The Gift of Illusion: A Thriller (6 page)

“Well.” Simmons paused to catch his breath.
“Do you think it was him?”

Isaac smirked. “It had to be, but right now
we have zero evidence to charge him of shit. We need to look
harder. I feel like we’re missing something, like we’re gazing too
hard at what’s on top and forgetting to look at what’s underneath.
You know what I mean?”

“Yeah,” Simmons said, not looking like he
did.

Isaac headed to the bathroom. Once inside,
he ran his palm across the counter and then held his hand up to the
light looking for any drug residue. After searching the cabinets
and sorting out the one-cup coffee packets from the hot cocoa, he
left the bathroom.

“Okay, listen. We need to find Mr. Ackerman.
He may be driving a blue Escort. It's not much to go on, but call
it in anyway. I want you to stay here and wrap things up while I
shoot back to the Ackerman house.”

“Why? You don’t think he would go back
there, do you?”

“No. There should still be officers at the
house. He can't be far though. I want to talk with the next-door
neighbor. You have your cell phone on you, don’t you?”

“Yeah.”

“Good, I might need to call you.”

Isaac dashed to the Charger.

Simmons watched the car loop out of the
motel parking lot just as several television news vans were pulling
in. “Christ, they got here fast,” he said, forgetting that most
were only minutes away.

4

Isaac parked the Charger out in front of the
Ackerman's house. All of the news vans were gone, and all but a few
police cruisers remained. He stepped out of the car and looked over
at the neighbor’s house on the left. An older woman, probably in
her mid-sixties, was standing on the front porch, hands on her
hips, eyes focused on the Ackerman house.

“Excuse me,” said Isaac, flashing his badge,
well aware that from this distance she would never be able to see
it. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”

The woman turned her head Isaac's direction,
but didn’t answer.

“It’s important.”

“Sure,” she finally said.

Isaac strolled up the lawn still holding the
badge in his hand. Once he reached the front porch, he realized the
woman was probably closer to seventy-five. She had the faraway
look. The farther away you get, the better she looked.

"You with the police?"

"Yes ma'am. I'm a detective."

“Would you like to come inside?”

"Thanks. I'd love to."

Isaac entered the house and sat down on a
light brown love seat. He stretched out his legs. The woman sat
down in a recliner across from him.

“My name is Brenda Mills."

“Isaac Winters.”

“I guess you’re here because of the fire
next door.”

“Yes, ma’am. How well did you know the
little girl?”

"Lori. I knew her pretty well. She was such
a sweet girl. I watched her sometimes after school. She helped me
plant some beautiful flowers out front. Did you see them?”

Isaac nodded. He really hadn’t. Admiring the
old woman’s gardening skills was the last thing on his mind walking
up. “How well would you say you knew her parents?”

“I’d say we had your typical neighborly
relationship. We talked now and then.”

“About?” Isaac inquired.

“Carol used to talk about her job a
lot.”

“Where did she work?”

“She works at the public library a few
blocks down Fairway. Actually, I think she just volunteers. But I
check out a lot of books so I would see her there helping out.”

“And where does James work?”

“James works at a used car lot in town.
Franks, I believe.”

“How often did you talk with him?”

“Not quite as much as Carol. He worked a lot
and wasn’t home often. But we chatted sometimes. He’s a real nice
man and was a good father to Lori.”

Yeah, he was just terrific. Burned his
little girl to death, the standard for which all good fathers
should be judged.

“Has anyone come and talked with you
yet?”

“No. You’re the first one.”

“Do you have a husband?”

“I did. He passed away last year.”

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.” Isaac paused
for a minute to catch his breath. “Did you notice anything strange
or unusual yesterday evening?”

“Strange? No, not really. I was supposed to
watch Lori after school but she never came by. I figured there must
have been a change of plans.”

“You didn’t hear anything later that night?
Shouting? Crying?”

Mrs. Mills shook her head. “No, I went to
bed early. Probably around nine. Then I woke around twelve thirty
when the fire trucks arrived. I watched from my porch as the
firefighters ran into the house and I got really worried.”

