Of That Day and Hour: A psychological thriller Read online

  “Me?”

  “Please, Jeff, I need you.” She pauses. “There’s one more thing you should know.”

  “What’s that?”

  “He’s the one who asked for you.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  The plane starts its descent towards Pueblo Memorial Airport. Jeff looks out from his window seat. Cloudless skies reveal the beauty and contrasting landscapes of the South West below. Reaching upwards are the jagged peaks of Southern Colorado, whilst the rolling plains of the east stretch far out beneath them, leaving to the south the New Mexico Rockies. These rise up out of the desert, expansive canyons and green slopes, a flourishing oasis of trees and foliage.

  For all our technology, cell phones and in-flight entertainment, the act of a plane landing is still a brutal affair. A momentary squeal of rubber and smoke on touchdown. The howl of reverse thrust, and four hundred tons of vibrating steel hurtling towards oblivion. The plane docks with the precision of a watch maker.

  All Jeff wants to see is Eve. With luggage trailing, anticipating, he walks out into the lounge. His heart flutters. She’s there waiting for him. Jeff can’t stop smiling as he walks towards her. She still wears her long dark braided hair in pigtails. Her slim, athletic yet voluptuous figure is the envy of many. Plump ruby red lips and emerald eyes; damn, he would travel the world to lose himself in her.

  “Jeff.”

  “Eve.”

  She offers a hug. It feels good to be able to hold her once again; she smells like home. Then she pulls away.

  “Come on, let’s go.”

  Outside in the car park he can only shake his head and smile. This vehicle is without doubt an extension of Eve’s personality. Three thousand pounds of black American muscle sits on the tarmac.

  “A Camaro?”

  “A 1969 Chevrolet Camaro to be precise.” Eve finds it difficult to play it cool, biting her lip to stop a big corny smile erupting. She opens the trunk, can't hold back the smile any longer. “Come on, throw your gear in.”

  Jeff smiles back. She looks so damn sexy holding that trunk open.

  “Your lip piercing is new, it suits you.”

  “I know.”

  The key turns and the unmistakable sound of a big block Chevy V8 purrs out. Through chrome and steel the beast roars and leaps forward. They leave rubber behind on the concrete. Travelling through the desert heat, Jeff can’t help but inhale her. He's drawn to her like a bee to nectar. If only he could touch her again, those perfect legs so close next to him.

  “Stop it.”

  “Stop what?”

  “I can feel your thoughts.”

  “Sorry.”

  Unbeknownst to Jeff, who now feels scorned, Eve is secretly flattered.

  “It’s okay, I forgive you.”

  “Thanks. Do we have far to travel?”

  “No, it’s just over the ridge.”

  The roar of the V8 calms as they turn left past the old black rusty mail box. The door swings on one remaining hinge; the perched raven takes flight. They rumble along the dusty red track. Jeff looks out in anticipation. Two small stone pillars support log poles stretching up to frame the ranch entrance. A wooden beam bears the ranch name, each individual letter dangling from wire, the paint turned to a faded white. The perimeter fence, bar the odd log, still stands, casting long timeless shadows onto the surrounding barren soil.

  “Rainbow Ranch, that’s an unusual name.”

  “I like it.”

  The old cattle ranch comes into view, nestled in a rolling yet gentle terrain. A serene setting on this plateau, with distant mountain backdrops. He can see why Eve would be drawn to this place; she may be a town girl, yet her prizes were always solitude and tranquility. The car stops, the roar extinguished by the simple turn of the key. Dust settles all around.

  “Come on, I’ll give you a tour.”

  Stepping out Jeff notes the colors and charm within the old timbers, rustic beauty.

  “Now this is history.”

  “Antique, all timber and still standing. We don’t get much rain out here, plus they can’t rent or sell them anymore. It comes cheap.” A large timber weathervane overlooks the yard, its blades motionless in the stillness of the day. The adjoining barn has its doors pinned back, with two cart wheels centrally mounted either side. An old Ford truck sits in its last resting place, slowly rusting into the earth. The porch steps moan underfoot with age. A single rocking chair sits under the canopy. Eve turns the handle to open the front door.

