Time 2 Kill

By Sharon Farley

For Dr. Shelby Wright, a Boston forensic psychologist, a call to a Beacon Hill home is about to change her life. Standing outside it, a man attired in 19th-century clothing. He claims to live there, the name on his business card: Dr. Haven Ramiel Grenville.
Dr. Grenville did indeed live there- about one hundred and forty years ago. Shelby knows this as she is reading a book about one of Dr. Grenville's cases.

With an unusual gift for seeing the last moments of a person's life, Dr. Grenville went from practicing medicine to becoming a police profiler.

Shelby is more than intrigued. Why has this man adopted Dr. Grenville's persona? She is determined to find out.
But lurking in Shelby's past is a secret. Her younger sister was abducted and never found. The shadow of that event bleeds into every aspect of Shelby's life, including her lack of trust and career choice.

With his good looks, charm, and manner, Shelby finds it challenging to keep a professional detachment. Does she really want to find out who this gentleman is? Would she lose the man she's become attached to?

Shelby and Grenville each work to unravel the past, with one coming to a shocking conclusion - "Time is an illusion." Einstein.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Sep 1, 2022
• ISBN: 9781667862880

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

Boston December 2019

Shelby Wright should’ve been meeting friends for a meal or, at the very least, a drink. For Shelby, it was another Saturday night without plans except reading her latest mystery novel. That suited her down to the ground. After her week in court and at the District A-1 police station, a little alone time was just what the doctor ordered.

A loud knock had her jumping off her comfy couch. Dinner had arrived. Looking through the peephole, Shelby could see the steam rising from a large square box. It was a piping hot cheese and pepperoni pizza from Aurillo’s. They made the best pizzas.

After paying the delivery guy, she sat down to feast when her phone went off. Picking it up, she groaned.

Dr. Wright, hate to bother you at home, but we’ve got us a situation. We thought it was right up your alley to handle. She could almost hear the smirk in his voice.

Sergeant Garcia, you know I’m off. Call Dr. Fairbanks. He’s on tonight.

Is that an Aurillo’s pizza you’re eating?

Shelby snorted a laugh. You know me too well, Sergeant. It is, and I intend to eat it all.

There was silence. Chewing a bit on the crispy crust, curiosity got the better of her. All right, out with it.

Gabriel Garcia chuckled to himself. A woman called in a panic, fearing for her life. A man was standing outside her house. He claimed to live there.

What, he lived there as a child? Shelby took another bite of her pizza.

No, he claims to live there now. We had to send an officer. He is quite insistent about it.

What does this have to do with me?

Ah, you have to see this guy. Officer Lech sent me a photo. Like I said, right up your alley.

You’re intentionally withholding information.

That’s how I’m playing it. Garcia bit back a grin.

Throwing down the half-eaten pizza slice, Shelby knew when she was beaten. I’ll be there in fifteen.

He’s not at the station, Doctor.

Where am I going then? she asked, bemused.

About a ten-minute walk from you.

Garcia wasn’t kidding when he said it was right up her alley.

After receiving the address, she turned off the TV and placed her mystery novel on the coffee table. I’ll be back to read you later, she announced. It was a promise she intended to keep. Pulling on her coat, hat, and gloves, she was ready to meet this enigma.

Outside, the antique gas lamps lit the way. Shelby always loved the way Beacon Hill looked at night. Her small, one-bedroom apartment was a luxury given the price of the rent. Contrary to popular belief, forensic psychologists didn’t earn a fortune. The apartment took a great deal of what she did make, but when she saw the built-in shelves, bay windows, and lovely cast-iron fireplace, it called to her. Shelby was enthralled with it. She could see herself at home here. Throwing caution and thousands of dollars each month to the wind, she took it. That was three years ago.

Walking briskly, she passed tourists and neighbors alike. Lit up for Christmas, the houses brought as many, if not more, tourists than the summer season. Many had their phones and cameras out taking photographs. Shelby smiled. She loved being part of it all.

Rounding the corner, the blue lights from a Ford Police Interceptor SUV added yet another touch of color to the green and red flickering on surrounding houses.

You must be Officer Lech. I’m Dr. Wright. I was informed you had a bit of a problem. She grinned.

Lech raised his dark brows. It was all the answer Shelby needed. Where is your mystery man?

Oh, no mystery. He gave me his business card. Lech handed it over to Shelby.

The weight and texture plus the lavish engraving said it was expensive. It was just too dark to read. Walking under one of the gaslights, she read the name.

Turning abruptly, she asked, Where is he?

Right there, standing at the bottom of the steps to that house. He seems pretty confused. I tried to convince him to come back with me to the station. He flatly refused. That’s when I decided to call it in. I guess that’s where you come in, Doctor.

