Jill Oliver Deception Thrillers

by Price, Judith

  Eric’s brow furrowed and he leaned back in his chair. “It couldn’t have been McGregor, Jill. I saw the report myself. He lost too much blood. He barely survived. He was unconscious for several hours as they pumped bags of blood into him.”

  Jill stared at Eric then back to her hands. “But …”

  “If it wasn’t McGregor and it wasn’t that manager broad, then who was in the caves?” The question hung in the air, unanswered.

  “Well we can figure it all out later, Jill.” Eric said, concerned. “You heard what the doctor said. Get some rest now okay.”

  Thirty-two

  A lone red maple leaf drifted to the ground exposing a leafless tree. The leaves crunched as the black SUV pulled into the long driveway. “They’re looking a bit better than yesterday.” Eric attempted to break the awkward silence and looked at the hands resting on Jill’s lap. The nurse had changed the clumsy bandage to a more useful Elastoplast wrapping. Jill’s palms and fingers were tightly wrapped and her wrist now sported colored gauze that looked like bright pink sweat cuffs.

  Jill didn’t care. “I don’t understand.” She sighed. “Why would Tracy be such a bitch? Why do I feel like I’ve done something wrong?” Jill reached across her body with her left arm, grasped the door handle and pulled.

  The late afternoon chill bit into them as they walked up the porch to her door and unlocked it. The alarm sensors chirped, then came a “Meow,” as Elmo pushed himself through the open door and scurried off the steps.

  “He’s been fine. Doesn’t much like the litter box, but he does like to snuggle on my lap.”

  “Thanks for taking care of him, Eric.”

  Eric moved through the house looking for anything suspicious as she plopped herself down on her black leather couch. Jill looked around. Geez, it even looks like he’s dusted the place. Eric saw what Jill was looking at and said, “Old habits. Guess Betty had me trained well.” There wasn’t anything Jill wanted to say about that. She was tired and felt that she could sleep for a decade. But she knew that wasn’t going to happen, not anytime soon. Unsettling feelings trickled through her memory continuing to battle her sleep deprivation.

  “I just don’t get it, Eric.” He came into the living room and sat across from Jill. The black leather couched puffed and he shifted waiting for Jill to continue. “What?” She snapped in his direction. “Do you know something, Eric?”

  Eric’s face slightly grimaced as he stared directly at Jill. “Tracy wouldn’t tell me. All she said was that they’re investigating a different angle on Jake’s disappearance.

  “Different angle, and ah, it has to do with me?”

  “She didn’t say. Well, wouldn’t say.”

  “What the hell, Eric? I had nothing to do with Jake’s disappearance. What the hell would be the reason? That bitch has had it out for me ever since that night at the pub. She’s married, so why the hell would she care what Jake does?” Jill thought of Jake. His smile. His touch. Then her thought moved to how feeble he was after being clobbered by McGregor. How he kept stumbling. “What does she think, that I came along, knocked him out, and drowned him or something? Why, ‘cause he is hot? Stupid bitch.”

  “I don’t know, Jill. All she said was that she was connecting the dots.”

  “Connecting the dots, as in, I have a connection to his disappearance—to that crazy-ass psycho McGregor? I didn’t even know this person existed until I saw the creep wiping floors with his mop.” Jill recalled her gut reaction when she first saw him. It was his eyes that were distracting. Odd-shaped brown eyes. She remembered how he looked at her, and somehow she saw something familiar in it. A chill crawled up Jill’s spine and rested on her shoulder. “Man, that guy is one sick fuck.” She said, zombie-like.

  Several minutes passed, and the silence became uncomfortable until Eric cleared his throat and sighed. “You remember when Betty died? I had a hard time not thinking about her. Not thinking about us, our future plans. Did I ever tell you our retirement plan was to go bone fishing all around the world? Bahamas. Seychelles, off the coast of Africa. Boy, some beautiful fishing there, I’ve been told.” Jill waited for the relevance of this and with another mention of Betty, her shoulders slouched a little. She remembered how happy they were. Cute as peaches—well, until Betty digressed. “For a long time I couldn’t stop my mind. Couldn’t even sleep, never mind eat.” Jill nodded recalling Eric’s weight loss after Betty had passed.

