Blood Red Winter: A Thriller

by J. Conrad

  “I’ve been doing okay. My friends are being supportive,” I said. I looked back down at my plate and speared another shrimp with my fork.

  “That’s good,” she said. She stared at me and pushed a strand of dark hair out of her face. I watched her eyes flick back and forth between me and her food. It dawned at me that we shared something in common – the fact that we both recently lost someone we were close to, and that was part of why she was interested. What she didn’t know was that we both lost those people in the same manner.

  “Aria… I didn’t tell you this before because, well, we don’t know each other well, and I didn’t want to say anything I wasn’t supposed to. Especially after what you’ve been through,” I began, still formulating the rest of it. Aria’s eyes locked onto mine and held. I dropped my voice down. “But my fiancée Elizabeth was murdered.”

  The color drained out of Aria’s face and she leaned back in her seat, never taking her eyes off me. She started shaking her head. “Trent, that’s horrible. I’d tell you I understand, but you already know I do. But I also know that one person can never truly understand another person’s pain.”

  I exhaled, a deep ache welling up in my chest. “That’s true.”

  Aria’s soft tone matching mine, she asked, “Do you know who did this? And has he been caught?”

  “No, we don’t know, and he hasn’t been,” I said. The waitress dropped by with the bill, and I nodded and thanked her absent-mindedly.

  “When did this happen?” she asked. I saw that she gripped her fork more tightly and her posture had stiffened.

  “It happened the day after Nemeth was caught,” I said. “That’s part of why I didn’t want to tell you. And that’s part of why Reyes thinks it might be dangerous for you to associate with me. He thinks there’s a possibility it could be connected.”

  Aria’s chest heaved in and out as she stared at me, and I waited for the disaster I had caused. After a moment, she shook her head, saying calmly, “I don’t see how. Korey didn’t have many friends. And even if he did, why would he send someone after you?”

  I thought it was the simplest reason in the world. “Because I found you and your stepmother. You lived, and he got caught. Like you said, he’ll probably get life, if not the death penalty.”

  “Korey doesn’t think like that. I doubt he even knows who you are,” Aria said.

  “He doesn’t want revenge against the person who found him out? What psychopath doesn’t want revenge?” I asked.

  “He is a psychopath, but not all psychopaths are the same, and they’re not all smart. Sometimes people are just crazy, Trent. But really, I highly doubt Korey had anything to do with it.”

  I sat back, letting her words sink in. It almost sounded like she was defending him, but that was far-fetched. Stockholm syndrome does exist, but I couldn’t bring myself to believe this was a shade of it.

  “Why?” I asked, leaning forward. “Why don’t you think he had anything to do with it?”

  “Because. I know him, Trent. I was with him for years, and I was in that house with him for three weeks. I know what he does. He doesn’t have that mob boss mentality of hiring somebody to kill someone else. His motives with me were always about possession – of showing me who was in charge, that he owned me. But if he really did want to kill you, he would have killed you, not your fiancée. And he would have done it himself,” she said. She lowered her head slightly, her brown eyes narrow and dark. “That’s just the way he is.”

  Well, if anyone knew what that sicko was like, it was this girl. What amazed me was how composed she was while speaking of him – much more than the last time I saw her.

  “Okay,” I said. I sighed. “But I don’t understand. If what’s been happening to me doesn’t have anything to do with County Road 118, then...” I shook my head.

  “What’s been happening to you? Did other things happen?” Aria asked.

  “Yeah. I got shot at, at the same house where you were held. I also got shot at on the ranch where I worked. I got threats.” She’s dead anyway. I saw those words in red on the wall of that filthy back room in the murder house. I had always thought they referred to Aria. Could that message really have been about Elizabeth?

  “The same house? What, you went back there?” Her mouth was half open and she shut it, frowning.