“Could you see the fire?”

“No, I never saw the fire. I never even saw
any smoke."

“So how did you hear about Lori’s
death?”

“This morning on the local news. I had
stayed up the rest of the night. I couldn't get back to sleep. It's
so sad. I mean, like I said, she was such a sweet girl.”

“So as far as you know the Ackerman’s had a
perfectly normal family life?”

“Absolutely. You don’t believe James or
Carol had anything to do with the fire, do you?”

“It's looking that way.”

“I’m certain that neither of them would do
anything to hurt their daughter. I hope you’re not considering them
as suspects.”

“Not them,” Isaac corrected. “Just him. His
wife is dead.”

The old woman gasped. “What do you mean?
Carol.”

“I mean Mrs. Ackerman burned in a motel just
up the road.”

“Oh, Jesus.”

“And James is missing. So what do you
think?”

"I'm just in shock. I'm sorry. I really am.
I don't know what else to say."

“You don't have to say anything. You've said
enough. It wasn't my intention to upset you. But I really
appreciate your help." Isaac rose from the love seat and extended
his hand. "It was nice meeting you."

Mrs. Mills escorted Isaac to the front door
and led him back on to the porch. Right as she was about to shut
the door, she stopped Isaac and ran back inside. When she returned,
she handed him a painting all torn in shreds.

“I found it scattered on the sidewalk
outside my house. I think it might have been Lori’s.”

Isaac didn’t know what to make of it.

“I just thought you might want it.”

5

The gold plaque on the door read: Chief of
Police Donald Stevens.

Isaac sat down across from the chief and
quickly spilled the daily news.

Yes, James Ackerman is a murderer. No, we
don't know where he's at.

Then he moved on to other topics of
interest, like, “How did Simmons become a detective?”

Stevens was taken aback by the question. He
almost looked ready to crack a smile, a small one. “Well, I imagine
the same way you did, Isaac.”

“Bullshit.”

“Do you have a problem with Simmons?”

“No, but a lot of people do.”

“How would you know that?”

“How long have I been here?”

“Good point.”

“Personally, I like the guy. But he’s
clearly short on experience.”

“He’s still learning.”

“That’s it?” Isaac inquired.

Stevens leaned over the desk.

“Okay, look, if I tell you, you have to
promise you won’t go spreading it around to the others.”

“Are you kidding? How long have you known
me?”

“Almost twenty years, but you still have to
promise. Trust me, we don’t want any trouble.”

“That serious, huh?”

“Semi-serious,” Stevens said. “Now do you
promise?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Okay, remember when he transferred from
Jacksonville and I told everyone how he had been a detective with
the Jacksonville Police Department.”

“He wasn’t really from Jacksonville?”

“No, he really did transfer from the
Jacksonville P.D, but he wasn’t a detective. He didn’t become a
detective until right before he transferred. Before then, he was
just your average policeman working the night shift like so many
others. I looked into it and he had only been an officer for two
years with the Jacksonville P.D, with no other prior experience in
law enforcement.”

“So how did he make the jump so soon?”

Stevens leaned further over the desk.
“That’s the messy part. I had my suspicions about him also. So I
dug even further and discovered that he is the cousin of Larry
Colvin.”

“The Jacksonville chief of police?”

“That’s him.”

“His cousin hooked him up?”

Stevens nodded. “And that’s why he was
transferred here.”

“So things wouldn’t look suspicious?”

“Right, but I figured why not give him a
chance.”

“And so you stuck him with me. You thought
if he followed me around, he might catch on quicker. Am I
right?”

“Talk about catching on quick.”

Isaac smirked. “I guess I can live with
that.”

Stevens picked up a mess of papers on the
desk and neatly piled them in a corner. “Look, why don’t you go on
home for now. See your daughter. Get some rest. Whatever. There’s
no point in hanging around here all night. If we locate Mr.
Ackerman, trust me, you’ll be the first one to know.”

