Blood and Bone

by Austin Camacho

  Together they stood, and Hannibal instantly felt better. He held his face skyward to fill his mouth with rain water, then spit out the taste of his own vomit. His head seemed clearer now. And he thought he heard a car up on the road, but with the rain he could not be sure. Then he turned to Cindy again.

  “Look at you. You’re beautiful. But you’re soaked. Get in the car, I’ll go up to the road and get us a ride out of here.”

  The grade was slight, but the ground was slippery and it took Hannibal a minute to reach the shoulder of the road. He did see a vehicle pulled to the side about thirty yards on and headed for it. Before he was halfway to the car he was met by two men, both wearing rubber rain coats with caps on under their hoods. Hannibal was about to ask them for help when one man reached inside his slicker, pulled out a revolver and pointed it at him. Hannibal was considering diving back into the woods off the road when the first man spoke.

  “Freeze right there. You’re under arrest for murder.”

  -8-

  Hannibal’s hands went up slowly as he turned to face the gunman. His mouth was suddenly bone dry, the only part of him that was. While he tried to decide what to say, the shorter man, the one not holding the gun, moved in close. He smelled of chewing tobacco, never a good sign from Hannibal’s point of view. He started to pat Hannibal down but got only as far as his shoulder holster. With an “ah hah!” expression on his face, he pulled the weapon from its sheath.

  “This what you capped him with?”

  Behind him, Hannibal heard “Do they teach you clowns about Miranda in this state?” He turned to see Cindy stalking forward along the road. Despite the seriousness of the situation he had to smile. She looked like a drowned rat, her hair pasted to her forehead and cheeks. Her white blouse, turned transparent by the water, clung to her body, highlighting her chilled, erect nipples. She was barefoot and her stockings were shredded from the knees down. Rage flashed from her dark eyes and right then Hannibal was glad he was the wronged party.

  “Who the hell are you?” the taller man asked.

  “My name is Cynthia Santiago. I’m this man’s attorney.”

  “Well I hope you’re a good one,” the tall man said, pulling a badge from inside his raincoat with his free hand. “Fairfax police. Believe your boy here just drove away from shooting a man. Looks like the weather stopped him.”

  “You’ve got no evidence, no probable cause, and I can easily prove we just came from the other direction,” Cindy said, pushing her face into the trooper’s. “I ought to sue your ass for false arrest. Now put that damn gun away.”

  The officer hesitated, but could not quite let go. “Nope, this man’s under arrest and we’re taking him back to the chief. Rory, better read him his rights, and then cuff him.”

  “What you better do,” Cindy growled through small clenched teeth, “is drive us to Gabriel Nieswand’s house. It’s not far from here. Back in Oakton at…”

  “I know where it is,” the tall policeman said. “You’re in luck, lawyer lady. That’s just where we’re headed. Scene of the crime.”

  Cindy swallowed hard. “Nieswand’s? Are you sure? Is Mister Nieswand all right?”

  By the time the police car pulled into Nieswand’s driveway, the rain had stopped. Hannibal and Cindy climbed out of the car, squishing as they walked. Their captors removed their raincoats, leaving themselves annoyingly crisp and neat. Hannibal was about to ask them to remove the handcuffs when Nieswand came jogging toward them from the house, followed by a strict looking man in a tan suit. He had a severe hair cut and dangerous blue eyes.

  “What are you doing?” Nieswand blurted as soon as he was within hearing range. “Have you lost your minds? Miss Santiago, are you all right? Get those handcuffs off that man immediately.”

  “Sir, are you okay?” Cindy asked at the same time. “They said there was a murder. Your wife?”

  “She’s fine, just a little shaken up.”

  The other man stopped in front of Hannibal and looked him up and down. He was not in uniform, but Hannibal instinctively knew he was a police detective. He may have been born with a badge.

  “You know these people?”

  “The woman is in my firm,” Nieswand said, almost hysterical. “The man is working on a private investigation right now for one of my clients, a Mister Harlan Mortimer. In fact, they were both at Mister Mortimer’s home up in Great Falls when the crime took place.”

