The Gift of Illusion

Chapter Ten





1





Isaac had been on the phone for most of the morning talking to Simmons, and the high school principal. This time, however, the Chief of Police Donald Stevens had called him, mostly just to see how he was holding up.

“What time did you say the service was again?”

“Two o’clock,” Stevens said. “At Rose Hill Cemetery.”

Sixteen years ago, Isaac had buried Linda there. His plot was next to hers, waiting for him.

“But like I said, if you decide not to come I’ll understand. By no means should you feel obligated.”

“I don’t,” said Isaac. “But I’ll be there. A little fresh air couldn’t hurt. It’ll be a good chance for me and Amy to get out of the house for a couple of hours.”

“Sounds good,” said the chief. “Oh, and I almost forgot. A woman came in this morning asking for you.”

“What did she want?”

“Don’t know. But she brought you a book.”

“Okay. Did she say anything?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t speak with her. My understanding is that she just wanted to give you the book. Then she left.”

“Weird.”

“Yeah. It’s on your desk.”

“I’ll pick it up before the service”

Isaac hung up the phone and hurried out of the house. He walked across the lawn and fished the morning newspaper from a two-inch puddle of water. On his way back to the house, as he brushed away the water from the plastic newspaper covering, he noticed that Randy’s red Ford F-150 wasn’t in the driveway.

Amy met her father at the front door. “Are we going to a funeral?”

Isaac passed by his daughter and set the damp newspaper down on the kitchen counter. “Yes.” Then he tried to squeeze some of the water out of the newspaper and into the sink.

“Whose funeral?”

“The two officers who died yesterday.”

“In the crash?”

“Yes.”

“What were their names? Did you know them?”

Isaac gave up on salvaging the newspaper and tossed it into the trash. “Deputy Keith Randall and Deputy Jonathan Bryant. And no, not really.”

“What time are we leaving?”

Isaac looked at his watch. It was a quarter past twelve. “Well, the service is at two.” He tried to guess how far Rose Hill Cemetery was from the precinct, knowing that there would surely be a police escort of the caskets (as well as the families), and that the motorcade would probably originate from the department. “We’ll leave at one,” he finally said.

Amy went upstairs to get ready, while Isaac headed to his office across the living room. The destruction of last night looked much worse in the natural light. He picked up his computer monitor from the floor and carefully set it back on the desk. He wanted to start it up to see if it would still work but didn’t feel like going through all the trouble of reconnecting the ports. After cleaning up some papers and hooking the desk drawers back on to their rails, Isaac left the office and went upstairs to shower.

Thirty minutes later, he hustled down the stairs wearing a dark blue suit and tie, and holding a pair of Oxfords in one hand. He dropped the shoes off in front of the couch and headed into the kitchen. He grabbed the cordless from the wall and dialed Randy.

Lizzy answered. Her southern accent sounded even thicker over the phone.

“Lizzy, this is Isaac next door.”

“Isaac,” she said, surprised. “How ya doing? I heard about last night. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not the first time my house has been broken into, though you’d think by now I would have built a cage around the damn thing.” Lizzy laughed a little, an uncertain laugh. “Anyway, I called because I wanted to talk to Randy.”

“Oh, he’s at work.”

“What time do you think he’ll be home?”

“Probably around seven. Do you want me to have him call you?”

“No, I’ll just call back sometime after seven.”

“Great, I’ll let him know when he gets home.”

“Thanks.”

“And I hope everything is all right. Do you know who did it yet?”

“Yeah, I have a pretty good idea.”

“That’s a relief,” said Lizzy. “I was wondering if I should be worried.”

“No, there’s nothing to worry about. Everything will be fine.”





2





Shortly after one o’clock, a yellow taxi turned on to Hampton Lane and passed a black Charger waiting at the end of the road for the turn of the light. The cab drove down the street and stopped in front of mailbox number 7882. A faded tan Corolla was in the driveway, but no red truck. The passenger in the back seat opened the cab door and stepped out on to the sidewalk. He tossed his wallet through the window, landing on the cab drivers lap. The grubby cabbie looked down at the wallet, confused, and then looked out at his fare. The officer nodded his approval, lighting up the cabbies face like bitter sunshine. The taxi turned around at the following street and dashed back down Hampton Lane just in time to clear the yellow light.

It took Deputy Howers over twenty minutes to reach Hampton from home, and by the look of the street, he showed up right on time. The neighborhood was quiet. Most people were at work, some were mourning the dead, and yet others felt safe to stay home. Oh, what a mistake, he thought, gazing up at the quaint tan house in front of him.

What a terrible mistake.





3





Elmwood Police Department.

Isaac sat behind his desk scanning the solid black cover of a book called The Immortal. Simmons stood across from him reading a note that was left with the book. The note simply said that a woman came in this morning and dropped off the book for him to read.

"What's this about?" Simmons asked, setting the note on the desk.

Isaac was now flipping through the pages. "Beats me."

"Where's your daughter? She not come?"

"Amy's around somewhere. Check the bathroom."

"No, that's okay. I was just curious how she was doing?"

Isaac set the book down flat on the desk and stared at the cover again. "I suppose she's as good as can be expected. Neither one of us got much sleep last night." He opened the cover. On the backside someone had scribbled in pen any questions? call me and left a number. He held the book up and showed Simmons. Then he picked up his office phone from its cradle, found an open line, and dialed the number. A woman picked up after one ring.

“Hi, this is Detective Isaac Winters. I got the book you left.”

"Great. I'm glad you decided to call."

"I have questions."

"I figured you would. So you read the book?"

Isaac tried to associate the female voice with someone he knew, but nobody immediately came to mind. “First question, who are you?”

“My name is Virginia Maples. I understand you’ve been investigating the—"

"Second question, what's with the book? And no I have not read it. I'm a little stressed for time at the moment. So if we could keep this brief."

“I'm sorry. I promise my intention isn't to waste your time. I’m not exactly sure how much you know. That's what the book is about. I think it might contain some useful information that can help you in the investigation."

“This book can tell me what's causing these bodies to burn?”

“Sort of. If you could free up a time when we could meet, I think I may be able to explain it to you. It's a lot to say over the phone.”

Isaac now felt like the woman was trying to pull him into a trap, tempting him with a piece of cheese only to leave his head locked between a metal brace and a wooden block.

"And I won't lie, it might sound crazy at first," Virginia continued. "You'll have to trust me."

Isaac smiled and sucked back a laugh. Even if I knew you, I probably still wouldn’t trust you, he thought. She could be playing with his head, messing with an already messed up investigation.

“Well, I’m going to be leaving shortly for a funeral, but I could free up some time this evening if that's fine."

"That's perfect," Virginia replied. "What time? Are we meeting at the police station?"

"How about eight? And no, I'd rather not meet at the station. I have to look over my daughter. Would you mind coming over to my house?"

“Sure.”

Isaac gave her his address. "I'll see you at eight then. I have to go."

“Okay, I'll be there. And thank you for giving me this opportunity to explain myself, detective. All I want to do is help, or try to help. Hopefully it's not too late.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’ll understand when I get there."