Borrowed Time
Table of Contents
Dedication
Copyright Notices
Keith’s Books
CHAPTER ONE: Snapshots
CHAPTER TWO: Unexpected Delivery
CHAPTER THREE: Searching for Scapegoats
CHAPTER FOUR: A Small Step Forward
CHAPTER FIVE: Talking to Himself
CHAPTER SIX: Breaking and Entering
CHAPTER SEVEN: Plan B
CHAPTER EIGHT: Window-shopping
CHAPTER NINE: Escape
CHAPTER TEN: Respite
CHAPTER ELEVEN: A Giant Leap Backward
CHAPTER TWELVE: Yesterday
CHAPTER THIRTEEN: Warning from the Past
CHAPTER FOURTEEN: Distractions and Instructions
CHAPTER FIFTEEN: Visiting an Old Friend
CHAPTER SIXTEEN: Back to the Future
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN: Picture Show
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN: Uninvited Guests
CHAPTER NINETEEN: Catching a Train
CHAPTER TWENTY: Best-laid Plans
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE: Timehunt
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO: Repeating History
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE: Night Moves
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR: Change of Leadership
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE: Checkmate
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX: Protecting the Future
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN: Wild Goose Chase
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT: Follow the Leader
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE: Homecoming
CHAPTER THIRTY: Epilogue
Keith’s Mailing List and More
Acknowledgments
About Keith
Dedication
For Pop
Copyright Notices
Timehunt: Borrowed Time
Second Edition
Copyright © 2018 by Keith Hughes
ISBN: 978-0-9799918-1-3
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including information storage and/or retrieval systems, or dissemination of any electronic version, without prior written consent of the publisher, except by a reviewer, who may quote brief passages in a review, and except where permitted by law.
This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious, and any resemblance to real people, or events, is purely coincidental.
Cover art by Starla Hutchton (http://www.designedbystarla.com)
Editing services provided by Red Adept Editing (http://redadeptediting.com)
Keith’s Books
For an up-to-date list of Keith’s titles, visit Keith’s Amazon Author Page.
The Timehunt Series
Timehunt: Borrowed Time
Timehunt: Stolen Time (Coming 2019)
Timehunt: Wayward Time (Coming 2019/2020)
Do you want to get a monthly email from Keith with the latest news on his books, as well as early access to new content? Go to Penslinger.com/newsletter and sign up. You will never receive any spam, and your information will never be given to third parties.
Only yesterday can save tomorrow...
After a particularly unsettling day at work, forensic photographer Ness Relevont finds a strange package in his mailbox. Unraveling the mystery takes him on an action-packed ride into the past, where he confronts himself, his would-be killers, and his own regrets.
Stefanie B., Line Editor, Red Adept Editing
CHAPTER ONE: Snapshots
Friday, September 5, 2008 9:52 a.m.
Ness Relevont was used to the eyes of the dead. The glassy orbs of the departed seemed to stare out from beyond the confines of time. Though observant, they lacked the immediacy needed to contribute in the flow of life around them. If the eyes were the windows to the soul, Ness contemplated what watched when the spirit of the living departed. The face’s final expression might be anger, fear, or sadness, but the eyes always appeared inviting to him, holding nothing to be feared or pitied.
The corpse before him was different, with irises so dark that they appeared to be absolute black. They produced a chilling effect, and even in death, the eyes projected a feral aura. Ness could only imagine their effect when the person had been living. They gave him a strange sensation, a kind of reverse déjà vu, and he had an odd premonition that he would see those eyes again. Raising his camera, Ness photographed the face of the deceased, but he couldn’t suppress a shudder at the sense of timelessness.
The corpse’s other features of note were the two holes in the forehead, no doubt caused by a pair of bullets drilling into the man’s cranium. The holes had been made with almost surgical precision from the front, but Ness knew from experience that the back of the head would be a different story.
Ness stood, taking in the wider scenery of the water park where the body had been unceremoniously dumped. He gestured at the two men from the coroner’s office and stepped back to give them room to flip the body over. He wiped his forehead as they completed the gruesome task. The relentless sun shone intensely, as if it held some personal grudge against the earth. The concrete beneath his feet absorbed the increasing heat as if unconcerned by the star’s ire. Bright bursts of light stabbed his eyes where the sun reflected from fluctuating ripples of disturbed water.
Every erg of that radiation poured into Ness as it reflected from the nearby pool and the surface surrounding it. He looked at the water, the antidote to the unyielding heat. The ripples caused by the body’s extraction were fading as the water’s surface returned to the placid state it had been in before. If he could ignore the blood and brains darkening areas of the liquid, the scene looked inviting.
The water would soon be as still as glass. Not even a wisp of wind caused the slightest disturbance. What little movement existed in the water was an after-effect of removing the floating corpse. The calm was unusual for such a hot day, as the wave mechanism, along with a hundred or so swimmers, typically kept the water in constant motion. Even at the shallow shore, the liquid’s manic industry continued, as the remains of mighty swells would lap contentedly against the ankles of delighted toddlers.
