by Keith Hughes
Table of Contents
Dedication
Copyright Notices
Keith’s Books
CHAPTER ONE: Guilty
CHAPTER TWO: Suspicion
CHAPTER THREE: Happiness and Sadness
CHAPTER FOUR: A Dish Best Served Cold
CHAPTER FIVE: Redux
CHAPTER SIX: Grim Discoveries
CHAPTER SEVEN: Information and Ramifications
CHAPTER EIGHT: Future Imperfect
CHAPTER NINE: Despair
CHAPTER TEN: Hitching a Ride
CHAPTER ELEVEN: Seeing Double
CHAPTER TWELVE: Danger!
CHAPTER THIRTEEN: On the Run
CHAPTER FOURTEEN: Elusive Results
CHAPTER FIFTEEN: Explanations
CHAPTER SIXTEEN: Regrouping
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN: Restless Respite
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN: Discoveries
CHAPTER NINETEEN: Success
CHAPTER TWENTY: Raising the Stakes
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE: So Close
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO: Explanations
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE: The Best Defense
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR: Duplicate Danger
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE: A Missing Ride
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX: Setbacks
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN: Gearing Up
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT: Hacker Heaven
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE: Frustration
CHAPTER THIRTY: Deployment
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE: Attack of the Doppelgangers
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO: Resolution
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE: Closure
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR: Preventative Measure
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE: Epilogue
Keith’s Mailing List and More
Acknowledgments
About Keith
Dedication
For Julayne,
without whom none of this would be possible
Copyright Notices
Timehunt: Stolen Time
Second Edition
Copyright © 2019 by Keith Hughes
ISBN: 978-0-9799918-2-0
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)
In this fast-paced, action-packed sequel, Ness thought he was done with the power-hungry villains of Intellisys, but when his wife is murdered right in front of him, he is forced to use Dr. Bertrand's time machine again to bring her back, setting in motion a chase through time and a series of events that could bring disaster to his family and the world after all if he can't stop the leaders of Intellisys once more.
Susie D., Line Editor, Red Adept Editing
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
Timehunt: Wayward Time (Coming 2020)
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CHAPTER ONE: Guilty
Tuesday, June 8, 2010, 4:15 p.m.
A corpse is always bad news, Ness mused as he trod the faded-green-carpeted stairs. The fabric was covered in so many stains that they seemed like part of the pattern. But from the little he had been told outside, he knew the condition of the carpet would seem pretty good after he got a glimpse of the deceased, yet another poor sod whose time had run out — or more likely had it wrested from his grasp by violent means. Ness rarely got called out for people who had died peaceably in their beds.
A distinct smell grew to overpowering as he gained the second floor, a silent yet unmistakable harbinger of what he would find. The cadaver had clearly been lying around for some time, growing more rancid by the minute. He wrinkled his nose at the stench. Of course, a fresher body would be better.
People who created dead bodies were notoriously poor at cleaning up after themselves. Because of that, Ness had become familiar with the unfortunate smell of decomposing flesh.
A solitary police officer was standing guard at a door, a stoic figure in the miasma that enveloped the hallway. She was a long-time acquaintance from many crime scenes and had a formidable reputation as an unmitigated man-eater. Indeed, her eyes traveled along his nearly six-foot frame, taking in his muscular build, before finally finding their way to his face and sandy-brown hair.
“Hiya, Trace,” Ness said to the cop.
She gave him a rueful grin. “Hey, Ness. Here for the fun, eh?”
He could remember when she practically threw herself at him, a slice of time Tracy no longer remembered, but his wedding band made her much more pleasant to be around.
“Guess so. Smells like a bad one.”
Tracy laughed. “Oh, you haven't had the full experience yet. It's much worse inside.” She winked. “No air conditioning.”
Ness winced as Tracy opened the door with a knowing chuckle. He waded through a surge of heat and olfactory putrescence as she shut the door, trapping him inside. The effluvium intensified until it acquired nearly physical proportions. The smell combined with the sweltering temperature made the space almost unbearable. The small apartment could be compared to a kiln. It had been a hot week for early June, typical unpredictable Michigan weather serving a late-July heat wave a few weeks early. Someone had attempted to improve conditions in the apartment by opening the windows, but without any kind of breeze, the heat remained oppressive and the stench foul.
Ness got his bearings just inside the door. Even with the unfavorable conditions, he had a job to do. He had been inside too many apartments like that one to let the environment affect him overly much. Years spent as a freelance forensic photographer had hardened him to the results of death. His role was to document the scene in its untouched state, which exposed him to the grisly reality others left behind when they broke the sixth commandment.