  The menacing blue eyes turned on the two troopers, who wilted under their gaze. A key was quickly produced and Hannibal’s hands were freed. The troopers got back into their car, but the man they were avoiding held his hand out to Hannibal.

  “Orson Rissik,” he said. “Chief of detectives, Fairfax Police. City, not county. I apologize for those two knuckleheads. They may have screwed up, but their hearts are in the right place.”

  “No harm done,” Hannibal said, shaking the detective’s hand. “They just got a little overzealous.”

  “Overzealous?” Cindy said. “Ought to sue them. You’ve got a legitimate false arrest charge here.”

  “They got carried away, but they were just trying to do their job,” Hannibal said, to Rissik rather than Cindy. “Probably weren’t far off. The guy they’re looking for is almost certainly the man who stole my car at gunpoint.”

  “You give the knuckleheads a description?”

  “They weren’t in a listening mood,” Hannibal admitted. “Figured they already had their man.”

  One icy stare got the tall man out of the car without a word being said. Then Rissik turned back to Hannibal and the ice in his eyes turned to friendly sunshine. “Would you be kind enough to give these men a description of the man and your car? We’ll try to return it to you as soon as possible.”

  “Sure.” But as Hannibal turned toward the car, his eyes passed over the entrance to the garage. Under the police tape he saw the body, still there, face down. He recognized the man by his size.

  “That Paton, the driver?”

  “Yes, sir,” Rissik said. “Right where we found him.”

  “Mind if I take a look?”

  “Well that would be highly unusual, but,” Rissik’s eyes flashed to Cindy. “Under the circumstances, and your being so cooperative and all, I suppose it might be okay.”

  While Cindy went into the house to clean up, Hannibal gave the troopers a detailed description of his assailant and his car. Then he and Rissik walked up the driveway toward the garage. Hannibal noticed how similar their walk was. He figured Rissik must have noticed it too.

  “Nieswand said you were working an investigation. You were a cop?”

  “Three years on a beat in New York,” Hannibal said. “Three more as a detective. Then they accepted my application at the treasury department.”

  “Secret Service?” Rissik asked. Hannibal nodded. “Well then, maybe you’ll see something I missed. You know the deceased?”

  “We’d exchanged some words,” Hannibal said. Looking down on the still form gave him an eerie feeling. Was it only a couple of hours ago this guy had tried to knock his head off? Now he lay still, all the life drained out of him through a tiny hole at the base of his skull. Without thinking, Hannibal peeled off his sodden suit coat and knelt down for a closer look. Rissik followed.

  “Mrs. Nieswand found him out here and freaked. I questioned them both. They were no help with the guy’s personal life, even though he lived right here for a year.”

  “He lived in their house?” Hannibal asked.

  “In the guest apartment. Servant’s quarters actually. You can see by that pale patch on his wrist that his watch was taken. His wallet’s empty too, but I’m not sure I like robbery as a motive. Did you know him well enough to have any other ideas?”

  “No,” Hannibal said, then “Well, maybe.” He pointed to Paton’s right hand. “See that scar, shaped like a horseshoe? Fifteen, twenty years ago that was a symbol for a small gang used to run around the East Coast. Omega, I think they called themselves.”<
br />
  “So you think it might be a gang thing?”

  “Could be,” Hannibal said. “That looks like a twenty-two wound. Neat, precise, very professional if you ask me. Any other signs of injury?”

  “Medical examiner hasn’t been out yet,” Rissik said, standing, “but I did a quick examination. All I see is the lump on his head where he hit the floor in here. His jaw and his nose are a little bruised, but that could be from the landing too. And his knuckles are a little scratched up.”

  Hannibal smiled a small smile. “I think that happened earlier today. So, no real sign of a struggle. Yeah, I’d say it looks kind of like a mob hit.”

  “Well, that’s one more idea than I had,” Rissik said.

  Hannibal stepped back out into the new sunshine. He wanted to be in dry clothes. He wanted to get a pair of sunglasses on. He wanted his gun back. Hell, he wanted his car back. He turned to Rissik, smiling at himself.

  “Do you mind if I take a look at his room?”