In a corner not lit by a lamppost, he stood with his back to them. Shelby and Officer Lech walked tentatively towards him. Hearing their footsteps, the man said, Are you going to arrest me?

The voice had an upper-class accent. Boston, for sure, with a hint of something else thrown in. From behind, Shelby could see he was tall. At five foot nine, he was much taller than she. The top hat imparted several more inches. His attire was a paradox. What century did he think he was living in?

Now it made sense why Sergeant Garcia had contacted her instead of Dr. Fairbanks. Knowing Shelby’s penchant for all things antiquated, this man was a given.

Turning around fully to his audience, Shelby nearly gasped. Is there something wrong, Doctor?

Regaining herself, Shelby whispered, I’m reading a mystery novel, more of a biography. It’s based on a real man, Dr. Haven Grenville. He profiled for police departments in the nineteenth century. Quite unusual, his methods. He could see and feel the last minutes of a victim’s life and death.

Lech scowled at her. Sounds like a load of crap to me, Dr. Wright.

Maybe, but he solved a lot of cases by such methods. His own family had been murdered when he was nine. Dr. Grenville developed hysterical blindness; that is, he was unable to see due to the trauma of finding his family butchered.

Yeah, what’s this got to do with this guy?

Can you read the name on his business card?

Squinting a bit at the fancy typeset, Lech slowly turned towards the man.

He’s wearing clothes from the nineteenth century. The topcoat, hat, and walking stick were all essentials of a gentleman. But more importantly, see the glasses he’s wearing.

Lech nodded. The glass in them is lavender-colored, just like Haven Grenville wore. Quite rare in those days. A psychiatrist gave them to him when he was a boy along with the suggestion that he would now be able to see.

Did he live in Beacon Hill?

I think you know the answer to that already.

So, this guy thinks he’s this doctor?

I believe so. He identifies with him for some reason. I don’t want to upset him. If he is fully immersed in his delusion, the twenty-first century will be quite a shock to him. We need to tread carefully.

You lead the way, Doctor.

Thanks for the vote of confidence.

Anytime.

Holding the business card in her hand, Shelby edged ever closer to the man. Dr. Grenville, my name is Shelby Wright, and this is Officer Lech. We’ve been sent to help assist you. Shelby didn’t want to tell him she was a psychologist. She was sure he’d seen enough of them. She wanted to establish his trust first.

You can assist by allowing me entry into this house. I own and reside in it, the man said.

Coming nearer still, Shelby stopped abruptly in her tracks. In her mind, she had tried to visualize what Haven Grenville would’ve looked like from the vivid description given in the book. This man was a strong contender. Tall, with an extraordinarily handsome face, he momentarily had her dumbstruck.

She noticed the ramrod-straight posture. His razor-sharp gaze never left her. A firm grip on the black and silver-topped walking stick laid his inner turmoil bare.

I’m afraid we can’t let you in just yet. We need to sort this out. Can you come back with me? I do want to help you.

Looking her up and down, he made her feel exposed under his stare. Who are you, madam? You wear trousers like a man, but obviously, you are not. You dress like no lady that I know of.

Shelby winced.

I beg your pardon, he said. I meant no offense. It was merely an observation. I am having trouble making sense of my circumstances.

It was said reasonably, but Shelby heard the tautness to the voice. A stab of empathy tore at Shelby’s heart. She did want to help him. He seemed so lost.

Dr. Grenville, please come with me. I promise to help you.

And how will you do that? Lock me up in an asylum?

Of course not.

And how can you prevent that from happening?

Now it came down to it. Shelby had to tell him. I’m a forensic psychologist. I work with the police.

So that is why you are here. To evaluate me.

Yes.

A psychologist, not a psychiatrist.

Shelby nodded.

Psychology is rather a new science. Shelby furrowed her brow and Grenville made an addendum. It is new for me.

Dr. Grenville, what year is it?

Why it is 1881, of course.

What if I was to tell you it is 2019?

Grenville barked a cynical laugh. I think someone is playing an elaborate hoax on me. For what reason, I cannot presume.

Maybe he’s off his meds, Lech whispered.

I do not take pills for either health or mental reasons.

How the hell did he hear me?

I have very keen senses.

Well, maybe you should be on medication, Lech countered. Doctor, what are you going to do with him? As entertaining as this has been, I can’t stay here all night.

Shelby hadn’t missed the officer’s use of the word you. It was in her hands what happened to this man. She could feel his eyes resting on her. Dr. Grenville, I would like you to come to the police station with me. He stiffened. Not to arrest you, but to talk. I want to help you. Truly.