  “You don’t lock it?” Surprise in Jeff's voice.

  “Only at night. There’s no one around for miles. Besides, it would be easy for anyone to get in here, not that there’s anything worth stealing.”

  Jeff steps inside. It’s a simple room. Log walls, timber framed ceiling and wood floor. A hand woven red and white Navajo rug in front of a traditional stone fireplace. Dried flowers on top of the mantel, and Eve’s psychedelic painting that she loves so well on the wall.

  “I’ll show you to your room, you can freshen up whilst I make us some food.”

  “You’re pampering me.”

  Eve flashes him a smile. “Don’t get used to it, we have work to do.”

  It feels strange to be left alone in Eve’s bathroom. Jeff looks around. Fresh pink towels and the shampoo, his brand, left out for him. Nice touch, does she still care for him? The shower is basic, yet refreshing enough to wash away the journey. Pausing at the top of the stairs, he admires Eve as she sets the kindling for the fire. The creak of his first step gives him away.

  Apparently startled Eve looks up, although secretly she knew she was being watched.

  “Was the shower okay?”

  “Great, thanks.”

  Jeff’s unsure, as he walks down the stairs, if Eve had seen his admiring look. She gives nothing away.

  “I light the fire early; it gets cold later.”

  “Great, anything I can do to help?” Jeff looks around. The table isn't set yet.

  “No, make yourself comfortable. Dinner’s almost ready.”

  Ten minutes later and the table is now set. The fire’s crackling in the background, and food is served.

  “This looks great. You were always a good cook.”

  “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

  “Please do.” An uncomfortable moment's silence has Jeff reaching for his wine glass. “A toast to us.”

  He can see as he raises his glass this has unsettled Eve. With a reserved smile she raises her wine glass with a toast of her own.

  “To the future.” Eve looks away, a little flustered. She can’t help herself, is compelled to ask: “How’s family life treating you?”

  “I don’t have one.”

  Shocked Eve asks “Why not?”

  “It fell apart after you left.”

  “Me? It can't be my fault! I took myself out of the situation.”

  “No, it was mine. I couldn’t live a lie any longer, and resentment got the better of me. I lost you because I was with her.” Confused, Eve’s head drops. She’s unsure what to say next. To ease the awkwardness Jeff brushes it away. “Anyway it’s in the past. I’m here to see Casey Lee Jones, aren’t I?”

  “You are. I’m sorry about your family, Jeff.”

  “Don’t be.”

  After dinner Eve clears the dishes, then returns with a laptop. She places this on the table.

  “I hope you’re ready for this?”

  “I’m intrigued.”

  “At first I concluded the patient must be a pathological and compulsive liar. He exhibits what I at first believed to be a personality disorder. This diagnosis leads us into the spectrum of the psychopath.”

  “A reasonable deduction considering his line of defense.”

  “He displays all the classic manipulation, deception and evasion of a psychopath. I can feel his pleasure and domination of the situation. He toys and tries to exploit me.”

  “Does he show any shame or remorse?”

  “No, he sta
tes time and time again, it was the cops or him.”

  “Does he elaborate on his story?”

  “No. It feels like he's playing a sick game. Lying appears central to his personality. I think he's trying to open up doors and opportunities for himself.”

  Jeff nods. “As one would expect.”

  “Yes,” Eve pauses. “But then he started to prophesize.”

  “Eve, some psychopaths enjoy pretending to be precogs, and take great pleasure in making others believe them.”

  “He’s beyond anything you can imagine. At first he would say it’s time to go, or rap on the desk moments before the guard would appear.”

  “Did you test his hearing? Do you wear a watch that’s visible? Are there any clues for him to work with?”

  “His hearing is normal and there are no visual clues. I cover up very well inside the prison. One thing I learned fast about these inmates, Jeff, is that I’m the only living woman they will probably ever see again.”

  Eve can see Jeff’s face drop. For a moment he’s silent. He wishes he could protect her. Before she gets chance to speak he continues.

