The Recruiter (A Thriller) Page 20

  Esposito hangs up with the chief and calls the Fischer number.

  Christ, let someone be home, Esposito thinks.

  Whatever happens, don’t let Ackerman be there.

  The phone rings as Esposito hurtles down the freeway.

  It will take him ten minutes to get there.

  He hopes he’s not too late.

  Eighty-Four

  “Can I get you another drink, Anna?” Samuel asks, his voice smooth and one-hundred-percent sincere. “Your vocal cords must be sore after that lecture you just gave me.” His smile is big and warm. Inside, his stomach his quaking, but on the outside, he appears to be in complete control. Although the scenarios ricocheting through his head have set his heart off on a wild series of palpitations, when he catches a glimpse of his face in the dining room mirror, he looks serene.

  Anna looks up at him, and Samuel can tell that she’s checking to see if he’s serious about the offer to fetch her a drink. She’s just read him the riot act. Accusing him of a terrible crime—sabotaging Beth’s dream so that she would go into the Navy. Amazing how perceptive a drunk can be.

  “How can you stand there looking so…smug?” she asks him. Her eyes are half-lidded, her jaw slack. “You know you did it!” The words come out heavily slurred.

  Samuel crosses the room, snatches the bottle from the dining room table in one swift move, and splashes three fingers of whiskey into Anna’s glass. He walks back to Anna and offers the glass, which she accepts with both hands. Samuel fights back a smirk.

  “I swear to God, I put those packages in the mail,” Samuel says.

  “I don’t believe you.” Now she sounds petulant.

  Dark swirls roam through Samuel’s mind. His temple throbs with activity. The pain is shooting through his forehead. He thinks back to when he was a boy. The time he ran away from home and his father caught him when he was only three blocks away. His father had tied him to a tree in the backyard. It was just about dinnertime. And Samuel thought after dinner his father would untie him. And then after dinner, when no respite came, Samuel thought he’d untie him before bedtime. But once the lights in the house were turned off and everyone was sound asleep, Samuel was still tied to the tree.

  He stayed there all night. In the morning, he awoke to find the rope had cut through his skin, and he’d bled profusely. Mosquitoes had made mincemeat of his face.

  His father had freed him just before lunch.

  Samuel hadn’t tried to run away again.

  “…not going to happen,” Anna finishes saying. Samuel snaps out of his memory.

  “Pardon me?” he says, his voice tight with emotion.

  “I said it isn’t going to happen. Beth isn’t going in the Navy. You can take your bullshit sales pitch somewhere else.” Anna is gesturing with the glass, and a splash of whiskey falls to the carpet.

  “Don’t you think you should leave that up to Beth?” Samuel asks. He’s fighting to keep this from escalating. He can feel the anger surging in his body. The darkness in his mind is receding, and the crystalline logic of murder takes its place. The boy’s disappearance could be explained. Julie Giacalone’s suicide could be explained. But now the death of another recruit’s family member? The cops would eventually find the link—Samuel Ackerman. The best way would be to keep this drunk, old bitch alive. He could convince the cops on the rest of the disappearances, but if she went away, the spotlight on him would be relentless.

  Still, if she absolutely refuses to leave Beth alone, to let her daughter make her own fucking decision…well, he would have to take matters into his own hands.

  “I will leave it up to Beth,” Anna says. Samuel feels a surge of relief. But then, just as quickly, Anna shatters it. “Once she has all the facts, like the fact that you tossed those packages in the garbage somewhere, it’ll break her heart. But it’s the best thing for her. We both know that.”

  For a brief moment, the last remaining dark swirls in Samuel’s brain dissipate, and then suddenly, a shaft of bright white pierces his consciousness, and he’s moving, standing over Anna Fischer, his fists clenched.

  “You’ll let her make her own decision, and you’ll stay the fuck out of it,” he says, his teeth clenched, his voice raspy.

  Anna freezes as if she hasn’t heard right. She looks up at him. A strange light in her eyes.

  “Fuck you, asshole,” she says and takes a sip of whiskey.

