Never Coming Home by J. E. Turnbo

Author:J. E. Turnbo
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Psycholigical Thriller, Crime, Mystery, Suspense
Publisher: J.E. Turnbo
Published: 2020-11-05T00:00:00+00:00

STONEY SAT ON THE PLANE with an attitude. Whenever traveling in the air, he wanted the left side of the plane two rows behind the wing. For a reason he’d never explain, the location allowed him to clear his head and sort out any ideas needing his attention. Not so much in Honolulu, as he did when he lived in Los Angeles.

Flying forty-thousand feet above the surface put life into perspective.

The seven and a half-hour trip to Dallas-Fort Worth would put him on the ground at 5:54 in the morning. And since Texas was five hours ahead of Honolulu, that meant he’d have to function at one AM, Honolulu time, and try to tackle the day as fresh as possible.

No matter how much he wanted to sort through every scenario, he needed rest. Otherwise... He didn’t want to put otherwise on his mind. What to do and where to go had to wait. That’ll come once the wheels hit the pavement.

He had an idea where to start.

Savanchez’s binder had three sets of initials next to what had to be Carver’s initials. He figured Spencer Artwaller was an easy one. But the others offered no clues. So, Spencer Artwaller it is - his main identity while the others were backups when he needed them. That was an easy assumption. Because that’s exactly what he’d do.

First on the list, at least after making the fifteen-mile trip from Fort Worth to Arlington, was the Arlington PD. Chances were someone had an idea of the what and the where. If the cops there were anything like the cops from the island, which he figured they were, one of the beat cops ran across the yard on patrol, recognizing it without batting an eye. The video didn’t come from a higher socio-economic neighborhood.

First, he’d offer the still Johansson printed from the video. No reason to show the video right off the bat. They’d want to see it in its entirety, putting the investigation in jeopardy before he got started.

Stoney leaned back as far as the seat reclined and stared out the window. The lights resembled tiny gold specs. They’d soon turn into a black abyss once the island spun into a distant memory as they flew over the ocean.

He closed his eyes, took in a deep breath of stale recycled air, and resisted each time his head went to work. Eventually, thirty minutes in, he dozed fighting with two hours of restless sleep.

2

Carver immersed every sense as he toured the unrestrictive world around him. The sun never felt so refreshing, he thought, as the open road traveled beneath him at fifty miles an hour. The wind brushed his cheeks back, stretching his skin better than any plastic surgeon – though he never visited one. And the best part, that resurfacing monster in him hid in a place he wanted to lock tight and throw away the key. This evening, as carefree as a seventy-year-old nudist with no shame, Carver had an alternative view of the world.

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