  Now I was back doing the same dance I did with Deputy Reyes. “Yeah, I had to. The guy stole my cell phone and he put it there. I think he wanted to frame me.” I snorted, disgusted with this whole thing. “Look, a lot of really bad shit has happened to me and it’s not going to make any sense.” I knew it was a mistake to ever tell her about Elizabeth in the first place.

  “Someone stole your cell phone and put it in that abandoned house? How did he do that?” she asked.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Did you call the police?” she asked.

  “No. I’ve talked to them about it since then, but I didn’t at the time. I thought I was being framed and no one would have believed me,” I said. I didn’t mention that my pistol was stolen as well. I still wondered if it might turn up somewhere, making me look guilty of something else.

  Aria poked at her pasta silently and stared down at her plate.

  “Now you see why I wondered if it might not be a good idea for you to associate with me,” I said. “I’ve had a lot going on.” I wondered if she thought I was lying too, or was suspicious of me now.

  The young woman shook her head. “No, it’s not that. I mean, it’s unusual, but after what I experienced I’d believe just about anything.” A faint smile fled her face. “Do you have any enemies?”

  “No, absolutely no one,” I said. “That’s what has always led me to believe it was related to what happened to you. He has a motive: I found him out. But enemies otherwise? I don’t have any.”

  “Everyone has enemies, Trent. You just don’t always know who they are.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  February 23rd

  That morning, I caught a brief news story on one of the local channels about the day I was shot at on Tim’s ranch.

  “The investigation continues as Williamson County officials have a new lead in the January 6th shooting on County Road 152, in rural Williamson County near Georgetown. Though no one was injured in the shooting, thirty-year-old Trent Lemend was the intended recipient of the shots fired. Previously, Emile Richard Woodard of Travis County was brought in under suspicion for this crime, but his name was cleared. Authorities are now reporting that upon obtaining new evidence and a warrant for Woodard’s arrest, Woodard has been taken into custody and has confessed to the shooting. Detective Menard of the Criminal Investigations Division told KVUN that Woodard claims he doesn’t know Lemend, the intended victim, personally. Officials have yet to determine Woodard’s motive for the shooting.”

  On hearing my name mentioned, I sat bolt upright on the couch. I gritted my teeth, wishing they had left me out of it.

  The image on the screen changed to a clip featuring Detective Menard and the reporting journalist, Mia Fernandez. It looked like they were on-scene at Tim’s ranch. Behind the two of them was a rusty barbed wire fence and the empty sheep pasture. Tangly brown grass, scattered rocks and pale green cacti stretched behind them, ending where the terrain turned to mostly packed dirt at the feeding area. The weathered gray barn was farther away in the background.

  Menard was standing board-straight with his hands locked together, his great bulk towering over the female reporter as he politely answered her questions. Besides his stiffened posture like he had a post strapped to his back, he kept his brows relaxed and smiled slightly while listening to the reporter.

  “Detective Menard,” Ms. Fernandez began. “It was previously believed that the shooting incident which occurred here on January 6th may have a connection to the County Road 118 case. Since then, evidence seemed to indicate the two weren’t related. Is that still the belief of the Crime Investigations Division at this time?”

  �
�At this time, yes, that is still our belief, based on the evidence we have,” Menard said.

  “You’ve told us that analysis of two bullets found here at this Georgetown ranch indicates that the shooter used a .22 caliber rifle, and that the locations of the recovered bullets show that this gunman was experienced in long range shooting. Have you and your team come to a hypothesis on why Woodard would have tried to kill a ranch worker?”

  “With something like this, we have reason to believe Woodard was likely paid by someone. For someone to be able to aim this well from the distance of the road behind those trees...” Menard turned slightly, pointing to the wiry bushes near the pine trees by the pond. “…this was probably someone hired as an assassin. The weapon used, the accuracy, and now Woodard’s confession, are all strong supporting evidence. What’s needed now is a full disclosure from Woodard.”

  “You mention the accuracy, however the victim wasn’t actually injured during the shooting, is that correct?” Fernandez asked. The wind pushed a lock of black hair into her face, also producing modest background noise into the microphones.