He took his camera bag from his shoulder and set it on the carpeted floor then removed a pair of blue latex gloves and slid his hands into them, the tight material adhering to the sweat they instantly invoked. Retrieving his camera, Ness took stock of the apartment. The small living room was cluttered but otherwise unremarkable. The only out-of-place item looked to be the cordless phone with its battery removed on the coffee table. Ness lifted his camera and recorded the entire room.
The shutter click echoed loudly in the stillness, and it drew the attention of Detective Frank Sullivan. He appeared in the bedroom doorway, his puffy face red and sweaty, and raised a hand in greeting. Ness noted the sweat stains on the button-down shirt straining over the detective's Buddha-like belly.
“Back here, Ness,” Frank called.
As he made his way to the rear of the apartment, the odor thickened. It permeated his senses until he could taste it on the air. After a brief handshake, blue-clad digits grasping, Frank led him into the bedroom and the source of the smell. A large black man lay on his back atop the dated shag carpet, several days dead. His skin was stretched tightly over his puffy form due to decomposition. The front of the
victim's shirt bore rust-colored stains from dried blood surrounding several stab wounds.
“Nothing beats having a body cooking for three days during the hottest week of the summer,” Frank growled.
Ness silently agreed and turned his attention to taking pictures of the body, the mussed bed, and the shards of pottery arrayed around the corpse's head.
“Not a suicide, I'm guessing,” Ness quipped as he took photo after photo. It drew a guffaw from the police officer.
“Naw, I've pretty much ruled that out.” Frank grinned.
The reflection from a scratched black knife handle on the rug caught Ness’s attention from across the room. The blade had snapped off.
“Broken knife,” Ness commented as he documented the handle's position in the room, then he got close-ups of the broken blade.
“I've got a good idea where the rest of it is.” Frank looked at the body. “No more tomorrows for this poor bastard, eh?”
Ness paused and looked at his friend. Frank was still gnawing his nicotine gum in an attempt to stay off cigarettes, sadly regarding the deceased.
“Getting philosophical in your old age?”
Frank met his eyes and gave him a sheepish grin. “Been thinking about retirement lately,” he admitted. “My mind's been on the future a lot.”
Ness resumed his work for another minute until the camera emitted the steady whine of the film rewinding into its canister. “That's understandable.” He pulled a new roll of film from his pocket.
“Do you think about it?”
“The future?”
Frank nodded.
I’ve already saved the future for everyone. Even as that notion flashed through Ness's mind, he pushed it aside. The camera stopped whirring, and he pressed the button to pop the back open, pulled out the metal canister containing the exposed film, and replaced it with the unexposed roll.
“Not much. I like to believe I'm building my future through the choices I make today. Concentrating on doing it right day after day is enough for me.”
Frank chewed on that idea for a minute along with his gum.
“Good point,” the detective finally admitted. “Of course, if I were married to your lovely lady, I would be focused on the present too.”
Frank winked at Ness, which made him laugh briefly, until he remembered his friend had been divorced for the last fifteen years and had lacked any steady companionship for a long time.
Ness threaded the fresh film in his camera and shut the back. It whirred again as it positioned itself to the first frame on the roll.
“Are you guys going to get around to children any time soon?” Frank’s grin took on a mischievous slant.
“I think it's a little late for that,” Ness said uncomfortably as he finished shooting the room. “We're in our forties, after all.”
Frank grunted doubtfully. “Modern medicine is a marvelous thing.”
Ness cleared his throat. “Any suspects?”
The change in subject drew another laugh from the sweaty detective. “Oh, at least one.” Frank smirked. “Follow me.”
The detective led Ness to a small laundry room down the hallway. He grinned and swung open the lower door of a stacked washer-and-dryer unit. In the drum lay a bloodstained work shirt with an embroidered name tag clearly visible.
“Smart,” Ness said, taking a picture of the garment in situ. “Who's 'Steve'?”
“Ex-boyfriend of the fruit loop in the bedroom.”
Ness looked expectantly at Frank, who pulled a pair of latex gloves from his pocket and slid them on before retrieving the shirt from the washer and holding it up. The name of a prominent local company had been sewn above the left pocket, with the incriminating name tag over the right. Ness snapped another picture.
“Perp threw the shirt in the washer but forgot to run it. He hadn't even thrown any soap in,” Frank said.
Ness grinned. “Guess this one won't be too hard to figure out.”
“Very true. I almost feel guilty about getting paid for it,” the detective quipped back. “Almost. I've got my retirement to consider, after all.”
