adam to let him know what was going on. The idea of being behind bars when Adam found out seemed almost appealing.
After my call, I was led to the holding area. My cuffs were removed, and I was locked inside a small, featureless cell. My stomach sank as the door swung shut with a loud clang.
I sat down on the metal bed built into one wall, and suddenly everything caught up to me at once. The lack of sleep, the shock of finding the dead bodies, my fears for Jake, my arrest — whatever had been holding me together completely collapsed, and tears began to fall, slowly at first, then faster as my sobs built.
Eventually, I cried myself into an uneasy sleep.
I was startled awake by a loud clang. I sat up with a jerk to find the sergeant who'd been giving orders back at Black's house standing in the open door of my cell. He didn't look any happier than the last time I'd seen him.
"Your lawyer is here now, Kendall," he said. "If you'd be so kind as to follow me, we'll have that chat now."
I didn't actually follow him; he walked a few careful steps behind me, directing me where to go with terse commands. At least he didn't put the cuffs back on.
The interrogation room was a small space with a table and a few chairs. Ilana was waiting there, looking as calm and self-assured as always. She'd handled the legal proceedings when my mother gave Adam custody of me, as well as when Adam fought his ex-wife for custody of Kane. She was a close friend of the family's, and it was a comfort just to see her.
I sat down at the table and the officer sat across from me. "I'm Detective Sergeant Rosen," he said. "This will all be recorded. Please state your full name."
"Killian Travers Kendall."
"Please tell me what you were doing at the estate of Fenton Black this evening when police responded to an anonymous call that a murder had taken place at that address."
I looked over at Ilana, and she nodded.
I took a deep breath. "Actually, the anonymous call was from me. I was there because I work for Shane Novak. He's a private investigator, retired from the Metropolitan PD." Rosen didn't look impressed. "I'm working on a case involving a murder in Washington, D.C. In the course of my investigation, I learned that Fenton Black was implicated in the killing. I turned the evidence over to Detective Owen Evans of the MPDC this afternoon. At that time, he indicated they were planning on moving to arrest Black within the next twelve to twenty-four hours."
Rosen was scribbling furiously. He paused when I stopped.
"I'm assuming this is the Reader's Digest version?" he asked dryly.
"Yes, sir."
"You still haven't explained what you were doing at Black's house."
"I was getting to that. The unconscious guy behind the couch is a friend of mine. His name is Jake Sheridan. Maybe you remember the Sheridan murders a few years ago." I could see in his eyes that he did, although he refused to comment. I continued, "I knew he was involved with Black and...well...it's a long story."
"We've got all the time in the world."
I took another deep breath. "I guess I felt I owed him a favor, so I wanted to warn him to get out before the police arrived."
"Exactly what do you mean by involved."
"I don't know all the details. I've heard that Black was something of a pedophile, or at least he liked his boys young. I think Jake was his...boyfriend. I'm pretty sure he was supplying Jake with drugs."
"So you went to warn him that the police were coming?"
I nodded miserably, sure I was going to be charged with something now. I realized just how stupid I had been.
"What happened when you arrived? I want a detailed, step-by-step account of your movements so we know where you went and what you did."
"I parked up the road at a dead-end turnabout."
"How'd you know it was there?"
"A reporter friend told me." He nodded, and I went on. "I walked back and found the gate open. I was trying to decide whether to risk going in when a car came along, so I ducked inside to avoid the headlights." He quirked an eyebrow, but I ignored it. "Staying hidden as best I could, I made my way to the back of the house and entered through the garage."
"It was all unlocked?"
"Yes."
"And that didn't strike you as odd?"
"Maybe a little. To be honest, I wasn't thinking very clearly. I'm going on a serious lack of sleep. I've been functioning on adrenaline all day. All my attention was focused on finding Jake. Anyway, I went inside, and it was dark and very quiet. I, uh, found the dead guy in the kitchen."
I stopped and gulped.
"What did you do when you found the body?"
"After I puked, I called the police right away."
For a moment, I saw something that almost looked like amusement flash through Rosen's eyes, but it was gone quickly.
"You didn't leave your name, and then you stayed."
"I don't know why I didn't tell them my name. I guess I didn't want anyone to know I was there, especially if there was a chance I might still be able to find Jake and leave. I was kind of panicking at that point and really wasn't thinking clearly."
"What happened next?"
"I searched the rest of the first floor and then went upstairs. The door to the sitting room was closed, but I saw a light on, so I opened it. There was one guy in the middle of the floor. He was dead too. The door to the bedroom was open, so I went in and turned the lights on. That's when I found Fenton Black. I was about to leave when I saw Jake behind the couch. And that's pretty much when you arrived."
"Do you know of any reason why someone might want to kill Fenton Black?"
I almost sighed with relief. Maybe they didn't suspect Jake after all.
