Free The Gift of Illusion: A Thriller by Richard Brown

eighteen
wheeler.”
    “Perhaps.”
    “Yes or no?” Isaac said.
    “I can't remember.”
    “Well, I’m not sure if you are aware of
this, but just down the road there was an accident, and one of the
vehicles involved was an eighteen wheeler.”
    “Okay,” said the clerk. “Let me know when
you get to the point.”
    “The point is coming,” said Isaac. “Are you
paying attention? The driver of the semi was carrying a fugitive,
both are now dead, and a receipt from your gas station dated ten
minutes before the crash was found in the driver’s pocket. Now, all
I want to know is if you knew either of them, saw them together
doing anything suspicious, or have any information at all that
could help us. That’s it. I’m not blaming you, so I could do
without the smug attitude, but I’d appreciate an answer.”
    “Would you prefer a right or wrong
answer?”
    “I want an honest answer,” said Isaac. “It’s
simple. Yes or no?”
    Eddie grinned. “No.”
    “You’re not lying to me?”
    “You heard my answer.”
    “Fine, but if I find out you lied to me I’ll
be back, and next time we won’t be smiling and winking at each
other from across the counter. Understand?”
    Eddie grinned again. “Don’t forget your
badge, Detective.”
    Isaac snatched his badge from the counter
and placed it back into his coat. The two detectives left the store
and returned to the Charger parked out front.
    Isaac shook his head. “What a complete
imbecile!”
    “We should have asked him about the
Escort.”
    “Why? Even if he knew where it was he
wouldn’t tell us. I’m not sure that fucking idiot would remember
his name if it wasn’t pinned to his shirt.”
    “So we’re not coming back?”
    “Not unless we absolutely have to.”
    Isaac parked the Charger in the median
parallel to the semi then got out of the car. Simmons followed.
Isaac opened the semi’s passenger door and hoisted himself up into
the cab again. He took a minute to look over the last remains of
James Ackerman plastered to the heavy-duty seat cushion and hoped
that this time he would notice something different, something he
may have overlooked in the other bodies. But the scalded markings
of James’s corpse were identical to that of his wife and
daughter.
    Somehow, the case had solved itself. James
had killed his family, but not just killed—tortured. So why not end
the story the way it began, show the world that you’re not afraid
to suffer the punishment of your own design. Be the martyr.
    Isaac reached his hand down into the ash and
pulled the stone figure from the ruins. He brushed the black flakes
off the statue with the tip of his index finger. This was the first
time he had been able to get a close look at the unique figure; the
shape had been intricately crafted, down to even the smallest of
details. Whoever created the small piece of stonework put a lot of
time into sculpting it, and had thought much of the shadowy figure
adorned. “I think I might hang on to this,” he said, placing the
statue into the inner pocket of his coat.
    “Are you sure you want to keep that thing
around?”
    Isaac stepped off the truck. “Why not? It’s
not every day you get to take your work home with you.”
    “Yeah, but that thing has a way of following
bad luck around.”
    “How do you know that it’s not the other
way?”
    “Well, that would be even worse.”
    “I’ll take my chances.”
     
    2
     
    The heavy two-car garage door groaned as it
rolled upward on stiff, aging rails. Isaac drove the Charger inside
and parked underneath a broken light bulb that hung overhead. A
long piece of string, which acted as a parking guide, hung from a
hook in the ceiling. When the knotted tip of the string touched the
front of the hood, the car was far enough inside the garage to not
get pelted by the electric door.
    Isaac shut off the ignition and leaned back
in the firm leather seat as though it were a recliner. He dreamed
of getting away for a little while,