Considering the circumstances, what other choice did he have? Lech made for the SUV’s liftgate and opened it. What manner of contrivance is this? A considerable note of suspicion and fear laced the question.

This is a type of car, Dr. Grenville. Instead of a horse pulling a carriage, it has an engine, though we still measure an engine’s capacity in horsepower. The explanation left Grenville no closer to understanding. To get in this contraption would render him helpless and at their mercy. From his expression, Shelby could already see the fear.

I’ll be coming with you, Dr. Grenville, Shelby assured him. We will ride together in the back. Trust me.

Sure you don’t want to ride in the front, Doctor? Lech asked, a note of concern in his voice. Shelby shook her head.

Peering inside the SUV, Haven pointed at the partition of bars and plexiglass. It looked like he was getting into a holding cell. The seat and floor were made up of one piece of plastic molded to fit the entire back.

The unease rolling off of Haven was palpable. This is to prevent an officer from being attacked by someone they’ve arrested, a barrier between them, Shelby explained.

What manner of criminal would attack a police officer? Haven wondered.

Officer Lech picked up Haven’s luggage and placed it in the cargo space at the back. Haven kept his satchel with him. Shelby got in first and slid over. Hesitantly, Haven got in too. Lech leaned in, unbuckled the seat belt from the front seat’s side, and smoothly inserted it into the buckle closest to Haven.

Haven looked baffled. It is a harness of some sort?

Seat belts protect you in an accident. Cars go a lot faster than horses. I’m sure there must’ve been accidents with horses too.

Indeed, but if a horse trampled one, you did not expect to get up from it. Most drivers were unscathed in such incidents, rendering a harness useless.

That being said, I want you safe, Dr. Grenville.

Of course.

Lech put the car into gear, turning the blue lights off. He guided the SUV into the oncoming traffic, heading towards the station. If the traffic were light, it would be a short drive.

Gazing outside his window, into the night, some things had seemed familiar, buildings in particular, but the rest…

Sighing deeply, Haven wondered what he’d gotten himself into.

CHAPTER TWO

Quite a few blue and white Interceptors, both sedans and SUVs, were parked outside the police station. Grunting, Lech took out Haven’s heavy luggage from the back after letting Shelby and Haven out.

The officer carried the luggage down the steps to the brick and concrete building. An American flag with fifty stars was attached to a tall glass window. It had twelve more stars than Haven last remembered. Above the door stenciled in blue was Boston Police.

A plexiglass window greeted one once inside. A few officers sat behind it to address the public. Lech punched a code into a small box with numbers. It sat adjacent to another door. Lech pulled the door open to allow them access. Now they were in the heart of the police station.

Taking a deep breath, Haven followed with Dr. Wright close by his side. The garish lights in the ceiling made Haven squint. Electricity, it seemed, had finally won the day. He was glad for his spectacles.

As with most police stations Haven had dealt with, there was an orderly chaos, a thrum of activity and noise. The smell of coffee permeated the nose here. Fouler smells of human origin were also detectable, but then his senses were overly keen.

The officers’ uniforms were different from what he had been used to. Instead of truncheons and manacles for the wrist, the utility belts included so much more, including guns. How the world has changed, he thought.

Dr. Grenville, please have a seat for a moment. I want to try and find us a quiet room to talk in, Shelby said.

Haven nodded. Taking off his kid gloves, he held them tightly in his hands.

Striding over to a burly man with an air of authority, Shelby said, Good evening, Sergeant Garcia.

Good evening, Dr. Wright, he replied, looking up from some paperwork. Sorry to have had to call you. Is that the man Lech called in about? His eyes deviated towards Haven.

Yes, he is.

Garcia couldn’t help but chuckle. He’s even better in person, wouldn’t you say, Dr. Wright?

That he is, Sergeant. A room…please.

You can take that one. Garcia gestured with his hand. It was more a closet than a room. There were no windows, but it would suit Shelby’s purpose.

Thank you.

Scanning the room he was seated in, Haven was trying to assimilate himself to his new environment.

Taking him from his thoughts, Shelby said, Dr. Grenville, will you come with me. I’ve found a room for us.

Standing, Haven made to follow. Several sets of eyes followed him in his odd clothing and glasses.

An officer stood in the corner of the room. Haven waited until Shelby had been seated before he took a seat.

Imparted from an early age, Haven was schooled to be a gentleman. He noticed Dr. Wright’s rather curious response. Gentlemanly behavior appeared to be a foreign subject.

Bright blue eyes stared back at her through the lavender glass. Self-conscious, she stopped gnawing on her finger. It was a bad habit, a nervous one.