  “Have you discounted the internal clock theory?”

  “Yes. It's not all about the guards. In another session his exact words were 'keep your eye on your front tire, Miss Perez'.”

  “Miss Perez?”

  “Alias Miss Perez. It’s safer to conceal one’s identity.”

  “Of course.”

  “I thought nothing more of it and left. A few miles down the highway and my front passenger side tire blew. The car swerved in front of a truck, and if it wasn’t for the desert I might not be here. I got out in shock, screamed and just stood there. The tire was ripped off the rim. The truck didn't even stop.”

  “Bastard.” Jeff’s angry, angry that the truck driver didn’t stop to help. That he wasn’t by her side, and that she had to face this alone. “It’s coincidence, he got lucky.”

  “That’s what I thought. The following day I didn’t mention anything to him, and it was only when the guard was taking him back to his cell that he said 'I’m glad you’re alright'. I asked him what he meant. He smiled and said 'your tire', then walked away.”

  “He waited until then so you couldn’t question him further. Was the incident common knowledge amongst the guards?”

  “I mentioned it to no one.”

  “Hmm.”

  “In one session he stated that the raven would fall. I had no idea what he meant, but that night Senator Jesse Raven was arrested on a variety of counts. All related to conspiracy and fraud. He’s accurately predicted homicides, news reports, civilian and military information. He couldn’t possibly have known about any of them, Jeff.”

  Jeff sighs. “Eve, even Nostradamus with his mysterious, cryptic writings spoke in riddles. His quatrains are enigmatic puzzles from a false prophet whose musings you have to solve for yourself. Many of his prophecies failed, yet it’s human nature to want to believe, to find order and meaning. Casey Lee Jones is a master of deceit. Take any stage up and down the country where a conjurer or medium is performing. They deceive the eye and the mind. A clever cold reader will have his audience mesmerized. A medium will have them believing that they are speaking directly to the dead. But it's just subtle information gathering, and misdirection.”

  “I have footage to show you.”

  “This should be interesting.”

  “The clip you’re about to see is taken via a hidden camera. He shouldn’t have been aware of its presence.”

  “Okay, let’s roll.”

  The recording shows a divided concrete interview room. Eve and Casey are separated via a glass screen, with no further restrictions. Jeff studies Casey’s body language. His laid back, confident manner dominates the interview. He’s intelligent and articulate.

  “He doesn’t come across as someone convicted of a horrible crime, does he?”

  “No, he doesn’t.” Jeff's voice is firm. “You and I are restrained via our conscience. He never feels guilt, takes personal responsibility, or feels shame. It’s the disease that causes no dis-ease.”

  The moment Jeff speaks, Casey looks up to the camera and states.

  “Disease, no matter how small, always comes with dis-ease.”

  “Explain that, he was speaking directly to you.” Eve feels vindicated. “He knew you would be watching this.”

  “That can't be. There’s a rational explanation for everything. Rewind the clip. What were you discussing at that moment?”

  “He has endophthalmitis, an infection in his left eye. It occurs when a foreign object enters or damages the eye.”

  “How did that happen?”

  “He said he fell and that it’s from a splinter of glass that entered his eye from his glasses.”

  “Then let's not jump to the conclusion he was speaking to me. I thought he was unaware of the camera?”

  “He should have been. He gave no indication that he thought he was being filmed.”

  “What’s he saying to you now?”

  “He’s taunting me.”

  “What about?”

  “You.”

  “Me?” This surprises Jeff. “When did I join the party?”

  “The moment he decided you would. He was inside my head, my feelings.”

  “Information gathering.”

  “No, he knew too much. He knew your name.”

  “That’s impossible! What did he say?”

  “He told me the NSA, the National Security Agency, would be arriving shortly. They did, and that they already possessed the interviews. You had better listen to this.”

  Jeff watches, intent on how Casey interacts.

  “Miss Perez, or shall I call you Eve?” His hands come together. He reminds Jeff of a preacher relaxing into his chair, with a wide smile that’s reserved for the most annoying of parishioners.