  Suddenly, the anger, frustration, and sheer violent impulse overcomes Samuel, and he unleashes a right hook. It’s a smooth, powerful motion that Samuel expects to end with the old bag’s jaw disintegrating.

  Instead, the old woman manages to just turn her head enough so that the blow glances off her chin, carrying the punch past her.

  With astonishing quickness, she tosses the whiskey from her glass directly into Samuel’s face. It burns his eyes, and for a moment, he can see nothing but a watery blur. He stumbles backward two steps and wipes his eyes with his sleeve. When they’re clear, he catches a quick glimpse of Anna rushing into the back bedroom.

  He pounds across the room and kicks open the door that she has just slammed behind her. He barges into the bedroom and makes a beeline for Anna. He is three feet away from her when he catches a quick glimpse of dark metal in her hand.

  Samuel sidesteps to the left as the gun goes off. The sound echoes in the small room, and then Samuel plows into Anna, crashing her into her dresser, sending picture frames, earrings, and pill bottles onto the floor.

  They land in a heap, but Samuel is quickly on top of her, the gun in his hand. He presses it to her temple.

  “You shouldn’t have gotten in my way, you drunken bitch.” His finger curls around the trigger, but then he stops himself. Blood splattered all over her bedroom wouldn’t be good. He relaxes his finger on the trigger, then raises the gun and brings it crashing down on top of her head.

  Anna goes completely still, and Samuel puts his ear to her chest. He hears her heart beating.

  Samuel retrieves a pillow from the bed and stands over Anna Fischer.

  “Beth will decide what she wants to do without you,” he says.

  And then he leans in above her, pressing the pillow over her face.

  Eighty-Five

  Beth pulls into the driveway, her radio on, her thoughts focused on Peter and any scenarios that might involve him being away. She’s been over it again and again, and she comes up with the same thing: nada.

  That’s why it’s so jarring to see Samuel standing next to his car in front of her house.

  He has the trunk open.

  In her excitement to see him, she temporarily puts thoughts of Peter on the backburner and emerges from her car with a smile on her face. Samuel walks toward her, and they hug on the sidewalk directly in front of the house.

  “What are you doing here?” she asks him. She reaches up and runs the flat of her hand across his forehead. “You’re sweating.”

  “Like a pig,” he says, laughing. “I had a great idea, and I’ve been going like a madman trying to get everything ready.”

  She glances back over his shoulder toward his car. “What’s the idea?”

  “I want to take you to my cabin up north.”

  She feels a lightness in her stomach. A fluttering in her heart. Going away with Samuel for the weekend…the thought of it sends her head reeling. Not because of the weekend itself, but for what it means. She sees Samuel smiling at her and recovers.

  “You have a cabin? Where up north?”

  “Near Alpena. It’s nothing fancy—”

  She throws her arms around him. “Oh, Samuel I would love to! I’ve been up north a few times. I love it! It’s so beautiful!” She shoots him a sly smile. “And so romantic.”

  “Like I said, it’s nothing out of Architectural Digest.”

  “Oh, I don’t care about that,” Beth says. “That’s half the fun, you know. Roughing it a little bit. Getting back to nature.” She pauses, nearly breathless. “How exciting!” She takes his hand
and begins walking toward the house. “Will we leave tomorrow morning? Maybe after breakfast?”

  “No. Now.”

  She turns and stops. She looks at him, surprised by the sudden urgency of his voice.

  “I guess I just got kind of excited by the idea,” he says, giving her a sheepish grin. “Plus, we can beat traffic, and I have tomorrow off. I know it’s all of a sudden, but I just…really want to do this. With you.”

  Beth looks into Samuel’s eyes, and her knees turn to water. She momentarily thinks of Peter. Should she stay? Help Mrs. Forbes in some way? She’s done everything she could possibly do. Called every single person she could think of. She won’t be doing anyone any favors by hanging around. If Peter does come back while she’s gone…well, she’ll find out somehow.

  Still holding hands, they walk to the front door. Beth pulls out her key and inserts it into the lock.