I would like to help you, Dr. Grenville, but we have only your word that you live in the house. Do you have any ID?

ID?

Yes. Identification. Like a driver’s license or such.

I have a medical license, but that would hardly prove where I live.

No, I mean a driving license or ID of that sort. A passport, perhaps…

Cocking his head, Haven observed Shelby as if she were mad. I have never needed a license as it were, to drive a carriage or ride a horse. I just had to have sufficient funds to buy and keep them.

Shelby groaned inwardly. Of course, he was a nineteenth-century gentleman. What was she thinking?

All right, she’d have to try another tack. Dr. Grenville, do you have a wallet?

Of course.

Would you please take it out for me?

Reaching into his frock coat, Haven pulled out a chestnut-colored leather wallet. It was longer and slimmer than a typical male wallet. It was embossed with a rose in the center and vines around it.

Haven handed it to Shelby. His body’s warmth converged onto her fingers, creating a feeling of unexpected intimacy. She tried not to blush.

The wallet itself was buttery-soft; the tool work was intricate and exquisite up close. It must be costly. That in itself was a clue.

May I look inside, Doctor?

By all means.

Feeling more than a bit intrusive, Shelby gently opened the wallet. A pleasant cinnamon and cloves scent swatted playfully at her nose. She had a mind to close her eyes and enjoy the aromatherapy released around her.

Instead, she glanced inside the wallet and found some money. The bills were quite different in appearance. There was nothing, though, that helped identify this man.

Do you have anything else in your pockets? Anything that would help me? It was almost a plea. She didn’t want to have to section him. He seemed harmless enough. Just delusional.

I have a checkbook if that helps.

Yes, if I could see it.

He handed over the checkbook. But much to Shelby’s surprise, it was a twenty-first-century bank.

You bank here, Dr. Grenville?

Yes, I believe so. The first bank was the Massachusetts Bank. Then it became the Massachusetts National Bank. Every so many decades, it merges with another bank and changes its name. Bank of America is the latest configuration, it seems.

There was only his name on the checks. Dr. Haven R. Grenville. Shelby ran her finger over the check. Had this man legally changed his name? The book had only been republished a couple of years ago. At least this gave Shelby a timeline. Whatever happened to this man was within the last couple of years, it seemed.

This helps us quite a bit. Tomorrow, we will make a stop at the bank. Is that all right with you?

Yes, but I still have a problem.

And that is…

I have nowhere to stay.

Ah, that was a problem. Well, we can find a hotel to put you in tonight. Let me have a look on my phone.

That is your phone, Haven said. He was incredulous. Looks nothing like the box Mr. Bell made.

Based on Alexander Graham Bell’s invention, we had the phone you’re talking about for many years. There were improvements, of course, over time. But now, we have cell phones. Much smaller, but with a lot more information and multi-function capability to them.

It seemed odd in the extreme having to explain this. The man acted as if he knew nothing about the twentieth and twenty-first centuries. He was in his late twenties or early thirties by her estimation. This was the first time she’d ever run across someone so immersed in a persona. As perplexing as it was, it was also intriguing. The psychologist in her was up for the challenge—to find out this man’s true identity.

We have a few places here.

She handed the phone to Haven. Use your finger to scroll through. Shelby demonstrated the movement. Haven followed suit.

There was a childlike expression of wonder as he held it. Quite extraordinary, really.

Lines of concentration formed on his face. I wish to stay here, Dr. Wright.

Shelby took back the phone. Of course he would. It was a new boutique hotel in Beacon Hill. The price would certainly reflect that.

I have the money to pay for it. Being an upscale accommodation, I should think fifteen dollars would cover it.

Shelby tried hard not to laugh. Dr. Grenville, I’m sure in 1881, fifteen dollars was a lot of money, but this place, in 2019, will cost more like three hundred dollars.

A night? You are joking. Haven spluttered out.

I am afraid not.

Who can afford such things?

There are always people who can afford it.

I know that I have sufficient funds in the bank to cover it. I can write a check.

From the expression on Shelby’s face, he knew there was more to come. Hotels don’t accept checks, especially without an ID. Credit cards are what they take now.

Again, I don’t understand.

How to explain? With a proven credit history that is paying bills on time, having a job, a credit card company will extend a card to you. Shelby took one out of her wallet and handed it to Haven. You have a certain amount of money that you are allowed to spend, but you have to pay it back, or they apply interest to the full amount.

So, money as such is no longer used?

In a manner of speaking. People don’t carry money or checkbooks around much anymore. From a bank account, a debit card can be used in a checkbook’s stead, along with credit cards.