  “I’m, I’m sorry?”

  “Forgive me, your name is Eve, isn’t it?”

  “How did you...?” Eve has to compose herself. Casey relaxed comfortably in front of her, his face expressing delight at her reaction. “We don’t work on first name terms, Mr. Jones.”

  “That’s a shame, we could have got along so much better. Where is Adam I wonder? In someone else’s arms, you think, Miss Perez? You’re mistaken, he’s alone within the shadows of his own mind.”

  “I don’t know anyone called Adam, Mr. Jones.”

  “I know, I used the analogy of Genesis. Jeff will be along shortly.” Eve stops the recording and sits back. “After that interview he said he wouldn’t co-operate until you were here. He’s waiting for you.”

  Jeff contemplates why a murderer would demand his presence.

  “And when do I get to meet our antagonist?”

  “In the morning.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  The billboard sits motionless and as dead as the surrounding desert that envelops Highway Sixty Seven. The morning sunrise creeps across the landscape. Bar the odd stir of wind, all is still. This silence is disturbed only by the jackrabbit or fox foraging for shade, avoiding the marching heat and the ever present coyotes. The slyness of the fox is superseded only by the greatest predator, one that hides silently in the shadows of the board. Silver and black, this beast possesses steel bull bars and is emblazoned with a gold star. The words 'Colorado State Patrol' are embedded along the side of the Dodge Charger. The greatest weapon for this beast is stealth, to sit and patiently wait for the prey that’s unaware of its presence.

  A hawk soars, looking down at the trooper who taps the end of the cigarette onto the packet, then places it between his lips. With a click the lighter flicks open, the engraving on the side revealing the police shield. The tobacco crackles as it burns. He inhales deeply and permits the darkness to fully circulate before exhaling the silent whisper of smoke. He feels only the desolation of the land, the loneliness, and does not see the surrounding beauty of where he stands. The unmistakable growl of a V8 engine captures his attention. He drops
the cigarette and with his boot grinds it into the dirt. The trooper steps out from the shadows. The black Camaro is a fast approaching reflection in his mirrored sunglasses. As he raises his arm to stop the vehicle, it passes with the volume of a race car in full song.

  “Shit.”

  “What?”

  “I think we just passed a cop.”

  Jeff twists round in his seat and looks out of the rear window. The engine sounds louder, the speed faster. All he can see is the diminishing billboard sign, blue sky, desert and the lines of the highway.

  “Do you see anything?”

  Jeff can hear a tremor in Eve’s voice.

  “No.” Then he tries to reassure her. “Are you sure it was a cop?”

  “Yeah.”

  The Dodge Charger fires on all cylinders, three hundred and seventy horses bolt as the trooper straightens the vehicle up on the highway for the pursuit. Eve’s no fool. She keeps her foot hard on the gas, and her eyes firmly on the road, bar the odd glance towards the rear view mirror. Jeff spots distant red, blue and white lights flashing in the distance.

  “Fuck.”

  “What?”

  “Cops.”

  “I knew it.” Eve outwardly sighs as the bone-shaking music of the engine slows and the overture is over. She eases off on the gas and pulls to the side of the highway. The car settles into a fresh cloud of dust; Eve kills the engine. She only has a few adrenalin-soaked seconds to compose a convincing cover story.

  “Don’t worry, you’ll be okay.”

  “Shh, I’m thinking.” Jeff feels cut from the moment, but quickly realizes it’s Eve’s license and not his on the line. “Okay, play it cool and follow my lead.”

  In the rear view mirror, she can see the cop draw up behind them with lights flashing. If Jeff wasn’t beside her, the top buttons of her blouse would now be undone.

  The lone trooper ensures his on-board camera is rolling before he steps out, straightening his hat. He walks towards the dusty Camaro with his right hand over his semi-automatic pistol, cautiously approaching the driver’s window. Eve removes her sun glasses for eye contact, and places her hands on the steering wheel. Her mouth is dry and she can feel her own heartbeat.