  Eric paused. “I guess I had what the docs call PTSD. Post traumatic stress disorder. It’s well … it’s a condition. It’s when a person experiences trauma, a way our bodies cope with something terrible that has happened to us. I never told you—heck I never told anyone.” Eric stared blankly out the front window. “I went to a therapist for help. I had no choice.” Eric pulled himself out of the stuffed sofa, walked to Jill and handed her a crisp white business card.

  Jill recognized the familiar blue circle logo with the words ‘Department of Justice’ and ‘Federal Bureau of Investigation’ encircling it. Erin A. Wildeman, PysD. “A shrink, Eric, a shrink. Why do you think I need a goddamn shrink?” It was all the strength she had left to pull the loose strings of her psyche tight without letting Eric watch her unravel. “I didn’t do anything wrong, Eric.” Jill’s lip quivered as she tried to keep herself together.

  “No one said you did anything wrong, Jill. It’s just that you’ve been through a brutal trauma and one of the symptoms is the inability to remember important aspects of a traumatic event and …” Eric watched Jill’s face shift to the way he’d seen it before when she had problems viewing. Compartmentalize. He slowly sat beside her. “Guilt is one of the first signs of PTSD. You can’t begin to imagine how I felt when Betty was diagnosed with lung cancer. Never smoked a day in her life.” He shook his head lowering it. “But I sure did. I sure did.” Eric’s composure faltered.

  Jill turned, looked at him and was about to reach for him, comfort him like she done so many times during Betty’s illness and eventual death. But before she could, Eric stood up and walked towards the door. “Give her a call, Jill.” He paused. “Give her a call.” And with that he walked out closing the door behind him.

  Thirty-three

  Jill stood studying the degrees hanging on the stark, whitewashed wall. Brown. Harvard. She seemed smart enough. She crossed her arms and her navy blue suit jacket crinkled at the elbows.

  The door swung open and in walked a tall lanky woman dressed in crisp denim jeans and a white flouncy blouse. She was in her mid-forties with medium brown hair that bounced off her shoulders as she walked up to Jill. Jill’s first thought was to run as fast as she could out of the goddamn Pollyanna’s room. Erin reached out her hand and introduced herself.

  “Hi, I’m Dr. Wildeman. You can just call me Erin. Please, please have a seat.” Erin gestured Jill towards the overstuffed brown sofa. Erin sounded straightforward enough and there was a softness about her—something comforting, which changed Jill’s first thought of her. Jill sat at one end and Erin at the other. Erin placed several folders on the coffee table in front of her.

  “As I mentioned when I called you, the violent crime unit had asked me to debrief you regarding recent events. It’s SOP – standard operating procedure – after what you have been through. I also spoke to your supervisor, Agent Eric Wallace and he said he’d given you my card. You know, Jill, it’s a free perk in the agency to come and see me, if you would like my assistance. Whether the case is still ongoing or closed.”

  Jill nodded, a bit standoffish. “So, is the case now closed?”

  Erin flipped open the only folder she had perched on her lap and studied the first page. “It’s still ongoing–it's only been a few days.” She spoke in monotone as if she were reading something else.

  “But …” Jill paused staring at the open file. “How much do you know about the case?”

  Erin looked back up at Jill. “I’ve spent several hours reviewing this file and those.” She pointed at the three files that sat o
n the coffee table. “This one is a copy of the case file from VCU and those are sealed files that we had to get a judge’s approval to open. They came in around 11 a.m. this morning. Well, we can go through those later. I’ve received special permission to share them with you as it’s part of their investigation.” A look of confusion crept over Jill’s face. “Now, lets start by reviewing this file.” Erin paused. “Oh, it’s written in the sidebar here, that you have been briefed on most of what’s in this file prior to your remote viewing.” Erin flipped a page, flipped it back and then closed the file, resting her hands on top of it. Looking at Jill she said, “I know you’ve given your statement. I’ve read it.” Erin tapped the file with her index finger. “Part of our debriefing procedure is to have the subject, in this case you, discuss what happened,” Erin explained.