  She turns the key, but nothing happens. She puts her hand on the doorknob and turns it.

  It opens.

  “That’s weird,” she says. “Usually Mom locks it.”

  They walk into the house together. “Ma?” Beth calls out.

  Silence answers her.

  She walks through the living room toward the kitchen then stops. The smell tickles her nose. “She’s drinking again,” she tells Samuel.

  Samuel, standing behind her, says nothing, and then the phone shatters the silence of the house.

  Beth answers.

  “May I speak to Anna Fischer, please?” a woman’s voice says.

  “She’s not here right now. May I take a message?” Beth has carried the phone into her bedroom and throws a pair of jeans into her duffel bag. Socks, underwear, her toothbrush are already in. She reaches into her second dresser drawer, looking for that frilly nightgown she has.

  Suddenly, she hears a slight buzzing on the phone.

  “Mom, is that you?” There’s silence. But the buzz is still there. Must be the cordless. It’s never worked right. But usually the buzz only comes when they both answer the phone at the same time.

  “Pardon me?” the woman on the phone says.

  “I’m sorry, I was speaking to someone else,” Beth says, tossing in a heavy sweatshirt. She starts to pull the phone from her ear, ready to hit the end-call button. But the voice on the other end of the line stops her.

  “Is this Beth? Beth Fischer?”

  Beth puts the phone back to her ear. Solicitor, she thinks. Wanting a donation or a magazine subscription, totally unaware that the house they’ve just called has no money whatsoever.

  “Yeah, listen—” she says, ready to hang up on the person. But again, the voice stops her.

  “Beth, this is Jessica Jansen, Coach Jansen, at Albemare College.”

  This time, she stops what she’s doing and looks at a spot on the wall. For the first time since she answered the phone, she’s actually listening.

  “Coach of what?” Beth asks.

  “Basketball. Women’s basketball.”

  She’s going to ask me for a recommendation. Maybe if I know a player she’s recruiting. Maybe someone gave my name as a reference.

  “I got the highlight reel your Mom sent, and I think I’ve got a slot on my team for you.”

  The idea of a reference is gone now. She knows what this call is about now, for sure. This is a joke, Beth thinks. A sick, fucking joke probably being played on her by Vanessa. Or by some former opponent who is relishing what happened to her.

  The thoughts and emotions streaming at her make her head swim. Basketball. A highlight reel. That Mom sent. It comes at her in bursts.

  “We went 12-12 last year,” Coach Jansen continues. “But we’ve got our frontline returning, and I think we can go somewhere in the postseason. You would probably be a role player. Your mother mentioned your injury.”

  “She did,” Beth says. Her mouth barely able to form the words. Beth tries to reconcile the image of her mother, the drunk, with a woman motivated enough to put together a highlight reel, find out where to send it, and then actually go through with it.

  Somehow, the image doesn’t reconcile at all with the image Beth has of her mother.

  “The girl who left was a zone breaker,” the woman on the other end of phone continues. “A sharpshooter from the outside. I think, if you have lost some of your mobility, it would be okay. I watched you shoot and you’re a natural. A pure shooter.”

  “Um…thank you,” Beth says. Her heart is pounding in her chest. The phone in her hand is slick with sweat. This can’t be happening, she thinks. And then she realizes what she’s missing. She’s not going to Albemarle College to play for Jessica Jansen. How could she be so fucking stupid?

  “The problem is,” Beth says. “We…I…can’t afford college…”

  “It’s a full scholarship, Beth. Didn’t I say that?”

  Beth wants to answer. To say, no, you didn’t say that, but her mouth is hanging open, and her vocal cords can’t seem to scrape together any sound.

  “Beth? Are you there?”

  “I’m here,” she says, her voice soft and faint. The buzzing on the phone is now accompanied by the buzzing in her head.

  “So let’s talk next steps. First, does this sound good to you? Are you interested?”

  “Yes,” Beth says, her voice still distant and hollow.

  “Okay, I’ve got a basketball camp out in Arizona next week then I’ll be back. Before I leave, I’ll send out the papers to you, okay? There will be a letter of intent, as well as information about the college. And then I’d like to set up a time when you can come out. We can meet, talk, give you a tour of the campus, and meet a few of your teammates. Okay?”