Chapter Three

1

Amy was accustomed to being alone in the
house at night. Oftentimes, her father would get home from work
very late and on a number of occasions would be gone all night
long. Of course he would always call in the middle of the night
just to see if she was okay, and although sometimes it would annoy
her, she understood he was just doing his job, doing what dads are
supposed to do.

All Amy knew of her mother was through
stories her father had told her, like how they first met at a
Chicago concert when they were both twenty-one years old. How lucky
he was to have gotten row F, seat 15, right next to her mother,
Linda. Less than a year after the concert, Isaac and Linda were
married and hopeful for children. After years of trying to conceive
a child without success, and after many tests, their doctor
informed them that Linda would never be able to have children.
Those words expressed exactly what they had feared all along. Both
felt as though the doctor had taken their dream and squashed it
under his foot. They knew it wasn’t his fault, it was nobody’s
fault, some things in life are just not meant to be. For them,
children had become one of those things. Still, the bad news didn’t
stop them from trying, as long as she didn’t have a headache and he
could breathe, nothing would get in their way.

After waiting eight years for a miracle, the
miracle finally came.

Isaac could remember holding Amy for the
first time in the hospital, thanking God for taking the time to
answer his prayers and deliver such a wonderful blessing.

April 18, 1994 was the happiest day of
Isaac’s life. How could he have known that the worst day of his
life would come not even one year later?

Isaac decided to be the one to give his
wife’s eulogy. Instead of preparing a passage in advance, he let
his emotion take over and guide him each painful step of the way.
It had been such a beautiful day outside in spite of the storm
tearing through Isaac’s heart. After he finished delivering the
eulogy, he leaned down and placed a single white rose on the
casket. Tears ran down the sides of his face. He stood up and
looked over at his now deceased father, who was holding Amy in his
arms, rocking her back and forth.

She had cried alongside everyone else.

Amy was watching television in the living
room when her father entered through the front door.

“You’re home,” she said, smiling at him as
he hung up his coat.

“Don’t get too excited,” he said. “I don’t
know how long I’m gonna be here.”

“Awe, I thought we could order a movie or
something.”

Isaac sat down on the couch next to his
daughter. “You can if you want. Hey, did you see me on the evening
news?”

“You were on the news?”

“I don't know. Maybe.”

“You should have called and told me. What
were you doing on the news anyway?”

“Walking, I think.”

“You didn’t say anything?”

“I might have. I don’t remember.”

“Are you sure you don’t have amnesia?”

Isaac smiled. “No, it’s just been a rough
day. So why don’t you go ahead and order a movie?”

“Not if you might have to leave during the
middle of it. It would be a waste of money.”

“It’s my money. And you’ll be here to watch
it.”

“If you have to go out, are you going to let
me come with?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

“You have before.”

“I know. But not tonight.”

Amy leaned over and put her arms around her
father. “C’mon. Why not?”

"For one it's a school night. Plus you're a
wimpy girl."

"Oh shut up."

Isaac went upstairs and took a shower. When
he was done, he changed clothes and headed back downstairs to his
office. Inside, he picked up the phone and dialed Simmons’s cell
phone number, letting the phone ring four or five times before
hanging up. He wasn’t sure if he had Simmons’s home number, but if
not, he could always call and get it from the precinct.

He pulled a small leather organizer from the
desk drawer and flipped through the letters in the phone directory.
When he reached the beginning of the letter S, he stopped and
searched down the page. He must have known a great many people with
a last name beginning with the letter S; the next three pages were
covered with dozens of numbers and addresses, most unknown or
simply forgotten. A little more than halfway down the second page,
he found the name he was looking for: Daniel Simmons, with both
cell and home number listed, squeezed right between Shaw and
Sinister.

Yes, long ago in his academy years Isaac had
known a man with the last name of Sinister, and unlike most people
with unusual or characterizing last names, names such as David
Ferry or Susan Whore, Sinister described this young academy
good-for-nothing perfectly.