  A moment passed as Jill waited for Erin to continue. She didn’t. Relenting, Jill said, “All I did was remote view McGregor’s location for VCU. Agent Acker and I ended up in Luray investigating the Luray Caverns. To him it seemed a bit of a long shot. To me … well, it’s where that bastard tried to kill me. Tried to …” Jill trailed off. Jill looked at Erin and expected the same look of pity she had gotten from every person she’d spoken to since the event—the doctors at the hospital, the nurses, hell, even Eric. But Erin’s eyes were full of intent. Listening. Waiting.

  When Jill didn’t continue Erin said, “I’m here to help, Jill. Nothing you tell me can be used against you. I’m here to help you and VCU.” She waited for Jill to continue.

  “He.” Jill stopped. “He … he had me hanging upside-down on a friggin’ rail, naked. A goddamn rail suspended from the ceiling.” Jill took a sharp breath and pointed her finger straight up to the ceiling. “Why the hell would anyone do that?” Her eyes watered, but she managed to hold the tears back.

  Erin recognized the pleading look. “Since I read what happened to you, I’ve been researching and talking to others in this field. What Matthew McGregor did to you was a form of punishment used mainly in the last century.” Jill blinked in her direction. “The person being punished would be hung naked and paraded around the village square. It was more a form of humiliation than torture, back then. But still, the villagers would throw stones. Laugh. That sort of thing.”

  “Humiliation? But he was going to kill me. What would be the point?”

  “I think you’ll understand more when I brief you on those files.” Erin nodded towards them. Erin placed the file beside her and stood up. “Coffee?” Without waiting for a response she walked over to the sideboard next to her desk and poured two cups of steaming java. “Cream? Sugar?”

  “Cream, thanks.”

  Fiddling with the coffee, Erin continued. “How have things been at home since you left the hospital? Any problems? Are you sleeping?”

  “Thanks,” Jill said taking the steaming cup from Erin’s hands. “Sleep, ah, what’s that?” Jill said before placing her lips on the mug. Determining it was still too hot, she placed it on the cork coaster on the table beside her.

  “It’s normal with trauma victims. There are other symptoms as well, like a feeling of jumpiness. That doesn’t help when trying to fall asleep, either.”

  “Does it say in the file why the case is still ongoing?” Jill interrupted Erin’s trail of thought.

  “It didn’t really say. All I got from Agent Olsen was to go ahead and review those sealed files with you, to see if you could shed any further light on the investigation.”

  Erin reached for the first file that sat on the pile. “What do you know about Mandy Humphrys, the curator of the Luray Caverns?”

  Jill looked at Erin puzzled. “Ummm … other than the fact that she tried to kill me by driving an ice pick into my face.” Jill said rhetorically and tilted her head. Erin’s stare was pokerface blank. This made Jill uncomfortable. “Why would you be asking me about her?”

  Erin flatly responded, “When was the first time you met her?”

  Jill’s eyes narrowed and it only took a second to realize that miss-sweet-caring-smarty-pants-have-some-coffee doctor was not here to help her. Not here to help her at all. Jill stood up quickly holding both palms in the air. “Look, what is going on?”

  “Please, Jill, please sit. I’ve already explained why we are here.” Jill didn’t move. “Look, my assignment is to ask the questions about the case, review these files, and hope something new comes out of the debrief. I know you may be experiencing simple paranoia. It, too, is one of the symptoms of PTSD.”

  “Enough of the bullshit, Dr. Wildeman,” Jill ranted. “So, they think I am lying?”

  Erin followed her movements trying to gain back rapport. “Jill, please, please sit back down.” Erin waited for Jill’s outburst to calm. When it didn’t, Erin continued. “Look, Jill, you are here with me because I am a specialist on these types of briefings with the FBI. Rage, anger—these are all symptoms of PTSD. It’s normal. You’re normal.” Erin took another sip of coffee. “The other option is to have Agent Olsen interview you and well, when I saw her last, she was in a pretty pissy mood. Come on now, Jill, please sit down. No one is accusing you of anything. They just want to see if you have remembered anything new, that you haven’t repressed anything.” Erin turned her left wrist looking at her white Chanel watch. “It’s just after 14:00. If we can power through these files we may get out of here at a decent time.” Jill crossed her arms and huffed herself back down onto the sofa. “Okay,” Erin began again. “Back to Mandy Humphrys. So, you have never seen her, never met her before visiting the caves?”