  “Okay,” Beth says.

  “I’ve got to run, Beth. Oh, one more thing. What a wonderful mother you have…I love to see parents actively involved. She must really care about you. Okay, gotta run. We’ll talk more!”

  Beth is standing there, listening to the dial tone, when the buzzing on the phone stops. The one in her head has graduated to a siren-like wail. She got a scholarship! She’s going to college!

  She disconnects the phone and races downstairs. Samuel is standing in the living room.

  She jumps into his arms.

  “I’ve got the greatest news!” she says, her voice loud, her face split in a huge grin.

  And then she stops.

  Samuel’s face is shockingly pale.

  “What’s wrong?” she asks.

  “Nothing. What’s the news?” His voice sounds quivery to her. But the flood of happiness washes over her.

  “I got a scholarship! I’m going to play basketball again! It’s a fucking miracle! And my mom did it! Oh my God! Oh my God!”

  She hugs Samuel.

  She has it all. A scholarship. A love in her life. And her mother finally has come through.

  All she wants to do now is one thing.

  She wants to find her mother.

  Hug her.

  Beg her forgiveness.

  And thank her.

  And then she wants to go up north with Samuel.

  And celebrate.

  Eighty-Six

  Ten minutes later, Detective Esposito pulls into the Fischer driveway, joined by two of Lake Orion’s finest.

  Esposito is not happy. His calls have gone unanswered, and he already knows what he’s going to find inside: either more bodies or nothing at all.

  An emergency call to a cop-friendly judge secured the warrant in record time. Now, Esposito kicks in the back door and enters the house, gun drawn. Minutes later, he stands in the Fischer living room, breathing deeply the scent of booze—years of its odor soaked into the carpet, the walls, the furniture.

  He gazes at the pictures on the wall, mostly of a young girl. That would be Beth, he assumes, now the objective of Samuel Ackerman’s misguided recruiting efforts. Esposito gazes more closely. She’s pretty. And most of the pictures are of her basketball career. Holding a trophy here, being named All-Conference there.

&nbs
p; Esposito has put out the call and now every cop in the area is on the lookout for Ackerman’s car, the Taurus. More cops are watching his apartment, should he return. And more are watching the office.

  But Esposito has a bad feeling. There’s something about this Ackerman, stuff he’s gathered from the crime scenes. Ackerman’s smart. He’s obviously merciless. Most of all, he’s a survivor.

  It won’t be easy to find him.

  And once they find him…well, he’s guessing that won’t be easy either.

  Eighty-Seven

  Interstate 75 splits the state of Michigan neatly in half, running vertically from the heart of Detroit’s hardcore urban ghetto to the awe-inspiring beauty of the Mackinaw Bridge.

  Halfway up the state, Highway 33 branches off to the east, and at a gentle curve of that highway, a few miles from the shores of Lake Huron, a network of gravel roads shoots off into a small patch of forest, in which resides Bear Den Lake. Home to a smattering of cottages, including that of the Ackerman family.

  The cottage is an ancient, dilapidated log cabin, built by hunters just after the turn-of-the-century. The logs are stained nearly black, the outside a faded, dark red. Gray chinking turns the exterior into a striped pattern. The lot itself is dense with trees and overgrown vegetation. The nearest cottage on either side is a good acre or two away.

  As Samuel steers the Taurus onto the gravel drive, they quickly come to a chain blocking the way. He hops out, uses a key to unlock the padlock, drives the Taurus through, then refastens the lock.

  They pull forward, and Beth is struck nearly dumb with awe. The cottage is tiny and dumpy-looking. The lake is small. And the lot could be considered a mess.

  But to Beth, it is absolutely beautiful.

  The idea of a cabin up north was always a distant concept to her. Quite a few of the kids in school had places up north, and Beth even went with them a few times, but this is different.

  This is the cabin belonging to a man she is rapidly falling in love with.

  The two things together work to render her speechless.