Even without its usual visitors, the water park buzzed with activity. The men and women who had arrived to handle the unexpected corpse had sweat rolling along their faces and soaking into their clothing. None would partake of the relief the pool would have offered under other circumstances.
When those black eyes were staring at the uncaring concrete, Ness was surprised to discover how much he preferred the view of the shattered head to the dark gaze. Trying to ignore his irrational relief, Ness photographed the back of the corpse. The man’s muscle definition was remarkable, a clear sign his strength met the full potential of his large frame. Ness would have expected him to live a long life—if it were not for the absolute ruin of the skull. Wielding his camera, he recorded the carnage from various distances and angles.
As he squatted to take some close-ups, a sigh from behind drew his attention. Looking over his shoulder, he saw Oakland County homicide detective Frank Sullivan. The cop’s short-sleeved shirt strained over his belly. He wore his collar open, without a tie. He held a Styrofoam cup of coffee in his hand, as if defiant of the weather.
“Looks like a simple case to me.” Ness winked. “Suicide, right?”
Frank guffawed. “Only if the victim arrived naked, shot himself in the head without leaving a powder burn, and did it again before hiding the gun and falling into the pool.”
“I admit it would take some planning,” Ness quipped, rising to his feet.
Frank chuckled again as they shook hands.
“How have you been, Frank?”
The detective grunted. “I haven’t had a cigarett
e in two weeks, it’s hotter than the devil’s butt crack, and I have a new murder case with no suspects and no leads.”
“So about normal, then?”
“Yeah.” Frank gave Ness a grin before taking a sip from his cup.
“It’s almost ninety degrees out here.” Ness shook his head. “I don’t see how you can drink coffee.”
“I’m giving my jaw a break from the chewing gum. Besides, it’s plentiful and free.”
“Well, you can have my portion.” Ness motioned to the coroner’s assistants they could take the body. “I can’t stand the stuff. It’s really been two weeks since you had a smoke?”
Frank took another long pull at his coffee before answering. “Yeah, so, almost forever. It’s driving me batty.”
“Hang in there. It’ll be worth it.” Ness gave him a light slap on the shoulder. “I’ll have the pics for you first thing tomorrow.”
“You know Babbage has gone digital.” Frank grinned slyly. Freelance forensic photographer Eric Babbage was a bit of a gadget head and always had the latest tech.
“Yeah, Babbage would. Digital cameras are not sophisticated enough and are still horribly expensive.”
“Someday you’ll have to switch,” Frank said.
Ness stowed his camera in the bag hanging from his shoulder. “Someday, but not today.”
They traded goodbyes before Ness headed for the gate. Waterford Oaks offered several pools besides the wave pool the body had been floating in, as well as a convoluted series of water slides. Given the high temperatures on what could very well have been the last hot day of a typically short Michigan summer, many people were waiting outside the park, but a pair of officers standing at the entrance prevented them from entering.
Ness had already run this gauntlet once, but there had been a lot of traffic going in and out at the time. He had recognized Melanie, a deputy he had met at several crime scenes, but not her partner, a woman with short blond hair. As Ness approached their post a second time, the blond woman gave him an intense amount of scrutiny. He had heard women complain of being undressed by men’s eyes before, and Ness had never understood the expression. However, the woman’s blue gaze sliding across his body brought a new comprehension to the meaning of the phrase.
“Hey, Mel,” Ness called as he neared the pair, and Melanie gave him a friendly smile. “New partner?”
Apparently equally aware of her companion’s hungry gaze, Mel nodded, and her expression twisted into a sardonic grin. Her brown hair bobbed as she turned to her partner. “This is Tracy Armstrong. Trace, this is Ness Relevont.”
Ness almost laughed at the speed the officer’s hand moved toward his, and once she held it, Tracy seemed loath to release Ness. Melanie rolled her eyes while Ness tried to avoid Tracy’s gaze of naked, feral lust. With Ness trapped in her grip, she examined him closely and grinned with lascivious interest.
“Um, hi, Tracy. Nice to meet you.”
“Call me Trace,” she cooed. “All my friends do.”
“Okay. Trace.” With some difficulty, he retrieved his hand and looked over at Mel, who hid a laugh. His first clue Tracy had taken out a notepad was the sound of ripping paper. When he looked back at the leering officer, she held out a small note. Almost as a reflex, Ness took it from her. It contained a phone number written in a neat, feminine hand. Below that was the officer’s name and a small heart.
“Call me.” She made it sound like a command.
Realizing he had no chance of deflecting Tracey’s attentions at present, he slipped the paper into a pocket and muttered, “See you both later.”
“If you don’t call me, I’ll come find you,” Tracy called playfully as Ness moved past quickly.
He didn’t respond and simply kept his eyes locked on the blue Saturn he had parked in the lot. He tried to shake the possessive hunger he had sensed from the deputy. Those kinds of encounters always brought bad memories from his past, the ghosts of relationships that had died for sometimes-mysterious reasons—mysterious to him, at any rate. Perhaps Tracy only wanted a roll in the hay, which would have been fun enough. But Ness suspected that wouldn’t be enough for her in the long run, and he had abandoned ideas of having a serious relationship years ago. They never worked out for him.