Haven seemed to be pondering on this. With all this on a card, isn’t one likely to spend what you don’t have? Money in my pocket tells me my limitations, as does a checking account. Even accounts I setup have a timely expectation of being paid in full.

You are very astute, Doctor. Many people go in over their heads with credit cards and wind up in trouble.

Scrutinizing the card, Haven handed it back to Shelby. Well, this is a sticky wicket. The poker face expressed little, but the eyes spoke volumes.

Is there somewhere else I can stay? This hotel appears to be quite out of my price range at present.

Shelby glanced through the other options at lower prices. She wasn’t impressed. There was no way she would put Haven in those neighborhoods.

Sighing, she called the number to the boutique hotel, knowing she might regret it. It was virtually around the corner from her apartment. Yes, I would like to book a room.

What are you doing, Dr. Wright?

Shelby put her hand over the phone. Booking you a room.

At that expensive hotel?

Yes. You can pay me back later. Tomorrow. Once we are at your bank. Shelby wasn’t holding her breath on that happening. Chalk it up to the tis the season mentality. But something would have to be resolved by tomorrow. She couldn’t afford those prices beyond one night.

I do not know what to say, but thank you. It is most generous and kind of you.

Shelby finished by giving her credit card details. Let’s go get you settled in. I’m sure you are tired. Have you eaten yet?

No. I am quite all right.

They have a restaurant there. Put it on the bill. You need to eat. As a medical doctor, you know that.

Two blotches of red appeared on his high cheekbones. I just don’t want to be beholding, is all.

You aren’t. I don’t want you to become ill. We’ll sort the rest out in the morning. Now let’s get your luggage and a taxi.

Arriving at the chic hotel, disguised inside the nineteenth-century red brick of Beacon Hill, Haven was formally registered and taken up to his room. The elevator ride up was quite the experience. He could barely feel it move beneath his feet.

No stairs, who would’ve thought? Much better for the bellhops, for sure. The one carrying his heavy luggage, no doubt, was best pleased with this innovation.

To help Haven better acclimate, Shelby went up with him. There was much a nineteenth-century man would need to know.

The hotel is very, how should I put it…unique. Despite the exterior, the interior is hardly recognizable, Haven observed dryly.

No. It would be considered contemporary or modern with a nod to the past.

From the look on Haven’s face, it was a slight nod if that. Taking a tour of the room, some things were familiar: the bed, tables, and lamps, though these were not gaslit but electric. Edison had been working on that in 1880.

The TV was a wondrous enigma. It was like having a theater in one’s room. With the click of a button, it appeared. This was something Haven would like to explore further.

Gazing at the view from the window, Shelby heard Haven yell, Pray tell, where is the tub? How shall I bathe?

Meeting him in the bathroom, she saw there was a deep scowl on his face. He was staring at the glassed-in cubicle, with nozzles aplenty. Shelby could just imagine the water jets that massaged and pampered one’s body. She sighed audibly. What a luxury.

Where is the tub?

There isn’t one. You have a rather nice shower.

A shower?

Shelby slid open the glass door. She leaned in. It took her a few seconds to figure it out. Water then cascaded out of the main faucet head. She adjusted the temperature.

Put your hand in, and feel it.

A smile appeared on Haven’s face. It feels like a summer’s rain.

Like a bath, you can make the water hotter or colder by just using this knob here.

No bathtubs? He sounded crestfallen.

We still have bathtubs but not everywhere. Given the lives of most people, a shower is much quicker and convenient to take. But I love a bath. Afterward, I take a shower, though.

Why do both? Is that not overdoing it a bit?

With a faraway look in her eyes, Shelby explained, I take a bath to relax. There is no rushing. I put on some music, light some candles… Way too much information. Clearing her throat, she continued, But after a while, you are wallowing in your dirt. So, the shower cleans me off completely.

Haven arched a dark brow at her. I see.

Shelby floundered on, I mean, a bath was the best anyone could do in the 1800s, right? Most people didn’t even take one of those regularly.

I take your point. The face was impassive, but the tone left Shelby in no doubt. She had insulted him. I am most pleased to find, though wallowing in my filth, I have the distinction of being cleaner than the rest.

Open mouth and insert one size-nine foot, Shelby thought. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.

The corners of Haven’s mouth lifted, the ghost of a smile appearing. I accept your apology, Dr. Wright.

Taking this man on, Shelby would have to mind her Ps and Qs. To reach the man inside, she still had to deal with his nineteenth-century equivalent.

You have a toilet in here too.

Spells the death knell of the water closet, I presume. Flushing the toilet, Haven said, Amen to that.

Shelby snorted a laugh. Dr. Grenville, you are funny. Haven inclined his head.

Quite.

Exiting