  “That is correct,” Menard said. “However, the shooter was able to penetrate the victim’s vehicle, while the vehicle was motion, and the previous shots, which were fired into that area over there, were very close to the target despite the shooter being so far away with obstacles between himself and the target. We have reason to believe there is more to this case than meets the eye, which is why it’s receiving particular attention from myself and our investigations unit.”

  The screen changed back to the newsroom, the anchor woman thanking Mia Fernandez before she launched into her next news story. I leaned back on the couch, rubbing my chin and wondering what else Menard knew that I didn’t. Even Aria, who had been stolen away from the world and tortured for weeks, seemed to know more about my life than I did. Regardless of that fact, I couldn’t understand why law enforcement thought the shooting on Tim’s ranch and County Road 118 weren’t related. It was as obvious to me as the fact that Woodard was an experienced gunman, and it should be obvious to the authorities that he was either hired by Nemeth or someone else involved in the County Road 118 case who hadn’t come to light yet.

  Yes, Nemeth had his jealous motives for what he did to Aria and her stepmother, but that didn’t mean he didn’t have someone else helping him. Someone to watch the house. Someone to throw the police off the trail. Someone to off me after I’d gone and blundered into the murder house and discovered his crimes. I still didn’t know how that factored into Elizabeth’s murder happening after Nemeth had been jailed, but Nemeth’s man probably didn’t know his boss had been apprehended until later. That’s the only thing that made sense.

  I stretched and stood up, realizing I felt better than I had in a while, but that soon ended. A memory of a day Elizabeth and I had a picnic at Zilker Park flashed up at me, and for a moment I saw her face as clearly as if she had been sitting in front of me. Her blue eyes danced as she laughed and dodged out of the way of a bee. Our visitor had come to pilfer from our small buffet of offerings set out on the blanket. The bright memory lingered in my mind, the lake behind Elizabeth bathed in shimmery sunlight. I couldn’t keep it out of my head as I ate breakfast and shaved. I was alone and the place was silent now that the television was off. Finally, I took the image and stuffed it away, squeezing my eyes together to stem the flow before it started. She was gone, and these episodes of daily pining wouldn’t bring her back.

  I was still shocked that Aria hadn’t thought I was making something up. Detective Reyes didn’t seem entirely sure. Since that dinner at the restaurant, I had toyed with the idea of doing a little detective work of my own.

  I called the mobile number Bradley Premshaw had given me and he answered right away. I could hear the diesel engine and the noise of the freeway in the background.

  “’Lo?” Bradley said.

  “Hi Bradley, this is Trent Lemend.” I waited. “Is now a good time to talk?”

  Bradley coughed and gave a loud sniff. “Yeah, Trent. What can I do for you?”

  “Well, I got hauled in for questioning by the sheriff about the accident we had,” I said. I waited again.

  “I gotcha. Is there anything you need from me?” he asked. I was hoping he’d offer something about being questioned by the sheriff’s office also, about Detective Menard contacting him. But Menard had his plate full and may not have done so yet. I doubted it though.

  “I was wondering if you could tell me anything else about that night. The night we had our accident.” I was being careful to word it as though the wreck was mutual and not entirely his fault.

  “What’s this about?” Bradley asked. He spit. He must have a cup nearby for expectorating the tobacco juice.

  I got a better grip on my cell phone and stood up from the couch. “Bradley, I need your help. Like I said, I got called in for questioning by the sheriff about the night of our accident. Is there anything else you can tell me? I’m trying to think of both of us. It was really decent of you to pay for my truck. I’m grateful.”

  Bradley cleared his throat. “I don’t know anything. I was so tired I could barely keep my hands on the wheel. Then I wake up to your truck sliding off my grill. It was so dark down that damn road it just came up on me. I’d a liked to had a heart attack.”

  I don’t know anything. He did know something, or he would have worded it differently.