He banished that train of thought with an angry shake of his head, while his heart beat as if he’d run a marathon. Self-recriminations, along with a heavy swell of failure and inadequacy, washed over him as he tore open his car door. He all but dived inside the vehicle, as if it could offer some form of sanctuary. Any time a woman expressed romantic interest in him, his psyche responded by reminding him of his failures. Tracey’s straightforward desire seemed to exacerbate this reaction, and he was consumed by a desire to get away.
He managed to back out of his spot without hitting anything, and it took a force of will to drive carefully through the lot instead of flooring it. As he passed the gate, without thinking, he turned toward the women again. Mel gave him a wave, which he returned automatically. With a predatory grin, Tracy watched him pass, her notepad and pen in hand.
She’s going to run my plates. Ness sighed.
The attention didn’t bother him too much, except for the reminder of his persistent state of solitude. Most days, he could bury his loneliness in work and the other minutiae of daily living, but reminders like that made it hard to ignore. With another sigh and a shake of his head, Ness tried to banish all ruminations of women in general and Officer Tracy Armstrong in particular. As always, he met with limited success. He might turn his conscious mind away for a time, but a part of him would always mourn his solitude.
If he had a way to change his past, or at least view it from a different angle, Ness would have gladly seized it. He’d never intended to be an eternal bachelor, but each relationship inexorably led him down the same path. He seemed helpless to adjust his course or direct it toward a different end. Scowling to himself, Ness forced his mind to other thoughts lest he spend the remainder of the day haunted by the mistakes of his past.
CHAPTER TWO: Unexpected Delivery
Tuesday, September 09, 2008 6:07 p.m.
Home again, home again, jiggity jig.
The familiar refrain failed to evoke the satisfaction he usually experienced upon entering his residence. Ness’s senses had him on edge, as if something dire awaited his homecoming. Usually, arriving home provided him an impression of peace, but that was absent. He wondered if it could be a reaction to the corpse’s unsettling gaze or the melancholy Tracy had stirred. Whatever the cause, returning to his apartment held all the attraction of visiting a friend on the verge of death.
Pushing open the door, Ness dropped his armload of mail on the glass dining room table. His mailbox had been unusually full, partly because of the unexpected arrival of a small brown box. It puzzled him, as Ness had not ordered anything recently. The local postmark added to the intrigue—he knew of no reason for anyone in the area to send him a package.
He set aside his curiosity as he set his camera bag on the table, easing the ache it caused in his shoulder. He took the camera from the bag’s padded recess and checked the gauge indicating how many pictures he had taken on the current roll. A couple of shots were left, but Ness pressed the button to rewind the film back into its metal canister. On any other day, he would have gone out on his balcony and taken a few pictures to complete the roll, but the heat dissuaded him.
He lived in the small Michigan town of Royal Oak, one of the many suburbs clustered around Detroit. Only three miles north of the larger city, Royal Oak did its best to ignore its proximity. The town offered a variety of shops consisting of everything from antiques and motorcycle leathers to odd collectibles and tattoos. Ness found the eclectic air attractive. The apartment’s location directly on Main Street was a bonus.
Stretching his back, Ness appreciated the living space he had created. He had tried to transform the space from a typical apartment into a sanctuary from the outside world
, and the photo collection displayed in his living room played an integral part of generating that ambiance. Since most of the pictures he took involved documenting the violent acts one human had inflicted upon another, during his vacation time, he pursued his art.
Enlargements of several stunning landscapes adorned the wall, with special lighting highlighting the colorful vistas. As Ness’s eyes moved from scene to scene, his heart found peace. The landscape photography refreshed his photographic eye and made it possible for him to carry on with his grisly duties the rest of the year.
Fishing around in the bag again, Ness located the other roll of film he had exposed at the pool. It would take a couple of hours to get the pictures developed and printed so he could deliver the glossies to Frank in the morning. Even with the deadline, he had no reason to hurry into his darkroom. After retrieving a Coke from the fridge, he sat at the table. The sharp pop of opening the can promised refreshment, and three quick swallows delivered on it.
Setting aside the beverage, he examined the box again. The postmark read Metroplex 483, so it had come from one of the suburbs in the Oakland County area. His name and address had been scrawled in a shaky script that seemed familiar, but Ness couldn’t place it. Ignoring the mystery of the sender, he pulled at the tape and removed the thick brown paper from the box. If the outer markings could be believed, it contained a personal digital assistant. Ness looked over the box. The PDA looked like a high-end model with a metal casing.
PDAs had become increasingly popular in corporate America, and several of Ness’s contacts in various crime-solving departments had adopted the pocket-sized devices, including, of course, Eric Babbage. Ness couldn’t figure out who would send one to him, though, or why.
The seal on the box had been opened and reclosed with tape, which he quickly ripped off. Inside, the package looked normal, except for the plain white envelope sitting on top of the other contents. Ness pulled it out and gave a start when a pile of cash tumbled out. Most of it had designs Ness had not seen in years. He did a quick count and came up with two hundred dollars in twenties, along with another fifty in an assortment of smaller bills. He stuffed the money back in the envelope and set it aside to ponder later.