Laughing, Ness left the small room. Retracing his steps toward the front of the apartment, he made his way to the kitchen. It was neat, with a small plate and coffee cup in the sink. He captured images of the cramped space, including a close-up of the knife block. “Two knives missing,” he commented.
“I noticed,” Frank said. “My theory is the perp came back for a second one after the first knife broke. It's not here, though. Must've taken it with him.”
“What about the broken pottery?”
“Dunno,” Frank replied. “Maybe the victim needed subduing, so Steve had time to come get the second blade.”
“Is that what happened?”
Frank shrugged his meaty shoulders. “It's a theory.”
Ness turned his attention back to his work and finished in the kitchen. The apartment door opened, and a man and a woman with a gurney passed through, wearing black baseball hats with Coroner embossed in white thread. Three crime scene techs, toolboxes in hand, followed them in.
He followed the coroners into the bedroom and had them flip the body. The deceased’s back was covered in dried blood from more stab wounds, and the stain on the carpet looked like a macabre Rorschach test. The pair maneuvered the mortal remains into a body bag, and Ness left them to their task.
“I’ve captured images of everything here. The pictures will be ready for you tomorrow morning,” he promised Frank as they shook hands.
“Good enough.” The detective turned away to respond to a question from one of the techs.
Back outside, Ness expelled as much foul air from his lungs as he could before inhaling deeply. That was his usual method for removing the stench of the corpse from his airways. He sometimes doubted the effectiveness of the technique, but it gave him some relief via the placebo effect, if nothing else.
As he drove away from the crime scene with the air conditioner set to high, he replayed the conversation with Frank. All the talk of the present and the future got Ness ruminating about his past — specifically, about two years ago when his friend Dr. Francis Bertrand had sent him a time machine in the mail to keep it from the grasping hands of the people associated with the research firm he worked for, Intellisys. Its arrival had kicked off an adventure that eventually ended with Ness discovering he had an unexpected but not unwelcome wife waiting for him at home. She was there because he had manipulated events in his past to bring him and Angie together. Originally, she had experienced an entirely different life, and he had selfishly changed her path so she would be with him.
He had no way of knowing if their life together had turned out better than what she formerly had, and the possibility that he had shifted the course of her life in a way that might not be to her benefit gnawed at him. With a cluck of his tongue, he chided himself for the mental flagellation. It had become a familiar cycle, one Ness wished he could abandon.
Not much different from what John Fletcher was trying to do, is it? With the guilt came the fear of what her reaction would be should she ever find out. She might leave him, or worse, she might hate him. Angie was wonderful to be with, but when roused, her anger roiled with frightening intensity. He could not predict the outcome if she ever learned of his manipulation of the timeline, though he had imagined countless possible scenarios over the last two years. He poked at the conundrum often, like a child worrying a loose tooth.
Ness shook off the fruitless ruminations, even as more tried to take their place. Though he shared some blame for other events during his run-in with Intellisys, he refused to fret over them as he made his way home. He turned on the radio and scanned for a station with a catchy tune to distract his mind.
A glance at the clock confirmed it was only four forty-five, which meant he would be home for dinner, and his funk of the last few minutes evaporated as his spirits rose. Ness needed a restful evening alone with his wife, though he might not deserve to share her com
pany.
CHAPTER TWO: Suspicion
Tuesday, June 8, 2010, 4:53 p.m.
The monitor rocked dangerously with an ominous creaking from the impact of Angie’s palm to the side of its plastic case then settled back on its base with a solid thump, placidly enduring the abuse at its user’s hand. It was not the first time it had endured such maltreatment and would likely not be the last.
“Dammit!” Angie shook the sting from her hand and glared at the screen. Nothing had been easy that day, and her current project’s looming deadline was doing nothing to help her stress levels, either.
“What's the matter, girl?” someone said with a friendly voice behind her.
Angie spun her chair to face the speaker, an extremely dark woman with inviting green eyes and a blinding set of teeth that appeared whenever she expressed mirth. Suzette was the only coworker Angie considered a friend.
“This new report.” Angie sighed tiredly. “It’s kicking my ass.”
“Well, you should take a break.” Suzette gave her a reproving look. “You didn't even go to lunch, did you?”
“I had a cup of instant noodles,” Angie muttered guiltily.
“Ooh, eating healthy, I see.” Suzette rolled her eyes. “And I bet you worked right on through.”
Angie nodded sheepishly, a touch of defiance in her eyes.
“I've got a firm due date for this project.”
“When?”
“Friday.”
Suzette gave a small snort of derision. “How long until you're done?”
“I dunno, maybe a day.” Angie’s face creased with anger again. “Assuming I ever get around this calculation error.”