  “I understand,” I said. “Do you remember that guy who shot at me from the house?”

  “I didn’t see nothin.’ All I saw was you shootin’ and you runnin.’ I don’t know anything about what was going on there.”

  “Okay,” I said, pretending to chuckle. “Well, I figured it was too dark for you to see anything, but couldn’t help but ask. I’m curious, though. That night you told me you came down County Road 118 to turn around, because you missed your exit. Why didn’t you use one of the overpasses on Interstate 35? There was one not far from where we were.”

  “I told you, I was so damned tired I couldn’t see straight. Couldn’t think straight neither. I was just going to follow the roads around and get back on 35 south that way. It was late enough that there wouldn’t be any traffic way out there. If I woulda been more awake, never would have happened. And that’s the truth.” Bradley cleared his throat again. This grain fed country boy was a terrible liar.

  “Fair enough,” I said. “Does your insurance company know that you paid for my truck yourself? When you’re working for someone,” I paused, “like Pall Transport, for example, it’s customary for the company’s insurance to pay. I would think it not unreasonable that your boss assume some of the liability. After all, driving a big rig like that, you put yourself in danger doing his work. Don’t you agree?”

  “Now look here, I don’t know what you’re getting at, but I’ve done my part. I paid for your truck. If you want to report it to my company, I can’t stop you. I already gave you all the info,” he said. His voice wavered. He knew that I knew, he just didn’t know how much I knew. I assumed the only reason he didn’t hang up was that doing so would let me know I was right. So he was thinking this through, only not as much as he should have.

  “No problem, Bradley,” I said. “I told you, I’m grateful. I just hope you got reimbursed. Did your boss reimburse you?” I expected him to hang up. He didn’t.

  “No sir,” he said. “That came out of my pocket. I was glad to make things right. I’m just happy I didn’t get busted for being over time. I’d been goin’ fifteen hours since Jackson.”

  Jackson. The night he hit me, he told me he’d come from Jacksonville. Florida and Mississippi are two different states, and an over-the-road trucker would never say Jackson in place of Jacksonville, whether in recollection of a traumatic night or not.

  My silence must have been like a siren in Bradley’s ears, because he said, “Tell you what. I’ll have my lawyer phone you tonight. We’ll get this sorted out.”

  “That sounds great. I’l
l be expecting his call,” I said. I managed to keep the surprise from my voice, but frowned as we hung up. Hiring a lawyer would likely make his position worse, not better.

  For the rest of that day, I waited for the phone to ring, but it never did.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  February 26th

  After letting Detective Reyes know new developments and pieces of information as I obtained them, I ran into a brick wall. The conversation with Bradley had been insightful, but since then he wouldn’t return my calls. His attorney, if in fact he had one, never contacted me. My conclusion was that Bradley had been paid by someone, same as Woodard. Failing to end me with his rig, my guess was that the southern truck driver chose to try and make things good with me so I’d stay quiet. I certainly preferred that to the alternative of him finishing the job. Premshaw didn’t seem the murdering type, so he must have been desperate to work for blood money in the first place. But I couldn’t see how to locate the man who hired him without Bradley’s help.

  I left work at 8:00 p.m. and drove home. I pulled into my long gravel driveway, the headlights of the pickup illuminating the small white house. The place was dark. I wondered why the porch light hadn’t come on. Since Kyle helped me install the security system, the lights in the front and back were on timers. The bulb must need replacing.

  I shut off the engine, and just in case, took the flashlight from my glove compartment. I locked up the truck and set the alarm. I tugged my pistol from its soft holster inside my trousers before walking around to the back of the house. The light in the rear was out too. My flashlight beam devoured the ground, showing up nothing but rocks, grass and a small scorpion. A chill wind found its way into my jacket and my adrenaline started rising. I pulled back the trigger on the pistol and slowly walked around to the front again. There was no one here, but it didn’t make sense that both lights were off. Maybe there had been a power outage.