  Hannibal was on Paton’s bed reading a letter when Cindy walked in. Her hair was clean and brushed out, her face glowing from a fresh scrubbing. The plain blue ankle-length frock she wore was a little too big for her, as were the deck shoes around her feet. She smelled of Jasmine, probably the scent of her shampoo.

  “You look a lot better, babe.”

  “A shower can do wonders,” Cindy said, kneeling in front of him. “And it turns out Abby, Mrs. Nieswand, is close to my size.”

  “You talked to her?”

  “Not really,” she said, pushing her hair back behind one ear. “Doctor Lippincott’s got her under sedation. What brought you up here? I figured you’d want to get home and change the second you could.”

  “I guess I couldn’t resist the puzzle of Paton’s death,” Hannibal said. “His room says a lot about him.” The flowered wall paper was certainly there before him, but the rest of the room was very masculine. Cigars on the chest of drawers. Playing cards and dice on the dresser. No spread on the bed to cover the plain wool blanket. And on the headboard, a clock radio and several racing forms.

  “I think this guy made some kind of connection with you,” Cindy said, stroking his nearly dry leg.

  “Yeah, on my jaw,” Hannibal said. “Truth is, I want his killer. Aside from wanting my car back, I owe that guy something and I’d love the chance to pay him back.”

  “And what you got there?” Cindy asked, tapping the pages in his hands.

  “Found this letter under the bed,” Hannibal said. “It tells me old Ike wasn’t everything he led his boss to believe.”

  “Really?” Cindy slid up on the bed to look over his shoulder. The cheap box spring groaned under their weight. “What’s it say? He a drug dealer? Victim of a mob hit man? Who was he?”

  Hannibal leaned back so Cindy could snuggle under his arm. “Well Daisy, that’s who this is from, thinks his name was Pat. Looks like she’s his ex-wife, but he’s still interested.”

  “Oh yes,” Cindy said, trailing her finger along the page. “Look at this paragraph. I’ve found a good life, a real life, and you’re not going to ruin it. Leave me alone or I’ll have to tell Phil about the old days, and about what happened on the Westside. Hm.”

  “Sounds like a threat,” Hannibal said, “but down here she said she still cares about him and says there’s no reason for there to be any hard feelings between them. In her words, she just wants him to keep his distance.”

  “She sounds nice. Wonder if he was still bothering her.”

  “Wouldn’t be hard,” Hannibal said, standing and folding the letter back into its envelope. “The return address is Catonsville, Maryland.”

  “So here you are.” At the sound of Nieswand’s voice Cindy sprang to her feet. Hannibal dropped the letter on Paton’s headboard and turned to pick up his jacket.

  “Rissik told me you were up here, looking for clues or something,” Nieswand said, ushering Hannibal and Cindy toward the stairs. “Did you forget why you were here? Or would you rather pursue Paton’s death? No one will miss the man, you know.”

  Hannibal breathed deeply, his eyes fading into green on his way down the plushly carpeted steps. “The man was killed on your property. He lived in your house. Are you saying you don’t care?”

  “What I’m saying,” Nieswand said when they reached his study, “is you can’t help him now. But you can help Kyle Mortimer. Miss Santiago told me you decided to take the case. Will you now accept a retainer and make it official?” Before Hannibal could respond, Nieswand shoved a check into his still damp shirt pocket, the way a man jams a bill down into a stripper’s G-string.

  “Now, I suggest you get going,” Nieswand said, easing Hannibal toward the door. “The car Ms. Santiago ordered is here and his meter is probably running.”

  Hannibal was startled to face bright sunshine as he opened the door. The clouds which blanketed the area all day had evaporated while he was inside. His next shock was the taxi waiting in the driveway and the short, bulky Latino at the wheel. He slid into the back seat and Cindy followed him in. The driver backed out of the driveway, speaking to his passengers without ever turning his nearly bald head.

  “Hard day, Hannibal? Cindy told me they stole your ride.”

  “That ain’t the half of it, Ray,” Hannibal said. “But Cindy didn’t tell me she called her old man for a lift.”

  “Hannibal, if not for you my little cab company wouldn’t exist. Picking you up is a pleasure. Besides,” he chuckled, “business ain’t been all that good. Now where to?”