"I imagine people were lining up for the privilege. He was a drug dealer, he ran an escort agency, he was involved with the mob, and he was behind the corruption with the land deals here on the Shore."
"Let me be more specific. Do you know of any reason why Jacob Sheridan would want to kill Fenton Black?"
My heart sank again.
"Jake isn't a killer," I said, sounding weak even to myself.
Rosen didn't comment, just sat there staring levelly at me.
"I really don't think he did it," I said softly.
"We'll be sure to take that into consideration," the detective said, sarcasm dripping from his voice. He stood to leave, signaling the end of my interview. "Ballistics will be able to tell if the gun in his hand was the same weapon that killed the two bodyguards and Black, and we're running tests to see if he was the one who fired it. If he did, I'm afraid your opinion won't carry as much weight as the evidence."
The mention of the gun brought something to the surface of my memory.
"Wait. Did the gun have a silencer on it?"
"What?" I'd clearly caught him off guard.
"The gun you found near Jake, did it have a silencer?"
"No, it didn't. Why would you ask that?"
"Think about it," I said. "Three people were shot in the same house. Two of them I assume were trained bodyguards. They all looked like they'd been caught off guard. Now, the house is huge, but you would still hear gunshots, unless maybe the sitting room and bedroom were soundproofed, which I highly doubt. The only other option is that the shooter used a silencer."
Rosen looked down on me with a grudging respect in his eyes.
"I'm going to go verify your story. If any of it doesn't check out, you're going to be in very deep shit. I'll be back. You can wait in here."
As soon as the door closed, Ilana breathed a deep sigh.
"That went a lot better than I had feared," she said.
"Really?" Not knowing what to expect, I had no way of judging if it had gone well or not.
"Definitely. He didn't take you back to the cell, which means he probably believes you're being level with him. You are, aren't you?"
"Yes, I told him the truth."
"Good. That was definitely the best move in this situation. You could still be facing some serious charges, though, Killian. What were you thinking?"
I shrugged helplessly. "I just wanted to help Jake. I've failed him in so many ways as a friend. I felt I owed him something. If I'd been a better friend to start with, maybe he wouldn't have even been in this mess."
"Killian, you can't blame yourself for the choices other people make. Perhaps you did play a part in all of it, but he made the decision to get involved with Fenton Black. You didn't force him to do that."
I sighed, knowing she was right but feeling no less guilty.
"So you think I could still get in a lot of trouble?"
"It all depends on how generous Detective Rosen is feeling. That last bit about the silencer might be helpful. If you have any other flashes of brilliance, it wouldn't hurt to share them."
"What do we do while I wait for my next genius moment?"
"We sit here patiently."
We sat patiently for about an hour, while neither brilliance nor Rosen appeared.
Finally, the detective returned. He didn't look quite as sour as he had before.
Taking that as a good sign, I sat up straighter in my seat and gripped the edge of the table nervously.
"Alright, Mr. Kendall. Your story checked out, and several good men have vouched for you. I should be charging you on various counts, but since you have a clean record — and some of your friends called in some favors — we're going to let you go with a very stern warning. If I ever catch you interfering with police business again, or even hear that you've gotten in the way of an official investigation, you'll face serious charges."
"I'm free to go?" I said, barely able to believe my luck.
"You're free to go."
"Thank you, Detective Rosen," I said sincerely, holding out my hand to shake.
"You're welcome, Mr. Kendall. By all accounts, you're a good investigator, which doesn't begin to explain the monumental mess you nearly made of this case. Do you have any idea what kind of chaos you would have caused if you'd removed the Sheridan kid from the scene of the crime? Not to mention you tracked blood all over and you vomited in the trashcan. All that confusing evidence would have slowed down our investigation considerably. Besides all that, you would have made yourself a major suspect. Is any of what I'm saying getting through to you?"
"Yes, sir. I'm truly sorry. I won't be that stupid in the future, I promise."
"You'd better not, or, I repeat, I'll throw your ass in jail. Now, we're going to tell the press that we found the bodies while performing an unrelated drug raid. Do us a favor and tell your boyfriend to stick to the official story."
He turned to leave, but I had one more question. "Sir?"
He turned back.
"Was I right about the silencer?"
He paused for a second, and I thought he wasn't going to answer. Then he shrugged. "Let's just say the rooms aren't soundproofed. I'll send an officer to see you out."
I hugged Ilana, then she held me by the shoulders at arms' length. "Now, if you thought that was rough, you ain't seen anything yet."
"What do you mean?"
"Adam, Shane Novak, and Micah are all out in the lobby."
I gulped. I knew she was right. Detective Rosen had let me off easy. I wouldn't be so fortunate with the trio waiting for me.
I squared my shoulders and lifted my chin.
"Well, it's been a good life. Let's go face the firing squad."
She chuckled and slipped her arm through mine. "Any last requests?"
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