  Jill shook her head. “I’ve never even stepped into rinky-dink Luray before. Never even knew that there were caves there until Jake and …” Jill abruptly stopped when she heard herself say his name.

  “How about Agent Acker, did he seem to know her?”

  Jill shook her head again. “We never really had time to speak privately. No, it didn’t appear he knew her or she him, before McGregor … before he pounded the crap out of him with that stick. I’m surprised he could even walk after we escaped the first time.” Jill’s voice went off-key. “I knew he was going into shock, that’s why I left him sitting in that cave. I thought I could move faster to find a way out. I thought it was better than having him traipsing around with me. I thought …” Jill trailed off. “When I went back for him he was gone.” Jill’s eyes pooled and this time she couldn’t hold back her tears. “It was dark, but there was no way I was in the wrong cave. No way!” Jill lowered her head and flicked the tears with her index fingers. Her lip quivered as she reached for a tissue from the pink flowered box that sat on the coffee table.

  “And that was the last time you saw him?” Jill blew her nose and simultaneously nodded. “And you never saw Mandy Humphrys in the caves?”

  Jill looked up as her eyes narrowed. “Look, like I said, the only times I saw her was when we first arrived and when she was on top of me wanting to pluck out my eyes with a goddamn ice pick.” Jill spat in Erin’s direction then sniffed.

  Erin flipped a couple of pages in the file, and hesitated, waiting for Jill to gain some composure before continuing. A minute passed, then Erin asked, “How much do you know about criminals, Jill? I mean their backgrounds, childhood, upbringing? That sort of thing.” It was a rhetorical question and Erin continued. “Pedophiles?” Erin looked at Jill’s blank stare and continued. “Murderers and specifically serial murderers.”

  Erin picked the first file off the coffee table pile, opened it, and began to read. “Mandy Humphrys was born in Las Vegas, Nevada and raised mainly by her father, after her mother was killed when she accidentally fell down the basement stairs. The authorities suspected foul play, but with Mandy’s two older brother’s statements that corroborated their father’s account of what happened, it was deemed an accidental death. Mandy was only two years old.

  Erin flipped another page. Hesitating, she looked back to Jill. “What I am about to tell you is a bit gruesome. The reason I have been asked to share these files w
ith you is because VCU feels there are some sort of connecting elements in the case and they are hoping that you remember more of what happened in the caves.” Erin looked back down to the page and read aloud. “Mandy was only two when the suspected abuse started. It was speculated and later confessed by the younger of the two brothers that sexual abuse was involved. First, by the father sodomizing her and then later he taught her two brothers how to have intercourse.” Erin sighed, “Poor girl.” A beat followed. “It wasn’t until a neighbor saw the little girl lying on the front lawn naked, that she was taken by ambulance to the hospital and almost died. She was four years old then.” Erin paused, picked up her coffee, took a sip, and continued. “Her body was so torn apart inside she was never going to have children—never going to have intercourse for that matter.”

  Jill watched Erin wide-eyed and flinched at the thought. “It appears the VCU believes that Humphrys and McGregor were working together. Some sort of sick killing revenge game.” Erin looked down at the file sitting on the cushion between them. “McGregor’s not talking so we can only speculate, but we believe the ice pick trauma to the victims’ vaginas was caused by Mandy Humphrys.” Erin laid the folder down on her lap, looked at Jill, and continued. “Most serial killers are labeled psychopaths, but in this case it appears that the trauma to the victims’ vaginas were carried out post-mortem. A sadistic ritual that is inflicted mainly for personal gratification of the killer or in this case, the killer’s partner. A sociopath. The difference is a sociopath has a disorder of character—of their personality, rather than that of their mind, like a psychopath. In most documented cases the sociopath lacks a conscience and feels no remorse, lacking ability to empathize with the suffering of their victims. It appears that Mandy Humphrys used the victims’ vaginas for her own pleasures. It’s clear that her rage was the fire and the victims were used merely as tools to fulfill her own needs of what I would say is revenge for what happened to her as a child, no matter how perverse or reprehensible her actions.”