  “How about my place?” Cindy asked Hannibal. “You can get cleaned up and you’ve got a change of clothes there.”

  Hannibal looked at her the way he always did when she discussed their personal lives in her father’s presence. It was awkward enough for him living in the same building with her father. Ray knew what their relationship was, but Hannibal was still uneasy about being too obvious.

  “I guess,” he said, rolling down his window. “Listen, Ray, do you think I could hire you and a car for a couple of days? I’ve got a case and it shouldn’t wait. The trail starts in Baltimore and I’ll need to get up there.”

  “How far is Catonsville?” Cindy asked before Ray could answer Hannibal’s question.

  “It’s right there, a suburb on the southwest edge of Baltimore,” Ray said. “Why?”

  “Yeah, why?” Hannibal added. Cindy sank back into the seat with him, nuzzling his ear the way she did when she wanted a favor and did not want to risk getting no for an answer. “Sweetheart, somebody ought to tell that nice lady that her husband’s dead.”

  “Ex-husband,” Hannibal corrected her. “And she didn’t want to be bothered with him, remember?”

  “She said she still cares about him,” Cindy said, running a finger gently down his neck.

  “So call her up.”

  “This isn’t something a woman wants to hear over the phone,” Cindy said. “Besides, Mister Nieswand was being a jerk. You ought to do this on his time.” Her fingers moved to slide down his chest. “It’ll make you feel better.”

  “Sounds like we’ll be making a detour,” Hannibal said loud enough for Ray to hear.

  “Sure thing,” Ray said. “When you think you’ll want to get going?”

  Cindy had reached Hannibal’s knee by this time and his throat was tight. She answered for him. “Getting late in the day for starting a case, isn’t it? Daddy, why don’t you pick Hannibal up tomorrow morning? At my place.”

  -9-

  MONDAY

  Ray Santiago pulled his best limousine off the Capital Beltway at the College Park exit, and headed north on Interstate 95. The ride was smooth and he stayed within five miles per hour of the speed limit. But Hannibal knew Ray considered him more family than a customer. For one thing, Ray would never light up a Kent with anyone else in the back seat.

  “So, you didn’t tell me much, Paco. This is a missing person’s case?”

  The sky went up to infinity this day, with a sun
so bright the light seemed to come from everywhere. After two weeks of intermittent rain, all of Maryland was the color of a new pool table. Hannibal smiled into the rear view mirror.

  “I’ve got to find a lost father to save the son’s life,” he said in a matter of fact way. “Tell you all about it on the way up. First I’ve got to make a call.”

  Hannibal picked up the telephone in the back seat and pushed buttons. His mood was buoyed by more than the weather. Ray picked him up early enough to be at Kuppenheimer’s as the door opened. He bought only working clothes today: a black suit, suspenders, and soft leather loafers. A white shirt and a subtly patterned tie from Structure. Soft gray kid gloves. And a pair of very dark wraparound Oakley sunglasses.

  New clothes always made him feel better. Now he was doing a good turn, a freebie for no reason except his woman said it would be a nice thing to do. He got the number from Directory Assistance and he only listened to two rings before a woman’s thin, squeaky voice said hello.

  “Hello, is this Daisy Sonneville?”

  “Yeah. You selling something?”

  “No, ma’am,” Hannibal said, “I don’t want anything from you. My name is Hannibal Jones and I have some news for you about Ike Paton.”

  “Who?” Her voice was no less suspicious.

  “Pat. Your ex.”

  Hannibal was not sure if the long silence meant surprise, fear, or simply a lack of interest. It ended with a long, ragged breath.

  “Are you in Baltimore?”

  “Will be in half an hour or so,” Hannibal said. The way Ray was flying down the road, it would probably be less. “I’m headed up from Washington. I’ve got some business in Baltimore, but I’d gladly stop by your place if you want to give me the address.”

  “I see.” her words were precise and measured, as if they were too precious to waste. “No. Not here. When you hit the Beltway get off at exit twelve and go over to Wilkens Avenue. About half a mile in toward the city there’s a little shopping center. I work at the University of Maryland not far from there. I’ll meet you in that coffee shop and we can talk, okay?”